Chapter 116 - Tight Rope:

End October, 1780

Richard was not certain what woke him. Perhaps it was the dying fire, the embers were no match against the rising chill outside. Or perhaps it was the driving rain, it was loud enough to wake the dead.

Or perhaps it was his internal clock, his own sense of caution alerting him to the hour and waking him. He lay on his side, his bare chest hard up against Harmony's back. She lay on her side, curled back into him, using his arm for a pillow. He gazed down at her in what was left of the dim light from a single candle, revelling in the sight of her. He stared down at her face - as beautiful in sleep as when awake. Lord, it felt so good to have her back again. This time, he vowed to himself, he would not let her go. Not to Pembroke to stay with some family. Not to anywhere else, either. It felt wonderful to be able to protect her again, to have her near to him, in the same house, where he could hold her in his arms, their embrace impassioned for much of the night.

He was not ignorant of his constraints, however. The tightrope he must walk, if he was to have his mistress and keep her, and still foster an outwardly perfect marriage if he was to hold General O'Hara's regard. That his marriage was improving with every passing day would certainly help him there.

It was those social chains which pushed him out of his lover's bed in the dark wee hours that morning. He dressed himself as silently as possible, then knelt before Harmony's fire, placed several small logs onto the embers and used a small bellows to fan the flames. Harmony would not wake in a cold, chill room, he thought as he gazed down at his slumbering mistress again. After pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, he headed for the door. Quietly, he unbolted the door and slipped out into the colder hallway. No servants were up and about yet, not in this part of the sleeping quarters. He could hear someone moving about downstairs, however, and more outside as well. There was no need for a candle to light the way to his own chamber, he'd been living in the Martin house for long enough that he could navigate in the dark. His own chamber door was unbolted, and when he entered, he began to undress again. It was going to be tedious work, this dressing to leave Harmony's chamber only to undress again when he reached his own. Not that he minded that, not one little bit.

Cilla had left several candles burning in their room - considerate of her, that. And her fire was burning more strongly than Harmony's had been. Which meant Cilla had added a few logs to the fire during the night, when she rose to pass water. So he would have a warm chamber to return to? He smiled, thinking it must be so. Cilla might have been a little weary last night, a little confused; but the carriage ride home had worked wonders on her. He was confident now that she would view their marriage as a good one, whether in private or in public, just as he did.

That they no longer had to pretend would lend to their efforts a far more easy and natural feel. Why, before he left this place, General O'Hara would speak well of Major Bordon once more, something he had not done for months. And with those words of praise would come grudging regard from Cornwallis himself, for he valued and trusted the Brigadiers good opinion. And from there… Richard took a moment to stop, to close his eyes and just breathe. To consider how far he'd come, after disgracing himself with his vile actions toward Cilla. It had almost cost him everything. Not only his career, but his freedom, or his life. While Cornwallis and O'Hara disfavoured him, they would never have allowed him to advance one step further, they would have been a brick wall laying across the path of his career. He should have been hung. Or whipped and thrown into jail. He stood there in the chamber, eyes closed; he had never imagined he might be here again, standing at the precipice of a brilliant future. He might be a Colonel himself one day, now. Or perhaps a General. It was all possible again, now.

And after the war, who knew? He might even be noticed by the King himself. He might be lifted even higher, then. Might even earn himself a seat in the House of Lords. He gazed down at his wife, sleeping soundly in their bed. All thanks to her, thought. All thanks to Cilla. His happiness, not only in personal affairs with having Harmony under the same roof and Cilla a willing wife, but in his career as well, all of it had been secured by Cilla. She amazed him at times, more and more so by the day. He gazed down at her with fondness, wondering how there had ever been a time when he'd disliked her. Certainly, she'd had a sharp tongue back when they first met, but that was only to have been expected, considering who her father was. A rebel and a spy. Mark Putman had spewed his disgusting views, infecting his own daughter with his opinions. Of course she had parroted his rebellious words and had even spied for him. She'd had fire back then, she'd been like an angry little wild kitten.

Richard was glad she was getting her fire back again. He was the one who had stripped it from her, after all.

Cilla slept soundly, the covers pulled up to her chest, hair as gold as Harmony's spilling out onto the pillow. He took a moment to gaze at her as he had at Harmony just a few moments gone. Although she was different to Harmony, she was quite pretty. Beautiful, even. And she was a good person, too. Far better than he deserved, considering the manner in which they came to their marriage. Although she'd never actually voiced her forgiveness to him, he strongly suspected she did indeed forgive him. She enjoyed his company now, and she let him hold her when they slept.

He undressed again, lifted the folded back corner, and climbed into bed. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should snuggled against her as had been their habit of late. How would Harmony feel about it? After he'd left her in her chamber to wake up alone. He heaved a sigh, knowing damned well Harmony would not like it much at all, if Cilla slept in his arms where Harmony could not. Still, Cilla was his wife and it was terribly cold on his side of the bed. He shuffled closer, Cilla roused a little as he pulled her into his arms, but did not waken fully as she settled back down beside him.

His entire body felt languid, there was an easiness in his limbs that had not been for months. He felt rested, and exhausted at the same time. It was a pleasant exhaustion. The relief of a tired person finally reaching home after a perilous journey. William was found again, he was rescued by Richard and returned to the Fort. Harmony no longer had to walk a tightrope at the Turnbull's, worrying over every word in case she gave herself away. Nor did she have to worry about Farshaw. She was within his reach again, in a situation that enabled him not only to seek the comforts and delights of her body, but to also keep her safe from her damned bastard of a husband. He was in the General's good graces, he was no longer standing at the cliff edge, waiting to be pushed over into the abyss.

And Cilla had forgiven him.

All was so magnificently right in the world and from here, it would only get better. A Colonel, or a General - they were only the beginning. Thoughts of gaining a seat in the House of Lords followed him in to his sleep.

Gods, I must be lonely to be coming here, Cilla thought as she approached the door to her uncle's office. She closed her eyes, shook her head, feeling every bit the fool. Still, she knocked and a moment later, Tavington called out to enter. She opened the door. The Colonel was on the other side of her uncle's large oak desk, bent over his work. He glanced up and upon seeing her, his expression changed from busy to astonished.

"Mrs. Bordon," he said, setting down his quill. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Mrs. Bordon," she laughed softly. "You called me Cilla yesterday. And last night and this morning at the breakfast," she reminded him. "Keeping up appearances, were you?"

"Cousin then, if you'd prefer," William dropped back into the chair to watch her as she moved about the room, she didn't seem to have much direction to her, though she eventually went to stand in front of Martin's book shelf.

"I don't prefer," she murmured as if distracted. "I don't care either way," she turned back to him. "I just found it interesting, is all. I thought it was just Richard and I trying to keep up appearances. But I suppose you are set to gain O'Hara's good will depending on how you treat me, just as Richard is."

"Is there a point to all this?" He asked, frustrated. Was he that transparent?

"No, not really."

"Why are you come?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I just… I suppose I should not have." She moved about the room, listless.

"You're bored," he guessed, cutting to the heart of it. She turned to him, startled. "You were in company last night and then again this morning. Now you're returned to Fresh Water, Richard has disappeared and you are left to your own devices. You are bored."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"And desperate too, it seems, to come here," he laughed softly.

"Are you making fun of me?" She frowned, unsure.

"I'm not," he said. "Would you care to sit down?" He gestured at the seat opposite him. She eyed it cautiously, then she took the offer and sat down.

"Richard isn't going to let Miss Middleton come now, because Mrs. Farshaw is here," she said.

"I'm sorry?" He lifted his eyebrows.

"Richard. A few days ago, he said we could invite Miss Middleton to return here, with -" with Beth being gone. That, she could not say. "With the house being so empty and me having no company. But just now, he said it wouldn't be wise because she will see that Mrs. Farshaw is back and it will cause unwanted discussion."

"I see," Tavington eyed her carefully. He had heard her stumble, he could guess what she'd left unsaid. Gods, she bore such a resemblance to Beth it hurt to look at her. "Perhaps there is someone else you can invite?"

"For the same reason I can no longer invite my cousin, I can not invite anyone else," she shrugged.

"Are you hoping I can intercede with Richard, to have Miss Middleton bought here?" He asked, still confused over why she had come.

"No. She can't unless Mrs. Farshaw goes, and that isn't going to happen, so… No."

Sweet Lord, she came here for my company, he realised, astonished. She truly was desperate. Lonely, probably.

"I've made some acquaintances, they've visited Mrs. Farshaw and I here. I doubt any will venture out today, though," Cilla said, staring out the window. You couldn't see two feet beyond the glass, the rain was so thick, heavy. Earlier, when it was time to head to the Ferguson's to attend O'Hara's breakfast, they'd to pick their way across mud to the carriage that had been parked as close to the house as possible. Two Dragoons had walked at Cilla's side holding a tarp over her to keep the rain off until she was in the carriage. Even then, her beautiful dress got a little wet. "I hate storms," she shuddered.

Strange. Beth loves them. Tavington pushed thoughts of his wife away.

Cilla hesitated, then asked gently, "have you received any word from Beth?"

Tavington grew still. He said softly, "No, I have not."

"Neither have I," she felt free to reply, "and I've sent her a dozen letters. Surely some of them have gotten through?"

"Some should have," he agreed.

"Mila is missing her," Cilla mused. "And so am I. Do you think she'll come back?"

"I have discussed this with Colonel Martin," Tavington said, voice crisp. "We both believe it is for the best if Beth is retrieved from…" he paused, face darkening, then continued, "that she is removed from there as soon as possible, for all our sakes. But she is not to return here - she will be placed with your aunt and… oh," he breathed, pale eyes widening. "I never told you…"

"Told me what?" Cilla asked, frowning.

"Your mother. I'm sorry, I… your uncle told me that your mother has reached your aunt. Forgive me, I know that you've been worried, I should have told you."

A little taken aback, Cilla tried to feign surprise. She knew precisely where her mother was, she had known for over two weeks. Still, she managed to fumble through surprise.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner, that was remiss of me," Tavington said.

"Oh, that's alright, you only returned yesterday," Cilla said, frowning. Then she cocked her head and her voice became accusing. "You returned yesterday! And you're only telling me now?"

"I… Yes, again, I apologise. It did not occur to me until just now," he said.

She nodded. It didn't matter anyway, for she'd known where her mother was, she'd sent off a letter to her through her father. Still, it was remiss of Tavington and it did not hurt to take this jab at him. "I'd like to write to her, if I may," she said, because she knew he'd likely expect it. He had to believe he was the only recourse to her correspondence with her mother.

"Well, as to that.. I don't know where she is, I'm afraid," William said. "Martin has finally acknowledged my marriage but he does not full take me into his trust. He would not reveal their location."

"Oh. Well perhaps she knows where I am by now. She might write to me."

"Cilla, I can not allow correspondence between you and your mother," he said, voice hard.

She studied him, wondering if she should hold her ground, demand he allow it, if such a letter came from her mother. Mage and Cilla had both spied on the British, Tavington could not risk that Cilla might return to her old tricks writing letters to her mother. In truth, that was exactly what she was doing, though he knew it not. Perhaps it was better to pretend to be meek and mild in this, rather than press him. It was not as though she were serious. If a letter from her mother ever came, it would not come through Tavington.

"So, Beth is to be taken to Aunt Charlotte and my mother?" She asked and he nodded. "Why? You can't work through your troubles if she is not with you."

Tavington laughed, it sounded bitter. "Work through our troubles," he chuckled darkly. "Good Lord. She left this place believing herself to be betrayed and has since betrayed me every single night, with him," he announced. "No, cousin. Our troubles will not be easily resolved, if they are able to be resolved at all."

"Perhaps not," Cilla murmured. "What are you going to do about Linda Stokes?" She asked. "You had Emily Wilkins birched for the trouble she caused. Will you have Miss Stokes birched too?" She said it with challenge, though when she continued, her voice was soft and lowered, "you don't seem willing to punish people you care for, no matter how terrible the crime."

Tavington recoiled back into his chair away from her, his eyes growing wide.

"Richard raped me, and you did nothing," she said, though she could see from his reaction that no explanation had been necessary.

Tavington opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, as if he didn't know what to say. In the end, he said softly, "I had to protect my Major."

"Hmm. And now, as his wife, I must protect him also," Cilla said. She cocked her head. "He's quite lucky, is he not? To get away with what he did so cleanly." She relaxed back into her chair - Tavington was staring at her, wide eyed and speechless. "I don't have too, of course. I do have a choice. I could do everything within my power to sabotage him. I could reveal what he did - there wouldn't be very many people willing to remain acquainted with him then. All the Generals next door… there'd be no more of them, if I revealed it. But I choose not to, because I want to try to live as normal a life as possible. And because now, our futures are intwined - as he rises or falls, so do I rise or fall. Of course, I wouldn't need to be in this position if I hadn't been forced to marry him because he raped me… But still, I have a choice, and I have chosen. I will protect him - or rather, his reputation, and in doing so, I protect my own," she leaned forward - Tavington had been studying her warily, his lips parted, barely breathing. She leaned her elbows on the desk, then pointed an accusing finger at him. "You had a choice, too. Punish him for his heinous attack against me, you would have been meting justice to the guilty. Or you can do as you did, and not punish him at all. I have chosen to protect Richard because ultimately - as absolutely horrendous and utterly wrong as this sounds, people can't help attributing blame to the innocent, it makes it easier for them to shun the innocent without feeling guilt for doing so. Therefore, his rape of me would have reflected as poorly on me, as it would on him.. But that is not the case with you. You did not have to worry about your standing, your reputation, your character, your honour. I had to take those things into consideration when I was faced with my choice, but you did not. So why did you do it, Colonel Tavington? Why did you protect him?"

"Because…" William licked his lips, his heart was pounding and there was sweat on his palms. Gods, he'd never expected to be confronted like this. She didn't even look angry. Firm, yes. Curious. As if she were merely trying to get the bottom of a puzzle. It left him horrendously unsettled. "Because he is my Major," he said again. "And he is my sworn friend - though I want you to know, that what he did to you greatly diminished my opinion of him. But to punish him, I would have had to reveal what he'd done," William swallowed to work moisture back into his mouth. "I would have had to discharge him from the Legion. And in doing so, I would have had to distance myself from him completely and utterly, ending our friendship entirely."

"His crime was not worth the ending of your friendship? Huh," she grunted.

"I did not punish him, but I have taken him to task for what he did to you."

"You… have taken him to task…" she repeated, eyes wide. "Do you think that… taking him to task… was enough?"

"Of course not," he replied, scrubbing his hands over his face, frustrated. "No. I do not. Cilla," he said, voice ragged. "I did try to help you but you pushed me away."

"As if I'd want anyone touching me, after," she said, though her voice was devoid of rancour. "So Richard can rape a woman and you'll do nothing, because he's your sworn friend? You just… give him a wee telling off? Did you give him a stern look and waggle your finger at him?" She could see him working his jaw, he did not seem to know what to say.

"Cilla, I -"

"And Linda Stokes, who was once your mistress. Will you do nothing there, also?"

"No, I intend to punish her quite harshly," he said bleakly. "I shall wait until my baby is born, then she is to be flogged. And I will remove my child from her, also. I will raise it myself."

"You'll take the baby?" Cilla gasped.

"I shall. Will you excuse me, Cilla?" He asked, already rising. "I am expecting Private Cox shortly and I must tend… There is a matter I must attend to first," he finished. She rose more slowly than he had, he was already striding for the door as if he could not wait to get away from her. She stepped away from the chair, her eyes landing on the bookshelf.

"Do you mind if I look for something to read, first?" She asked, knowing he was about to kick her out. She'd never seen him so unsettled - his eyes darted to the shelf, then to her, and he gave a curt nod. Pulling open the door, he shut it swiftly behind him. "Must have been something I said," she laughed softly. "Feeling a bit ashamed, is he?" She moved toward the books, but she stopped dead with sudden realisation.

She was alone, in Tavington's office. Her heart pounded as her eyes fell upon the desk.

Oh sweet Lord, she thought, her pulse raced as her eyes fell on the desk. She rounding the desk before she even knew what she was doing. She began rifling through the pages, scanning, reading quickly, trying to take it all in at once for she had no idea how long she had.

She doubted he had any matters to attend to, his sudden need to leave was because she'd made him feel uncomfortable with her confronting conversation. Perhaps she had as long as she was in the chamber - he would not return until she left. But she was only to stay long enough to choose a book, which left her with very little time.

She could not linger… She gleaned what she could from the quickly scanned pages, then she began to open drawers. Her fingers moved with lightening speed, she counted the seconds, there was no time to write anything down, she had to commit it all to memory.

She thought back to when she first started spying and how excited she'd been to discover a new lease on life. She felt much the same now, after feeling so lonely and despondent all morning long.

The information she gained was much the same as information she had been gaining since embarking on the world of spying, but it was current and relevant and would most certainly be useful. The movement of the Green Horse, the movements of soldiers, and how much ammunition they were carrying. After memorizing as much as she could in such a short time, she finally stepped away from her uncle's desk. She spent far less time on searching the shelves for a book - she'd seen Robinson Crusoe among the titles and so grabbed it now, and then two others at random.

She stepped into the hallway, half expecting to see Tavington in the corridor waiting for her to come out so he could go back in, but he was no where to be seen. She needed to write it all down now, the information she'd garnered, while it was still fresh in her memory. She hurriedly climbed the stairs - when she was in her chamber, alone, she sat at the small table, reached for parchment, pen and ink, and began to write down as much as she could remember from the missives she'd read.

Her hand was cramping by the time she rose and moved the planter from the left side of the sill, to the right.

A flash of light flared within the dark, billowing clouds. Two, three moments later, a deep roar boomed above the house. Rain drove hard against the windows; Private Cox worried the glass would shatter. He stood at attention, kept his eyes straight ahead, barely daring to blink. He was too frightened to appreciate the affluent surroundings of Colonel Martin's office, which would have had him gawking like a bumpkin under less strained circumstances. In his chest, his heart beat as loud as the thunder. The Colonel stood before him, ramrod straight, one arm looped behind his back. The Officer's chin was raised, his cold pale eyes stared down his nose at Private Cox. Christ, and Cox had thought Captain DuBose was bad enough, the way the Captain glared every morning at muster or when the unit was on Parade. DuBose had nothing on the Colonel, whose glare, Cox was sure, would make a lion quail. It left the Private feeling like a lad of ten, a naughty boy who'd trampled mud through his mother's house.

And was about to be murdered for it.

In this instance, his 'mother' was the Colonel and the Colonel could do far worse than his mother ever had. Colonel Tavington's eyes… His face… Lord, he was so still, so cold. A boulder showed more emotion.

"I have given the matter much thought," the Colonel announced finally, the suddenness of his voice after being so long quiet, made Private Cox jump as the thunder outside never could. "While I was determined to have that damned slut whipped, I have been informed that in doing so, I might inadvertently cause harm to my child."

Whipped…

Jeffrey's eyes darted, they met Tavington's for a bare moment, then flickered away just as quickly. He swallowed hard.

The Colonel had intended to have Linda whipped. Jesus. After this initial shock came vast relief, for at the surface, it seemed as though Tavington had changed his mind.

Jeffrey quashed the relief. He could not allow himself such comfort. Just because Linda had escaped a whipping, it did not mean she would not suffer some form of punishment.

And he did not dare leap to Linda's defence - though his wife had just been called a slut. It was insult enough that, with any other man, Jeffrey would be offering a fist fight then and there. But this was not 'any other man'. This was the Colonel of the entire Legion. Such a low ranker such as Jeffrey would not dare to challenge the Colonel. Especially this Colonel.

Especially when this Colonel had the right. Linda had transgressed against him, she'd flirted with him outside her tent, knowing his wife was watching, purposely giving the impression that the two were having an affair. Colonel Tavington had every right to call Linda whatever he wished. Jeffrey Cox kept his mouth shut.

"Mrs. Cox," William's lips twisted on the name, he spoke with a sneer. "Not only has she caused me much grief, but she also attempted to bring about great harm to a person I hold very dear. The Major is not well pleased with Mrs. Cox, you can be certain of that. You are not going to find much welcome for your new wife here, Private."

"I will transfer," Jeffrey offered, as soon as he could work enough moisture into his mouth to speak. Major Bordon was wroth also, and with good reason. Linda had told Jeffrey everything. He knew the person Tavington was speaking of, whom the Colonel held very dear, was Mrs. Harmony Farshaw. Two of the most powerful men in the Legion… What had Linda been thinking? Had she been with the two Gentlemen for so long that she'd actually begun to think she was of their rank? Unable to be touched, unable to be punished? She'd been a fool, if that was so. Jeffrey felt a sudden and driving need to get Linda as far away from Tavington - and now Bordon - as possible. "I have promised to raise the child, and I shall. If you will allow it, if you will draw up the papers, I will transfer to another unit and I will take Mrs. Cox with me. You will never hear tell of us again"

"That will be your fate eventually," William replied, voice crisp. "However, your transfer will wait until the baby is born."

Cox blinked, confused. "Ah… Are you worried that the baby might come to harm when we're on the road?"

"I do not want harm to come to the child," William agreed, a narrowing to his eyes. He spoke slowly, softly, a quiet drawl. "The reason behind the delayed transfer does not stem from a desire to protect the child. Your transfer is delayed, Private, for after the birth, my child will not be accompanying you."

Cox went as still as a statue, frozen in place, eyes staring. If the Colonel had swung up his leg and kicked him full force in the stomach, he could not have been more shocked. Mind whirling, he finally grasped what the Colonel was saying. He was taking the child away from Linda. Sweet Jesus.

"I don't understand," Jeffrey breathed, swaying where he stood. "You asked me to raise the child for you."

"My mind has altered since our… discussions," William replied. "I have seen an unanticipated error in my design."

"What error?" Jeffrey asked, reeling.

"Mrs. Cox," William said, snapping the words. "I had asked you to raise the child, not taking into consideration that that woman would have the raising of it also. Therefore, when my child is born, it shall be removed from the woman now carrying it," he appeared to be choosing his words carefully. He did not refer to Linda as the mother, he was implying that Linda had become nothing more than a breeding place for the Colonel's child and as soon as it was born, she would not be allowed to raise it.

"This is to be her punishment?" Jeffrey asked. "You'd be better giving her that whipping! Sir," he began, preparing to beg. He would go on his knees if he had to. Linda was going to be utterly grief stricken.

"My mind will not be altered, do not bother wasting your words," Tavington said bluntly. "This is not her punishment, I am removing the child from Linda for reasons personal to me."

"With respect, Sir, what are those reasons?" Jeffrey asked. Lord, he could barely keep to his feet the news was so shocking. There was a chair near to hand, he wanted to collapse into it. Linda was going to be wretched with grief, how would he tell her this? It left him feeling sick to the stomach.

"I am under no obligation to explain myself to you, but I shall just the same," William said. "My reasons, Private, are thus. The bloodlines of that child are noble. On one side, in any case. With the chaos she has caused, Linda has proven herself to be both devious and unstable. Hardly the virtues of a nurturing mother. Her recent actions have proven to me that no matter how high she rises, she will always have the moral hygiene of a doxy. I will not have that woman raise any child of mine. The only sort of girl that slut could raise is one destined for a brothel. All your doxy of a wife could manage is a pick pocket or a whore," William spat, filled with venom and finally allowing it to show. "Which is quite possibly what the rest of your children will be, Private, unless you prove to have a very firm hand." Jeffrey's face flooded crimson at the insult, but he said nothing in reply. William continued, "no child of mine will be either of those things. That child will be protected from the woman who birthed it. It will never be told who she is; it will be told only that she died in birth or soon after."

Jeffrey filled his lungs, he held his breath. The insults to Linda just kept coming; doxy, slut… And the Colonel suggested Linda would be a terrible mother, one the child needed protection from. Lord, the child was within Linda's body, she had laid beside Jeffrey that very morning, her hand on her stomach, smiling as she felt it moving within. Jeffrey himself had felt the child move, kicking hard enough to be felt against his palm. They had discussed their future at length, they'd become comfortable with what was in store for them, they had been excited for it to begin! Yet it would all be taken away from them, as soon as the child was born? Linda was going to be devastated… He himself felt the blow keenly.

"There is more, of course," William continued, voice mocking now. "Linda, true to her whoring ways, viewed the bearing of this child as an opportunity to live high and well on my money, for I had promised that I would acknowledge and provide for it. Well, I shall keep those promises," he smiled in a twisted sort of way, "though Linda shall not prosper from them."

"Sir," Jeffrey began, soft voice begging. "She cares nothing for the money, she loves this child immensely. This might be the death of her."

William snorted. "She's survived worse. She told me she's ridden herself of children in the past, she has already used the knowledge of herbs that only whores have."

Jeffrey's eyes bulged, this was news to him.

"Now, you begin to see the sort of woman you married," Tavington mused. "The only reason she was bringing this child to term, was because this time, it was a high ranking and wealthy Gentleman who had had the siring of it. It is mine, and she yearned for the rewards and money I would bestow upon the child and on her," he paused, his voice firmed, "when Linda begins her lay in, she will do so surrounded by women I trust. Mrs. Andrews is her midwife; but Mrs. Andrews' loyalty is mine. As soon as the child is born it will be bundled in swaddling and bought directly to me. I will have a nurse waiting."

"You won't even allow her to hold it first?" Jeffrey's face had gone a horrible shade of green.

"A dead woman can not hold a baby, Private," William said, alluding to his plan of telling the child its mother had died in childbirth.

Jeffrey felt a terrible urge to rid himself of the contents of his stomach and was afraid he would vomit on the Colonel's shoes. If the Colonel's face was stone before, it was granite now.

"Hear me well," Tavington said, voice soft. His boots clipped across the floorboards as he approached the quaking Private. "If you try to remove yourself or your wife without my express permission, I will have you hung."

"Sir," Cox breathed, a tremble coursing through his body.

"The child is mine, I am its father. I will view an attempt to leave as theft and you - will - be - hung," William continued in that same voice, filled with threat. "And you will be caught, Private, should you try. I intend to make it almost impossible for you to visit the latrines without a guard. An even stronger guard will be placed on our dear little slut. I know her tricks well, I will not allow her to slip away from the Legion late one night. She can bribe all of the sentries she wants, she can get on her knees and suck off each one of them, but all that will result in is a very sore mouth for her. And a very wet quim, no doubt, she does love to suckle cock," his lips twisted, then he said, voice hard, "she will not leave this place until the child is born, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Jeffrey said, teeth clenched at yet another insult hurled toward Linda.

"Lastly, as soon as Mrs. Cox is recovered from the birthing, she will receive ten lashes to her back -"

"Oh, dear Lord," Jeffrey moaned, realising that Linda would not escape a whipping after all.

"After which you will be transferred to a unit as far from mine as possible," William pronounced. "At this moment, I am considering sending you to Clinton's battalion in New York."

"Please Sir, she's my wife," Jeffrey begged. "If you take the child away, I can't do anything about that. You are its father, it is your right. But the whipping, I beg you to reconsider -"

"I will not reconsider," William said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He had already decided this, well before Cilla's visit to his office.

"I will take the whipping," Jeffrey said. "I promised her I would, if it came to that. I couldn't bear it, Sir. You are not only punishing her, you are punishing me also. She will be in great pain as it is -"

"She has caused great pain, Private."

"I know she has. But a lashing? Please Sir, I beg you not to take away my ability to protect her - that's the right of any husband."

Minutes past as William studied the other man; Cox was sweating before the end. At length, William said, "that is very noble of you. You are far more worthy than she deserves."

"Will you allow it?" Jeffrey asked, voice pleading.

"I will consider it," William replied. "Dismissed."

Jeffrey had no choice but to turn on his heel and leave.

Cilla hovered in the doorway, staring into the torrent. Would Jack have seen that she had moved the planter in her window, would any of the spies have been standing sentry on a day like today? After writing out all she could remember from Tavington's missives, she had wrapped the parchment as best she could, and placed it under the stone outside. That had required some explaining, why she had ventured out into the rain, for by the time she returned to the house, she was soaked right through. Would the letter even be legible? If Jack had come; would it be only to discover the ink had become wet, her words bleeding into an incoherent mess? She hoped not.

It was late afternoon now, Cilla has spent most of the day alone while Richard and Harmony kept to themselves in Harmony's chamber. Cilla alternated between her bed chamber and the parlor. Back and forth, with nothing much to do. It would be dinner soon. At least she'd have the Officers to speak to then. Richard might even peel himself away from Harmony for long enough to join them.

Staring into the rain was not doing her any good, it was only making her more anxious. And she might be observed there, standing at the back door in the cold. She turned back into the house but when she reached the end of the hall, she stopped. Where to go? To the parlor again? Or her bed chamber. Lord. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go visit the acquaintances she had been making these past days, even if the rain was still heavy. She would not stay cooped up in the house, it was not good for her.

Samuel was standing slightly behind Captain Gordon, who was being addressed by a Superior Officer. Samuel had been with Gordon's unit for long enough now, outsiders accepted his presence as a given, despite his young age. Outsiders. Those people not in Gordon's unit. Those people who were not part of Samuel's family. He watched and listened in silence as Gordon was handed a missive and was told that the unit were to decamp in order to begin the journey back to Fresh Water Fort, for Colonel Tavington had recalled them to the British Legion.

Samuel had received several letters from Tavington and from Beth, the former requested him to return, the latter begged him too. It seemed Beth would be getting her wish, at long last. He wasn't certain how he felt about that. Had Tavington recalled the unit just to make Samuel return home? Well, he went where the unit went, so if they were returning to Tavington, then so be it. But Beth had better not yell at him for stowing away with Gordon's unit when they left Fresh Water for Camden, she better not think she could tell him what to do anymore. He was a man now, Gordon had told him so. And he'd killed men, in service to the Crown. He might be young still, but he wasn't going to be pushed around by his older sister. He was a soldier now, Gordon said he was a Corporal. Corporal Martin, just like Gabriel was, when he started out in the Continentals. Only Samuel was a British Officer, he would fight to have order restored in his Country, he would do all he could to push out the upstart insurgents who were creating havoc, pillaging and murdering.

Insurgents like his father.

He was doing good, Samuel was, to counter every evil act of his father.

And now, he was going home. What if Tavington told him he wasn't a Corporal after all? What if Tavington forbade him from riding with Gordon's unit, of going into skirmishes? Would Tavington prevent him from doing his good work? And if he was prevented from countering all his father was doing, how could Samuel ever atone for the man he'd killed that day, the man who had once belonged to the family that now accepted Samuel so completely?

These men were his family now. But Tavington was their Superior and Beth was his wife, and she could get into Tavington's ear and just like that, with a click of her fingers, Samuel would belong there no more. His eyes lowered, he stared at the ground, crestfallen.

Gordon turned back to Samuel and the men, his eyes scanning the page from Tavington.

"Are we going home then?" Samuel asked, trying to sound stoic.

Gordon glanced over at the Superior Officer who was now striding away on some other business, Gordon's unit forgotten.

"That's where he thinks we're going," Gordon said, voice low. Samuel and the other men had to lean in closer to hear him. "But this, this is from Tavington, and he isn't recalling us to Fresh Water, no matter what he led that one to believe," he jutted his chin at the retreating Superior. "Tavington needs us in the field," Gordon explained. "Covertly, though. No one else is to know. We're to be his eyes and ears, we'll travel the length and breadth of the county, gaining information, discovering who are rebels and where they are. Anything we think is important, we'll send back to Tavington. His eyes and ears in the field. Sorry lad," Gordon laid a strong hand on Samuel's shoulder. "You won't be going home just yet."

"I'm glad!" Samuel gasped. "I was worried we were going home, I don't want to go there! My place is here with you."

Gordon smiled down at him. "It certainly is."

"Does he mention me, though?" Samuel asked, fretting. "He isn't commanding me to go back or anything, is he?"

"No, son. You're one of us, your place is with us," Gordon said, folding the missive and placing it in his jacket pocket. "You'll ride with us, son, and you'll help us to dig out any and all information about the rebels, anything we can send back to Tavington, that will give him the edge he needs. You're with us, lad, and he knows it."

Samuel's smile was as bright as the rising of the sun.