Chapter 138 - Too Far From Gullah:

With a pinch of black powder in the pan and a small iron ball sitting snuggly within the dark confines at the end of the barrel, Beth's musket was primed and just waiting to be fired. She held it trained on the man's chest and she was absolutely ready to pull the trigger beneath her finger. She was about as willing to kill a fellow human being as one could get. Her target did not quite discern the danger, however. He held his hands up as if in surrender but the gesture was full of mockery, his beard twitching with laughter.

"Not many men I know've been shot by a woman," he chortled, glancing to his left and his right, to include his comrades in the joke.

"Funny is it? You won't be laughing when the ball smashes into your chest," Beth shot back. "Lots of blood. Shattered ribs. Those will be the least of your problems however, for you'll be dead before you hit the ground. If you dare try to take my horse, or anything else from me, you will not live to regret it."

"Such a fine mount," Beard face said, utterly ignoring her tirade as if she hadn't spoken at all as he looked Thunder over. "Surely he's too much for a lass like you."

"You would be stunned to know how much I am capable of handling, Sir," she said, letting the double meaning have time to grow heavy before jutting her chin down at her loaded firearm. "You might be killed, in the learning." Why wasn't the damned bastard scared? She'd be terrified, looking down the barrel of a Brown Bess. But because a woman was holding it, he did not deem it to be a threat. It was because she was a women and therefore, not considered to be a threat. Damned bastard.

"Hold, Miss Martin," Alby Scott called from the trees, a little further back down the road. They had already decided that the Tavington name would be far too dangerous to use. When confronted by strangers, she would be called Miss Martin, until they knew which side the strangers were on. As Alby approached the carriage, Beth saw - to her disgust - that he was using his musket as a walking stick. Dear God, the carriage was almost surrounded by ruffians and Alby wasn't even trying to protect her! And where the devil was Adam Danvers? Disappeared entirely, no where to be seen! The bearded ruffian and his friends watched Alby's approach with a wariness that none had displayed when faced with Beth and her rifle. That got up Beth's shirt, that did. Beard Face laughs at her when she points a gun right at his stupid face but here comes Alby, musket pointing at the ground, and now he is wary? Damn and blast him, if he tried anything, he would learn to his detriment how deadly in earnest she was. The gang did nothing to halt Alby as he came forward, likely because he wasn't waving his musket at them. Adam Danvers loped toward the carriage from another direction. Lord, they'd only stopped to tend the call of nature. And now they were confronted by this band of… God only knew what. It was the boy's fault, they'd taken so much longer than the women!

Who were Beard face and his friends?

Brigands?

Patriots?

Loyalists?

Patriot or Loyalist deserters turned brigand?

Beth had no idea and she wasn't going to lower her musket until she knew either way.

"You see?" She told Beard Face in a fierce voice. "We are not so easy pickings after all, are we? I tried to warn you that we weren't alone and nor is this," she hefted her weapon, "the only loaded firearm in our possession. These two men are in my service and they are soldiers both. I have more in the woods, as well. One scream from me will have them here on the instant. Back away from the carriage, now. Vow you will leave us in peace and I will tell my men to spare your lives," Beth bluffed.

"You've men in the woods too, have you?" Beard face looked over his shoulder, he turned back at her with a dubious, mocking look.

"Do not toy with me, Sir, my patience for your foolishness is growing quite thin," Beth snapped. "Go pick on someone else and next time, make sure the target is somewhat closer to your own size!"

"Feisty, isn't she?" Beard face laughed to Alby.

"You've no idea," Alby sighed, planting one palm on the side of the carriage and leaning against it. At ease. As if they weren't surrounded by brigands. Or whatever these men were. To Beth, he said, "in your service, am I? Don't much like the sound of that. I'm not your servant, Miss Martin."

"I didn't say you were! You're my guard, Alby Scott, though you're doing a damned poor job of that at the moment, if you don't mind my saying!" She huffed a breath. "If you don't like taking orders from me, then go complain to my father - he'll put the damned fear of Christ into you, he will. Might even give you a whipping for not protecting me!"

"Feisty. And pretty too," Beard Face said, admiring Beth's heart shaped face and high cheekbones, the dark eyes framed by her sun kissed blonde hair. "Could do with a lass like you when I get back to the frontier. I need a wife brave enough to scare away the savages, they won't dare raid my farm with you there!" He chortled, blue eyes bright with mischief. "How much do you want for her?"

"Are you trying to provoke me?" Beth gasped, outraged. Alby began to laugh so hard he had to hold his stomach. Even Adam was chortling. He didn't have his musket levelled either, she saw.

"Hmm," Alby rubbed his chin, as if considering how much Beth would be worth. "I'd take five hundred for her."

"I'd pay double that if I had the money! Alas, I couldn't even pay half…" Beard face stroked his beard and eyed her with regret. Beth supposed it was meant to be a compliment - in some strange way. He turned to Alby and asked, "who is her da to, as our Lady put it, 'put the damned fear of Christ into you'?"

"That depends. You Patriot or Loyalist?" Alby asked shrewdly.

"Patriot, son, and damned proud of it," he said boldly. While Beth had to be careful of her identity until she was sure, Beard Face could admit to anything he liked. He had more guns.

"Oh yeh? Who you with then, or did you desert your militia Company?" Adam Danvers asked and Beth glared at the ruffian, waiting his answer.

"After giving Tarleton such a sound whipping, what need do we have to desert? As for our Company, we're with the Overmountain Men, from North Carolina."

"Ho now! You must have been at Kings Mountain! Y'all sure gave that Ferguson a whipping!" Alby cried, clapping his hands, the relief she saw in him was palpable. It was only then that Beth realised how tense both youths had been. The two laughing and jesting with the ruffians… It hadn't been because they were genuinely amused, they weren't being careless in their duty to guard her. They'd been worried that they were potentially facing an enemy of greater strength, from which they would be hard pressed, if their chat had turned sour and it had come down to trying to protect Beth. But now, if these were the Overmountain Men and if they were Patriots - and not deserters - then there was absolutely nothing to fear whatsoever.

If they were telling the truth.

"Sure was," Beard Face said proudly. "We pissed on that Britishers body on his way to hell."

"Charming," Beth murmured. "If it's true."

"If it's true?" Beard Face looked stunned. "What'ya mean, if it's true?"

"You could be lying, you might not be Patriots at all. Or you might have been Patriots now, only to dessert -"

"My lady," Beard Face lost all his amusement. "I like the look of ya, yer pretty as a peach and all, but if ye call me a deserter again, I'll be takin' ye over my rump."

"Miss Martin," Nancy groaned and Beth spared a quick look for the women in her company; worried, all of them.

"Very well, you're not deserters. Who, then, is your Commander in the Overmountain men?"

"Miss Martin -"

"Silence, Mr. Danvers. Just because he claims a thing doesn't make it so. Sir, who is the Commander of the Overmountain men?"

Beard face looked from Beth to the men, then back to Beth again. He cocked his head. "Colonel Shelby, though I can't see why that name would make a difference to you, lass."

"I have heard of him," she said, finger still firmly on the trigger. "Shelby was at Kings Mountain…"

"Yeh, lass, so was I," Beard face said. "Under command of Captain Ferguson. Not Major Patrick Ferguson, so don't start in with accusations that I'm a Britisher. I served under Captain Colin Ferguson."

Stunned, Beth began to lower the rifle. That description… Colin Ferguson… Could it be..? "What is Captain Ferguson's wife? Quickly now!"

"Why don't you tell me?" Beard face asked, folding his arms across his chest. "You're not the only one whose got a right to be suspicious. I've revealed my cards, it's best you reveal yours now."

"Mary," she said immediately, following her intuition. "If your Captain is the Colin I am thinking of, then his wife is Mary Ferguson, formerly Tisdale."

"So it is," Beard face broke out in a smile.

Beth heaved a sigh of relief and - finally - pulled the musket back into the carriage and set it on the floor. The ruffian noticed and arched an eyebrow.

"The names brings you some comfort, do they lass?" He asked her.

"I can't even begin to express how much," she replied. "Lord." She said to both Alby and Danvers. "What is Colin thinking, joining the militia? He fled to North Carolina months ago - I assumed he and Mary were living a quiet life in some cabin in the woods!"

"Guess he weren't content to sit this one out," Alby shrugged.

"Not when Ferguson - the Britisher one, not our one - started threatenin us all with burning our homes and taking us by fire and sword," Bead Face scowled. "Weren't none of us willing to sit that one out, I tell ye."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose so. Tell me about Mary!" She grinned at Beard face. "Oh, I miss her so much! What news do you have of her..?"

"Not much I can tell ye there, we talk about battles, not wives," Beard face said. He was eyeing her quite strangely. When she scowled at him for having no news of Mary, he said bluntly, "who the devil are you?"

"Alby has said my name at least twenty times now," Beth said, feeling positively giddy now that the danger was passed. The tables had turned and it was time for her to do her own mocking. Beard Face deserved it. "Didn't you hear him?" She asked sweetly.

"Miss Martin, he said," Beard face's frown deepened.

"And have you heard of the Martin's, Sir? If you were at Kings Mountain, and all," oh, she was positively enjoying herself now. The fellow and his companions were in the Patriot militia under Colin Ferguson. Did that not mean they were answerable to Colonel Benjamin Martin, also?

"I know of several that go by that name… A Colonel and his sons…" he said, his face falling when she flashed him an overly large and mocking smile. "Shit."

"Now is that the sort of language you would use if my father were here?"

"Damn and bloody blast it," he cursed.

"What is it?" One of his men said warily.

"You remember that bloody Colonel that bought his men up from the South? Colonel Benjamin Martin. She's his damned daughter," he announced.

"Oh, I don't think he is bloody. But goodness," she said, "looks like I didn't need my rifle to protect me after all. Should have just said my father's name… More deadly than a Flintlock," she laughed, ignoring Mrs. Garland's whispered protest, advising her to act more genteelly, in a manner one would expect a gentleman's daughter to behave.

"Miss Martin," Beard face said, brandishing his hat and giving her an elegant bow, "I'm terribly sorry for any offence I might have given."

"Oh now you're sorry? Frightened my father will whip you, are you?" Laughter bubbled up and spilled over, it felt absolutely glorious - she hadn't laughed nearly often enough lately. Beard Face was startled for a moment, then he laughed with her.

"Yeh, I suppose I was for a moment there. But you seem the forgiving sort. What say we put the past behind us and start anew? The name's Drake Miller," he took her hand, she allowed him to kiss it.

"Mr. Miller, is it? Oh, well, very well, I suppose this whole affair was rather amusing. Though I'm most disappointed with the two of you," she pointed at Adam and Alby. "The shooting end is that end," she pointed at their lowered muskets. "Won't do much good, pointed down at the ground like that, unless you're hunting rabbits. Muskets have a far higher purpose than to be used as a walking stick."

"Ahhh, yeh have yer da's tongue," Drake Miller slapped his thigh.

Alby shrugged. "There's ten of them and only two of us."

"Three of us," she corrected. "And I was the only one prepared to put up any sort of defence. Perhaps you should be my servant man after all; you're not so well suited to be my guard."

"Don't matter if you can't afford the five hundred," Alby said to Miller. "Might be I hand her over to you for nothing." Miller laughed and slapped Alby on the back.

"You see?" Beth whispered to the terrified women. "I told you. If it was Loyalists or Patriots that found us, either way, we'd be safe. It was brigands we needed to worry about, and these are not brigands. You'll need to remember to call me Miss Martin from now on though, alright?" Nancy still held a death grip on Mrs. Garland's hand. "We'll be safe enough now. All will be well, stop worrying." To Miller, she said, "do you have any water? We were going to fill up at the river but then you came."

"Hand us yer flasks, lass," he replied, taking them and handing them to one of his men. In the meantime, he handed her a gourd that she and the other women could sip from. "Tell me, what are you doing all the way up here? It's a strange place to find Benjamin Martin's daughter, in the middle of hostile territory hundreds of miles from home. Ain't you lot from the Santee?"

"I am indeed. I'm sorry, but my reasons are my reasons and I am not at liberty to reveal them."

"Eh," he grunted but accepted her words. He cocked his head again. "Tell me, Miss Martin. Would you have shot me?"

"Yes, Sir," she said, fixing him with her gaze, her smile gone. "I was actually on the verge of doing so."

"Damnation, I can well believe it," he said. He shifted his gaze to Alby, who had Beth introduced. "And what of you, Mr. Scott? You said your answer depended on if we were Patriots or Loyalists. What would you have done, if we were a bunch of old Tory's?"

"Oh, I would've given you some cock and bull story," Alby shrugged. "I have the gift of the gab, as they say. It's why we didn't come in with our muskets raised, I knew I could talk us out of this, didn't matter who you was. I'd have thought of something to say that would have protected Miss Martin. She does have some loose connection to the British, I'd have used that to get us past you, then I would've high tailed it the hell outta here."

Miller laughed, but one of his men asked, "well that only makes me wonder - how do we know that this ain't your cock and bull story?" To Miller, he said, "might be these are Tory's. As he said, he's got the gift of the gab."

"Eh. I believed her from the start," Miller said, adding to Beth, "soon as you started in about Colin Ferguson and his wife and all. Besides, you have that look about you, the blonde hair and brown eyes. Same as your brother's got."

"You know Gabriel?" Relief welled again. "Do you have news of him - was he at the battle? I'm so worried - Thomas might have been there too -"

"Met 'em both at Kings Mountain and they both faired fine then. I don't know 'bout this latest battle though. Didn't see yer brother Thomas there. The other one was there - Gabriel. I don't know how he faired, but I can take you to one who will."

"Who?" She asked.

"General Burwell."

"Oh," Beth deflated, with a groan she dropped her head to her hands, which were resting on the window frame.

"Is there something amiss?" Miller asked. "If you want news of your family, you'll find it in Burwell's camp. If your brother survived at the Cowpens, he'll be with Burwell now, I suspect."

"How far away is he? Is he still at that Cowpens place?"

"Good God, no," Middleton laughed. "He is not a fool, Miss Martin - he knows Cornwallis will be expecting him to dig in to hold the place, but he ain't stupid. He packed up and left that place as soon as the enemy captives were secure. He isn't going to sit still and wait for Cornwallis to show up and try to take the prisoners back. He's crossed back over to this side of the Broad and is high tailing it for the border. We're not far, though. We're one of the scouting parties he sent out to keep watch for enemy stragglers and signs of Cornwallis. The full regiment is less than a mile that way," Miller said. If he was pointing, Beth didn't see it, for she was still resting her forehead against her fingers, her eyes were closed. Burwell was one of the last people she wanted to see just then, she was feeling quite drained enough without adding her former fiancé into the mix.

"Then that is where we'll go," Danvers said, his voice hard, as if he was expecting resistance from Beth. She lifted her head, met his gaze. "I would have risked my life trying to get you to Mrs. Selton," he said. "Alby and me both. But with safety so close at hand, surely it's no longer necessary?"

"And we could report to Burwell," Scott said. "We have no one to pass information to, with Colonel Martin captured."

Danvers was nodding. He looked to Beth, and asked, "are you going to oppose this? For if you have a mind to, you should know here and now that I don't plan to listen. With safety so close, I'm not going to risk -"

"I wouldn't expect you to," Beth cut in, knowing what he was going to say. "You've risked life and limb enough for me already, Mr. Danvers, and I hope you know how grateful I am to you, for all that you have done. Mr. Scott, too," she looked to Alby. "As you are aware, I have history with General Burwell and my preference would be to keep on to my aunt and away from his forces, to avoid what is certain to be an unpleasant encounter. However, I would not risk your lives merely to save myself from discomfort, so," she drew a deep, shuddering breath. "To General Burwell it is."

"Just think, you might get word of your brothers there," Scott said, trying to comfort her. She smiled weakly.

"What history have you with Burwell?" Miller asked and Beth gave him an incredulous look.

"With all due respect, Sir, but have you been living under a rock?" She asked and Alby laughed softly. "Or in a cave… Where, precisely, have you been all this time?"

Miller cocked his head, he seemed to do that a lot.

"Reckon it's good that not everyone knows a whole bunch of things, aye, Miss Martin?" Danvers asked, he met her eyes and she blushed and looked away. Alby and Danvers had been spies in Tarleton's Legion, but they had been stuck with his infantry. They rarely had access to the Dragoon section of camp, but they had heard the rumours coming from it. The camp followers hadn't liked her particularly well back then, she could not blame them for back biting her about having her own tent but spending all her time in Banastre's. Beth hadn't known if Danvers or Alby believed the rumours or not. Until now. Danvers had just let her know, in a very subtle way, what he believed. Beth's face went white and she subsided, her laughter disappearing as if it had never been. Yes, it was probably for the best that no one knew much of anything. Especially that she'd been mistress to Tarleton these last months. She wished now that everyone was living under a rock or off in a cave someplace, so no one could ever hear of her again.

"So, a mile that way, you say?" Scott asked, rubbing his hands briskly. She wondered which way he believed. Either way, she prayed he did not think too poorly of her. "Will you do us the great favour of escorting us, Sir, or do you need to keep scouting?"

Miller pulled his curious eyes away from Beth. "I think this falls within me duties," he said. "I'll escort you. Never know what dangers we might find between there and here. Ah, your water skins," he gestured as his men came back from filling them from the river. They were passed in through the window, then the men fell in with the carriage, which Danvers and Scott began driving again.

"What is it?" Mrs. Garland asked fretfully when Beth leaned back into her seat with a heavy sigh.

"I just… Don't want to do this," she admitted. "I wish we could just keep going…"

"Are we in danger?"

"No," Beth laughed softly. "Quite the opposite, in fact. We'll soon be as safe as children tucked up in their beds. Still, this is not going to be pleasant at all."

"You're being cryptic."

"I think I already told you? I was engaged to General Burwell once," Beth confided. "It feels like so long ago."

"Oh, yes, you did mention it," Mrs. Garland said, sharing a look with the other women. "You didn't tell us what happened between you, however."

"We hit a rough patch," Beth shrugged. "Ill was done on both sides. Mostly on mine, I suppose I should admit… either way, our engagement did not end well. I've not seen him for a very long time and I find it difficult to imagine that seeing him now will be anything but unpleasant. For me, though; not for any of you. He's a good man; if he is still angry, he will not take it out on you."

"Well, that's good to hear," Mrs. Garland said. "But I'd rather he didn't take it out on you, either."

"Eh. I can hold my own," Beth shrugged. "And like Mr. Scott said, at least I might have news of my brothers. I look forward to that."

"But what happens now? Have we traded in one army for another?" Electa asked. "I was quite looking forward to this Gullah place you keep speaking of."

"Eventually, we will go there," Beth said, then she realised that it was still a very real possibility; even with this little side trip. The new plan spilled from her in excited, rushed words. "We'll go to General Burwell first. I doubt very much he'll want me in his camp for long, it likely won't take much to convince him to give us an escort to someplace where we can hold up until the armies have moved on and everyone's gone. Somewhere safe. To my friends parents, the Jutland's perhaps. It sounds as though Miller - and therefore Harry - is expecting Cornwallis to give chase. When the British army has passed us by, there won't be so many groups of armed men roving around. We should be able to start making our way down to Gullah without hindrance… I do worry over how he'll react when he sees me though. Lord, what if he saw Shadow Dancer on the battlefield?"

"Your… horse?" Nancy asked, frowning. She was still mourning her husband and was still very distant, she barely listened these days to the conversations around her. Beth had discussed this with Mrs. Garland, but Nancy barely listened to the conversations anymore.

"My engagement gift from Harry," Beth explained to Nancy, who was listening closely now. "He gave her to me and… She was my pride and joy, even after our engagement came to an end. Banastre," her voice hardened. "Took her to flaunt her before Harry, to taunt him during the battle."

"I'm so very glad we left him," Mrs. Garland said.

"As am I. Lord, how will Harry react when he sees me again?" Beth fretted.

"Harry is General Burwell, I assume?"

"Yes," Beth sighed.

"That was a rebuke, Mrs. Tavington, even if you did not discern it," Mrs. Garland said and Beth lifted her eyebrows. "He is no longer your fiancé, you can not call him Harry."

"Oh, I know… You're right, of course. He's no longer my fiancé. Lord, I hope he doesn't despise me."

The women could offer her no comfort or reassurance, for they did not know Harry Burwell, they could not predict what he would do. Nor did they know what had passed between him and Beth. Without that information, none of them could judge what Harry Burwell's reaction would be, if it would be good or frightful. Within the next hour, they were catching up to the rear of his force. To General Harry Burwell, whom she had not seen in months. Her courage failed her when they caught up to the first of his rear guard. Harry. Who had once been her fiancé. She'd kissed him, held him, pleasured him, had received pleasured in turn. Sweet God, was she really a bawd? A doxy? A whore?

The appellation suits you well. William's voice, his drawl, in her ear. God, she'd done those things - not only with William, but with Harry and with Banastre. Who would be the next? Just line them up, she could take one after another just as Electa did. As her stomach churned with self-disgust, her mind whirled with questions and doubts. Would Harry ask about her marriage? Did he know how it had failed? Would he rejoice? All of this made her think of William and her heart clenched as though seized by a fist. Her eyes stung and she struggled not to weep - unable to deny it to herself any longer.

She missed him, and had been missing him for a very long time. She felt Mrs. Garland's fingers close over hers, her midwife might not know everything, nor could she know the turmoiled train of Beth's thoughts, but she did sense Beth's uneasiness, her distress. Beth did not dare confide to the woman that she still loved and longed for William, for Mrs. Garland would seize on such a confession and use it as a bludgeon to browbeat Beth in to returning to William.

And that, Beth would never do, no matter how she missed him.

Still, her defences were down, they had been crumbling for days now and she had no choice but to admit the truth, if only to herself. God, she loved him. It crashed over her, like the entire sea had suddenly been lifted to the sky and then dropped on her head. Swamping her, drowning her. William. She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut, and tried to still her racing heart. It tried to pound right through her chest. Her eyes burned and she was wiping at her cheeks, until Nancy handed her a handkerchief.

Would Harry rejoice, would he take pleasure in learning she'd lost William, the man she'd loved instead of Harry? She did not think she could bear the taunting in his eyes.

"They're celebrating," Mrs. Garland said, gazing out the window on the other side. "Isn't it strange? Such a contrast. A far cry from Tarleton's camp, where everyone was angry, stricken, wounded… Here - look at these fellows," she finished, jutting her chin. Beth finally opened her eyes; sniffling, she wiped them again, hoped the tears would stop coming. Mrs. Garland was right, the men here were more than pleased, they caroused and cavorted as they marched, slapped one another on the backs, happy to be alive, overjoyed at their victory. Only a few wore slings to cradle a wounded arm, bandages around their foreheads, only a couple were trying to hobble along on a crutch. This was what it was to be the victor of a great battle. Not far in the distance, were the guarded prisoners. Lord, there were so many of them, trudging along and looking dejected. Loyalists, regulars, Officers, all lost to Banastre's folly.

The carriage continued onward. She saw one of Miller's men go on ahead and dread filled her heart; she knew he was going on to find Burwell and announce her presence. At least Harry would have some time to prepare himself; the Lord knew, she'd needed that herself. Not that it'd helped her much. She stared hard at where Miller's man had gone, and eventually she saw Gabriel waiting beside a tree, a grim look on his face.

"He's alive," she whispered, joy flooding her heart. But that face, oh, he did not look well pleased at all.

"Who, oh, is that your brother?" Electa asked. "He's incredibly handsome," she said, gazing out the window at Gabriel.

"And he's incredibly married, as well," Beth said tartly.

"A rebuke, is it?" Electa purred. "Most men are married. Not incredibly so, though. How does one become incredibly married?"

"You know what I mean," Beth said. "Gods, this is not going to be easy."

"Did you imagine it would be?" Mrs. Garland asked. Beth sighed and shook her head. The carriage came to a stop, Gabriel came forward, he was greeting Mr. Scott and Mr. Danvers, he then greeted Mr. Miller.

"You have my heartfelt thanks," Beth heard Gabriel say. "For bringing my sister to me. The Martin's are in your debt."

"No trouble, Sir," Alby knuckled his forehead. "We need to report, Sir, can we do that with you?"

"No, I have pressing business," Gabriel caught Beth's eye through the window and she quaked. "Make your report to Lieutenant Goldwin, he will ensure I get it." With that, he was opening the door. "Sister," he said curtly, gesturing for her to step down. She drew a steady breath, then climbed out. She caught Drake Miller's curious gaze and she knew he was wondering at her less than warm reception. Would he learn the truth? Earlier, she'd resented the laughter in his eyes and the grin that had split his face in half. Now, she found herself melancholy, worried that she would never see either again. Not aimed at her, anyway.

And the rest of the Company. It was clear which rumour Danvers believed. Would he repeat it now, to these men? If he did, how quickly would gossip of her spread?

"Gabriel -"

"General Burwell is waiting to speak with you," Gabriel said, voice firm. She looked up at him but he looked away, not willing to meet her eyes. His meaning was clear; Burwell wanted to speak with her, but Gabriel himself did not.

"I just…" Lord, this was going to be harder than she'd ever imagined. "Wanted to make sure my women were looked after, if they could be given a hot meal, if it's at all possible."

Gabriel looked into the carriage, then he cast a nod toward the fellow behind him - indicating he should take the women in hand. "This way," he said to Beth. Beth heard a soft gasp and she lifted her eyes from the ground. Miller was starting at her with astonishment. Having already seen to the call of nature and having already climbed back into the carriage before he and his men had surrounded it, he had really only seen her from the shoulders up. He was staring at the tell tale roundness of her stomach, eyes wide, and she covered the bulge protectively. Somehow, he managed to make that astonished look also seem slightly outraged. Of course. He had been introduced to her as Miss Martin. And here she was, a good five months pregnant. His thoughts were writ across his face, clear as day - he assumed he had his answer for Gabriel's curt greeting, that she'd been indiscreet and had disgraced herself.

Well, he wasn't wrong.

Beth shot Mrs. Garland a worried look, as Mr. Danvers began to drive the carriage on. Gabriel placed a hand on her arm to pull her along, they soon reached the tent and he left her there. Just left her. Without a word, he lifted the tent flap, gestured curtly for her to enter, then he let it fall back down - with himself on the outside. He wasn't even going to stay and speak with her. She did not have long to dwell on this, for there was Burwell, he towered over her, a deep scowl etching his features. All she could think of just then, however, was how little he'd aged. There were seats, two of them, but as he had made no move to sit, neither did she.

"Things did not end well for us, Mrs. Tavington," Harry began without preamble. "But I had no idea you that you had so little respect for me, so little regard, that you would send your… lover," he hissed the word down into her face and she blanched back a little, "to face me in battle, with my own wedding gift carrying him!"

"Oh, no, Harry," she gasped, her fingers twisting. It hadn't occurred to her that he might think she'd been in on Banastre's foul plan and it left her feeling sick to her stomach, that he did. "It was not like that at all!"

"Banastre Tarleton, my enemy, pranced Shadow Dancer back and forth along his front line, making certain I saw!"

"He is a bastard," she spat, furious and desperate to be believed all at once. "He has done so many unforgivable things, the list is as long as my arm but his use of Shadow Dancers was the worst of them all." He lifted his head, eyes still wary but now also showing slight confusion. He studied her face as she rushed to explain, "I did not give Shadow Dancer to him. I swear it, I vow on my honour." A strong oath, in the ordinary course of things, one that would immediately remove any doubt that the speaker was telling the truth. But did Beth have any honour left to swear on? She hoped he wasn't asking himself the same and she hurried on, not wanted to see the question flare across his face. "I did not know that he took her until he came back from the battle and told me that she… Lord, that she perished on the battlefield," reaching blindly behind her for the chair, she sat heavily."I wanted to curl my fingers around his throat," she hissed, balling the fingers of both hands into two hard fists. She waited for the quivering to stop and the rage to pass. Imploring, she continued earnestly, "you think low of me now, for everything I've done these last months; I know you do. But please, don't ever think I let him take her. I would never disrespect you so, I'd never… collude… in a plot that would see you taunted. And I would never, for any reason, ever send my beautiful baby into a nightmare!" She choked off, Shadow Dancer's death striking her all over again. She did not fight the sharp and sudden pain in her chest as she imagined her horse, struggling for air, suddenly drop dead beneath the man who'd ridden her to exhaustion. Beth let herself feel the agony without trying to restrain it; Shadow Dancer deserved that much. Harry was staring at her with a stunned expression, lips slightly parted, eyes wide. He had believed it, he'd truly believed that she'd plotted with Banastre against him. She shook her head, expelled a breath. "I would never move against you like that," she said, feeling weak to her bones. "But if you don't believe that, at least believe that I would never have put my horse in harms way. When I found out," she cut short, her fingers curling again, her lips becoming two thin lines. Quietly, "what he did to her… She is half the reason I left him."

Harry pulled the other chair closer, set it down in front of her. He sat stiffly, elbows on knees, not quite ready to trust just yet. His face did soften, though. Slightly.

"And the other half?" He asked her, then made a guess. "What he did to your father?"

"No," she shook her head. "If father had been part of the reason, I would have left Banastre weeks ago. You might not agree but frankly, papa chose to be a soldier and soldiers die. Or they get captured. Father would have done the same to Banastre, given the chance. Don't look at me like that, you know it's the truth. You are all making your choices and at least Banastre has done what he can for father, to ensure his every comfort. At least I do not have to worry about him, I know that he is safe. He is being treated gently and is cared for and, well this is war and…" She cocked her head, noticing the slight recoil and the shock that now gaped from his face. "What is it?"

"Treated gently?" Harry asked, incredulous. "His every comfort ensured? Is that what he told you? That your father is being cared for."

"Yes," Beth breathed the word out slowly with growing horror. Yes, Banastre had said those things, he'd promised them. And she'd just believed him. How much of a fool was she? "Isn't he?" She whispered.

"Of course not!" Harry said, throwing his arms wide. His warm hands enveloped her cold fingers, as if to give comfort while passing awful news. "Your father is being kept in some ramshackle building that has more holes in the walls and roof than not and there isn't even a fire to keep him warm. I doubt he even has a bed!"

Something broke. Deep inside her, at the discovery of yet another lie, another betrayal, something broke. The stool threatened to collapse beneath her as she bowed her head and began to weep. All these lies and at the centre of it all, there was Beth, believing every thing Banastre told her. It was like a cold hand, gripping her stomach and her heart, taking her breath with every sob. Harry was sitting near enough, his knees almost touching hers, all he had to do was lean forward. She felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her closer. Her head on his chest, her fingers clung to his jacket.

"I'm so, so stupid," she whispered when she was finally able to. Worse than stupid. And she'd done it all to herself. She could feel Harry shaking his head, but how could he possibly deny this? Her gullibility? "It's winter," she whispered, worry for her father blooming through the self pity and guilt. "And he doesn't even have a fire?"

"No," Harry confirmed. "I believe he is given a ration once a day but if I wagered that the ration consisted of stale bread and thin broth, I'd likely win."

"He said he was looking after him," she said into Harry's Blue coat. "He said he'd spoken with Cornwallis on my father's behalf."

"Was that before boasting his capture or after?"

Beth heaved a sigh. "I believed him. I can not believe that I believed him."

"You didn't want to worry about your father," Harry said. "You did not want to feel guilty for staying with the man who captured him. So you didn't question it."

It was an accusation, one she was guilty of. Nodding, she drew back, unable to look at Harry in the eye. She was too ashamed. He handed her a kerchief and even after wiping her eyes and face and nose, she still could not look at him. She'd believed because she'd wanted to believe it. Because acknowledging the truth would have driven her away from Banastre weeks ago, at a time when she felt she'd needed him most. He could do no wrong, not even capturing her father could send her from him.

"If your father is not it, tell me, what is the other half of the reason?" Harry asked when the silence stretched. Beth dropped her head back and stared at the canvas ceiling, fingers clutching the handkerchief.

"I left William because I thought he was having an affair," she said, meeting his gaze at last, seeing the look that crossed his face at the mention of her husband's name. Well, it was as hard for her to say it, as if was for him to hear it. "And I left Banastre because I discovered he'd known almost from the first, that William wasn't." Harry frowned and she realised she had some explaining to do, no matter how little either of them liked it. She found herself being brutally honest, flinching only slightly when she began to speak of becoming drunk while Henrietta Rutledge was locked away upstairs, of inviting Banastre into her chamber, when he came to bid her a good night. She felt Harry stiffen and saw the look on his face and she knew that he could not possibly love her any more, not after hearing all this. Her liaisons had not begun when she left William, they'd begun before she'd even married him. "He beat me for that, William did," she said in a faraway voice she wasn't even sure belonged to her. It was as though she were off in some dream, disconnected from the conversation even though it was her doing the talking."For lying to him. Or rather, for not telling him I'd already laid with another man. But what was I expected to do?" She laughed, there was no humour in it. "Standing in that church with Bordon towering over me and William at my side and his men all around us. Was I supposed to say 'oh, I do have something to declare'. Gods, he would have beaten me then," she paused, adding, "though in truth, I'd only delayed the inevitable." Her voice became matter of fact, as though she were looking at someone else's life, at someone else's shortcomings, and was able to ask 'well what did you expect?' "And what did William expect?" She asked Harry. "I knew about Linda, I've known about her all along. When I saw them together, was I supposed to believe him when he said he'd been true to me since our wedding? Especially when Miss Cordell told me Linda had been boasting to her about screwing William again. How was I to know Linda was lying to Miss Cordell? She kissed him, right there in front of the tent, and she held his hand. Oh, the look she gave me, this little smile I wish I could wipe from her face, little victorious grin… Gods, was I truly going to believe his word over all that? After he told me he'd expelled her from camp and yet there she was, right there under my nose? With her bearing a different name so I wouldn't suspect who she truly was, and with him making house calls? Tent calls. I was meant to believe him, was I? Why would I have believed anything that came from his mouth when he was helping to hide her from me?" She shook her head. "Though as it turned out, he was telling the truth. I could have given him a fair hearing… Could have stopped to consider that perhaps Linda was lying to Miss Cordell to save face. But I just… I was so crazed. He'd put me through so much with that bitch of a woman…" She paused, drew a ragged breath. She should not be talking like that. Aunt Charlotte would never speak like that. "I'm sorry," she said. Harry's face was pale, drained of all colour, he was looking quite horrified. And not because Beth had cursed and called another woman a bitch. "You think I'm a whore, don't you?" She asked him. His blind eyes focused on her. "Don't worry," she reassured him. "So do I."

And with that she buried her face in her hands and was weeping again. It was a while before she felt his strong arms come around her shoulders, he'd hesitated this time and she didn't blame him at all.

"I think you're a very confused young woman who has been dragged to hell and back by those shameless scoundrels; I don't think you're a whore. Having said that," he said into her hair. "You have made some decisions that I most certainly disapprove."

Was this to be her only rebuke? She felt his fingers moving up and down her spine, comforting her even as he censured her. As far as condemnations went, this one was fairly light; she doubted it would go so easily if she ever came face to face with her father again. She lifted her head, blinked up at him. He coughed, let his hands fall, and looked away. His jaw worked, there was conflict in his eyes and intuition warned her that there was more to come, after all. When it did, his voice was harsh.

"I loved you, Beth. So damned much."

It stung, hearing that declaration made in the past tense. Why should it sting so? Would she prefer that he love her and carry his heartache 'til his dying day? To carry that painful torch for her forever… She should be pleased he'd spoken in the past tense, relieved that he was not pining for her, no longer in pain. Still… "And now?" She found herself asking - like a greedy child wanting all the candy - she knew she was being selfish, yet still… "Do you not love me at all? Do you feel nothing, now?"

He blew out a breath, squeezed his eyes shut. His lips moved, as if in prayer.

"I keep it at bay most days. But having you here before me… so close I can draw in your scent and breathe your air. I feel like my heart is being clawed from my chest," he admitted, eyes closed. He still loved her and she hated herself for the wave of satisfaction that washed over her. Selfish, selfish, selfish! He should find another love, marry, be happy. What sort of awful person was she becoming?

"I'm sorry," she said, contrite. "I should not have wrung that from you. It was wrong of me. Selfish - I just, needed to hear it, needed to know that someone still cares. I apologise."

"Don't," he said. Don't apologise. "I do not blame you, not for everything. I was at fault too." He sighed, the silence stretched. And then, "why did you do it Beth?" He asked, his heart in his voice. "I understand you leaving Tavington, I truly do. But you could have gone to Mrs. Selton, you could have gone anywhere! It's bad enough that you married Tavington but then you become some other man's mistress? Colonel Tarleton's mistress?" He looked very much like a man trying to understand her, the woman he'd once loved. The woman he loved still. But how could she explain when she barely understood herself? She'd already explained about seeing William with Linda but even that had seemed a thin excuse to leave her husband for another man, even to her. She had left him, without giving him the fair hearing which, as it turned out, he had deserved. Why had she left William for Banastre?

"He beat me," she whispered, voice haunted. Harry already knew this, too, but he could not have known how helpless she'd felt during, and how that helplessness had affected her. "I know that he was angry because I wasn't a virgin. But he lied about things too, he helped to hide her, right under my nose. Yet he just… threw me over the bed and held me down and strapped my rump with his belt. I know, I did wrong. I did. But still… Lord, he lied too! He might not have been having the affair I was told he was having, but he did lie. And he went to such lengths to keep her safe and hidden. He was angry when each month passed and I kept getting my menses, he wanted me to give him a child. He'd made me the Matron of the camp followers, but when the time came for him to hide Linda, he couldn't have me going down there anymore. So he used my lack of pregnancy as an excuse to keep me away. I needed to rest, he said. He forbade me from going down to the camp for I was under too much stress, which is why I hadn't conceived. But that wasn't it at all. He just didn't want me to discover his precious Linda. He lied - and it was a brutal, awful lie, preying on my worries of not conceiving! Yet could I beat him? No. I got a couple good slaps in and that was all," she recalled now and the memory still rankled. "If I'd been as strong as him, I could have beaten him. Just held him down and used my belt on him, for all the lies he'd told. But could I? No. I don't have the strength. But he does. Oh, yes, he does. So he gets to beat me raw and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. I think… I think that was the real reason I stayed with Colonel Tarleton. You're right, I could have gone anywhere when I left. Instead, I became another man's mistress. I think… maybe I knew it would hurt William as deeply as the beating had hurt me. He gave me the beating that I felt he deserved but was not strong enough to deliver. Now that I know the truth, I have no choice but to admit that my transgression was the greater. Still, if I'd hidden an old beau in William's camp, even if I wasn't bedding him, the result would have been the same. The frustration… I got a prodigious punishment and he got away with nothing more than a few slaps across the face."

"You stayed with Tarleton because you wanted to cause Tavington as much pain as he'd caused you?" Harry asked, looking stunned, shocked.

"I don't know. I think so? And because I wasn't thinking," she said. "You weren't there, you can't know. I was out of my mind. Crazed. Mrs. Garland says it's because I was already with child. Women can become entirely unreasonable and God knows, I was that day. If I'd been at all rational, I would have let him explain, like I said. I would have questioned Miss Cordell, I might have discovered she'd been lied to. But to be honest," she laughed softly, a weak thing, as if she were tired of it all. "I didn't want yet another explanation. I was so sick and tired of it by then. Things had been so good between us - except for me not conceiving - and I felt as though our happiness had all been a lie. Our troubles from the city were still with us after all, and I was just so damned tired of it. I didn't want to be convinced, yet again, of his innocence, I didn't want to foolishly believe him all over again. So I left him," she said, head bowed, eyes fixed on her hands in her lap. "And I believed Banastre's lies instead." The silence stretched, she could feel sympathy coming from Harry like a warm, wonderful wave. Knowing that he felt low of her and despising it, she said, "I regret my actions. The shame I bought upon myself. On my family. I regret it all, so very much."

"Do you regret leaving Tavington?" Burwell asked, and Beth could hear something strange in his voice. Jealousy?

"No," she said, voice firm. "Not that. I did wrong, I know I did. But so did he," she held Harry's gaze until he nodded. "I don't regret leaving him. I regret that I…" it was hard to say, to admit, her voice came out strangled. "That I… shared quarters… with Banastre." Please, let it lie at that, she thought; Burwell was a gentleman, he understood that she was trying to save face and he allowed it without correcting her. "That, I never should have done. I could have travelled with him a time, until I was able to find my way to Gullah. I didn't have to… I should never have become his mistress. That is what I regret. The way I conducted myself with Banastre, and the shame I've bought myself and my family." She paused, tears welling, eyes burning. "Again."

"You've made your mistakes," he said softly. "But at least you're willing to admit them."

"Yes," she said, knowing that admitting her mistakes did little to mitigate her actions. But Burwell was a gentleman and she was grateful to him all the same. Still, it was more than Banastre was able to do. That man would go to his grave thinking he was right in his every deed, his every decision. At least she did not suffer from that particular failing. "No matter how difficult it is, at least I can admit when I'm wrong…"

"As can I," he said, taking hold of her hands again. She looked at him in askance, he was not meeting her eyes though, he was staring at their joined hands. "I should have married you," he whispered. "When I had the chance." She averted her gaze, agreeing wholeheartedly. "And not only because I had the chance," he amended, "but because of the… the things that passed between us. I should not have rushed away from Pembroke as I did. I abandoned you, and after doing the things we did together… I should have married you. I've disgraced your father as much as -" he cut short.

"As much as I have?" She asked, broken.

"I didn't mean -"

"Yes, you did. That's precisely what you meant. Don't worry, I agree. I've disgraced my father, his name, our family."

"As have I. I must own to a measure of the blame. I failed you, I failed us both." She cocked her head questioningly and he explained, "you were an innocent girl once, and that innocent girl - whom I proposed marriage to - did her utmost to protect me. You put your own self in danger, to do it."

She did not argue, she did not defend him to make him feel better, for it was the simple truth. "When it came down to it, it was as though none of that even mattered, all my efforts to protect you in the city were for nothing when you found out what I'd done with William," she shrugged, "and who could blame you? I did do the wrong thing by you. I wasn't faithful. I should not have… entertained the suit… of another man when I knew I'd soon be engaged to you," she'd hedged quite a bit just now, and she hoped he would let her get away with whitewashing her sins. 'Entertaining the suit' of Tavington - she'd been intimate with William, kissing him, pleasuring him, accepting pleasure in turn… she'd done far worse than 'entertain his suit'. Again, Burwell was nothing if not a gentleman, he did not confront her with her sins.

"We were both at fault," he said, taking his measure of the blame and allowing her hers. He gave her fingers a squeeze.

"How much less complicated would our lives be now," she mused wistfully, "if we'd both done as my father wished? Set aside all that anger and blame… and just married one another," she wondered what it would have been like, to have actually married Harry Burwell. He never would have taken his belt to her, that was for certain. Then again, who knew? History might have repeated itself, but with Harry instead of with William, for she'd already given her virginity to Banastre by the time her father begged Harry that second time, to marry her. If Harry had agreed, her father would have arranged to have the wedding immediately, no waiting. And - again - she never would have dared reveal that she'd lost her virginity to Banastre. If Harry had found out months later, just as William had - perhaps then she might have seen an entirely different Harry Burwell. Perhaps he would have beaten her at that.

"You say that as though you regret your choice," Harry asked, feigning a casualness he clearly did not feel. "Do you truly wish you'd married me instead of him?"

"I don't know," she replied. "We're not happy… neither of us are." She squeezed her eyes shut while admitting this - not wanting to see the pleasure cross his face - the triumph.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said and when she opened her eyes, she saw none of the triumph she'd been expecting. He looked at her gravely, taking no joy in her pain. "I'm told most marriages suffer in the first year before getting better. Perhaps yours is the same."

"I don't think so. Not after I ran off with… well, not after everything that has happened these last few months," she whispered.

"Yes, well," Harry heaved a breath and she regretted reminding him of whose bed she'd been sharing more recently. She expected he would close to her again now. "That will certainly have an… injurious… effect on your marriage."

"It doesn't matter, I won't be going back to him anyway," she said, eyes lowered. She had no intention of returning to William, she'd never see him again, she was going to live with Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mage and that was an end to it. Perhaps she would eventually find a reverend willing to call her marriage over, and they could both be free to live their lives happily until the end. Though in truth, Beth didn't think she would marry again even if she were free to. She'd been with three men, that was enough and too much for any woman of supposed virtue. "I just want to live a quiet life now, no more excitement. I was thinking that Mrs. Selton might be feeling the same, considering…" Did Harry know about Charlotte and Bordon? She had no idea and she wasn't going to be the one to reveal it. "I should have gone straight to her when I left Fresh Water, but better late than never. I thought we could live together alone someplace, a few servants, some quiet farmhouse near a small settlement. Maybe even up here in Grindal Shoals… I know people who live here."

"You do, do you?"

"Well, not personally. They're my friends parents. I'd like to try to find them, they must be dying for news of their daughter and I received a letter from her recently." Begging Beth to understand, pleading with her to forgive her and to be her friend again. Beth felt wretched, what she wouldn't give to have Harmony in front of her that very moment, she wanted nothing more than to apologise, for most of what had occurred between them was her own fault. She wished she could reassure Harmony of this. She wished they could reconcile, that things between them would be as they had been before.

"So I am not to send you back to your husband?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. He looked quite pleased about this - not gloating as she'd expected, just pleased that the woman he loved was not returning to his rival.

"No. I would like to go to Gullah. That's where I was heading when Mr. Miller found me. I have not seen Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mage for so long and the children are there also. It's safe there. Harry, I have been thinking, I've got it all worked out. Mr. Danvers and Mr. Scott want to stay with you, now that we're all here. And it's going to be too dangerous for me to attempt to reach Gullah on my own, the way things are now. But Mrs. Farshaw, it's her parents I was speaking of, they live not far from here. Perhaps you could take me there. It'd be safe there, I could stay with them until the armies have passed and the threat of brigands is gone. Then, Mrs. Garland and my other women could begin making our way down to Gullah, to my aunts. I'd only have to stay with the Jutland's for a week or so, before the armies are all gone. I just need your help with finding the Jutland's, please?"

"I don't know. Well, I could help you find your friend's parents but I don't know about you going all the way to Gullah on your own. I doubt it'll be all that safe even after our armies have passed; it's a hell of a long way, Beth," he rubbed his chin, seeming to not notice the casual ease between them, the sort of relaxing that only came from heartfelt explanations and admissions of guilt. She rejoiced, seeing it as a sign that they had taken the first steps to repairing the damage between them.

"And not where Beth is going in any case." The tent flap lifted and Gabriel strode into the tent. Beth and Harry jerked away from one another, as if sitting so close and holding hands was something to be guilty of. From the withering stare Gabriel gave them both, he certainly seemed to think it was. Beth wasn't sure if it was the tent flap lifting that let in the sudden gush of winter, or if it was Gabriel himself who was making her feel so cold. Beth pulled her cape closer around her shoulders and leaned back from Harry, who was doing the same. She wondered how long Gabriel had been standing outside the tent. He had let her in, had he stayed there the entire time? Had he heard everything she and Harry had said? Gods, had he heard her confess to Burwell that she hadn't been a virgin before marrying William? Heat flared over her cheeks, they were blazing red. "Father has made his intentions very clear, Beth. You will return to your husband."

Beth's face drained of colour. "Gabriel, I -"

"No. No more from you. No excuses, no defiance," Gabriel curled his lip. "You've bought our family to the brink of disaster. You've bought yourself to the brink of disaster. No more. You are going to stay put, with me watching your every damned move and when father gets here, he will decide your fate. Do not doubt it, Beth. You will be returned to William. After everything you have done, what you want will no longer be taken into consideration."

His speech left Beth gaping. With another swirl of the tent flap, he was gone as quickly as he'd entered. Beth turned her horrified eyes onto Burwell, hoping to find her salvation there. He despised that she was with William, surely he would do what he could to help her, to prevent her returning? Burwell averted his conflicted gaze and she knew, in that moment, that he would not.

To William. Gods, they were going to take her to William. Her husband. The man she loved. The man who'd beaten her. Air. It was only then, when her lungs began to scream, that she realised she'd been holding her breath. For what? For Burwell to act? For Gabriel to return, to tell her it was a mistake? A joke? She drew in raggedly, sharply, then rose unsteadily to her feet.

"If you'll excuse me," she whispered, already stumbling toward the entrance.