Chapter 141 - At Beattie's Ford:

"May I speak frankly, Mrs. Tavington?" Mrs. Garland asked, looking more serious than Beth had ever seen her. Beth pulled her shift down and stepped away from her kneeling midwife, who had just that moment finished an examination of Beth's distended stomach. There was plenty of movement within her body, her child's way of letting them all know that he, or she, was alive and well, despite the rigours Beth was forced to put her body too. The constant travel and fear might cause their toll on someone older, but Beth was young and healthy.

"When don't you speak frankly, Mrs. Garland?" Beth asked, trying for levity. The woman was staring up at her, face grave. It couldn't be anything bad, not regarding her pregnancy anyway.

"In this, you might prefer that I keep my thoughts to myself," Mrs. Garland said wryly, moving to stand.

Nancy helped Beth to pull on a robe, then the women took seats before the fire. It was damned cold outside, with an icy rain that left a chill in the soul. Luckily for Beth, Burwell had found a house for her to spend the night, and had hired for her the chamber that he - as General - should have taken for himself. It had given Beth and the women some much needed time in the warm and dry. They'd slept three to the bed - God knew where Electa had spent the night, for Beth did not. The rain had lashed the windows something fierce all night, but had finally died down to a dull patter come dawn. It would pass over completely soon, leaving the ground a muddy mire. The rivers had swollen to the point that Cornwallis, who was pursuing slowly, could not hope to match their pace in order to catch up.

Thanking Nancy for the warm milk she was now taking from her maid's hand, Beth spent a moment dwelling on the day ahead and the very real possibility that she would be back in a tent that night, before setting such frets aside and inclining her head toward Mrs. Garland, encouraging her to continue.

"Frankly. Um. Yes," Mrs. Garland began, looking oddly nervous. Then she straightened her spine and looked Beth dead in the eyes. "It is not seemly, how much time you are spending with General Burwell."

Beth hesitated, taken completely by surprise. Mrs. Garland looked very much like a woman who'd unburdened herself of heavy thoughts, both relieved and wary at once.

"I'm not having an affair with him, if that is what you're implying," Beth said.

"Of course you are not," Mrs. Garland said with so much emphasis, Beth knew the woman believed her and wasn't just saying it. "However, it is clear to me that others are not so certain. Do you not see the looks you're getting?"

Oh, Beth had seen the looks. Her face flamed red and she buried it in her cup of warm milk. Mrs. Tavington, escorted by Alby Scott and Adam Danvers, picked up by one of Burwell's scouting troops in the middle of no-where. There was a story there that the men could only guess at. What was Colonel Tavington's wife doing wandering about a countryside torn by war? Pregnant, and calling herself Miss Martin? She'd become the second most talked about topic, after the victory at the Cowpens. The gossip swirling around her was rife; there were soldiers in the army who'd served under Burwell for years, who already knew of Beth disgracing herself with Tavington in the Simms' manor house while she'd still been engaged to Burwell. Those men were not likely to keep her dishonour to themselves, especially not with her mysterious and sudden appearance, and with her married to the man she'd debased herself with. They might never learn of her affair with Colonel Tarleton - they did not need to learn of that for them to despise her, they hated her already.

Burwell's soldiers detested her. And his Officers… She shuddered, wincing as she remembered their disdain. None of them would look her in the eye. It was always with curled lip and nose in the air that they passed her by. The times they sat to dine with her, they let her know in subtle ways that her presence in their company was not welcome. They accepted Burwell's invitations because to refuse would offend their General. But not a single one of them relished being in the same space with her. None spoke to her, unless at absolute need. 'Pass the salt, please, Mrs. Tavington.' No attempt to engage in conversation, which they surely would have done, had they not considered her to be a fallen woman.

"I've seen," Beth said, wishing she hadn't. Ever.

"So you understand my concern."

"I… think I do. I… well, not entirely. I'm not getting those looks because I am spending time with Harry, Mrs. Garland. I would have been getting them even if he wasn't here. They know that I was unfaithful to Harry while we were engaged," Beth whispered. "They know I've done wrong to a man they love, with a man they hate. That's more than enough for them."

"You're wrong right now," Mrs. Garland sat back in her chair, hands across her stomach, feet to the fire. Her eyes never left Beth's face. "Yes, they do know you've done wrong. But there's more to it than that. You are the wife of an enemy Colonel and therefore not to be trusted -"

"Except her father is who he is. Her brothers, too," Nancy said. "Should balance out, ain't?"

"Her brother isn't speaking to her, hasn't spoken to her since we arrived. That tells the soldiers that Mrs. Tavington's own family disapprove of her. So. At the very best, Mrs. Tavington is the wife of an enemy Colonel," Mrs. Garland repeated, as if she hadn't wanted to lose the flow of her sentence. "And at the very worst, in addition to being Tavington's wife and unfaithful to Burwell while she was engaged, she is also now an adulteress who doesn't know who fathered her child." Mrs. Garland leaned forward. Beth's fingers were a death grip on the glass.

"I… I don't think they know of that, and they might not ever learn of it," Beth licked her lips. "Alby Scott and Adam Scott Danvers, they didn't know for certain themselves. And even if they did, I don't think they'd spread the gossip from Tarleton's camp. For my father's sake, I'm sure they won't say anything. "

"I agree, I doubt the army knows. Yet," Mrs. Garland said. "But General Burwell knows the truth. That is why you should not spend so much time in his company."

"I fail to -"

"Because you are being dense. No - you told me to speak frankly and so I shall. Child," her voice warmed, lost its edge, became placating, as if she were begging Beth - a stubborn lass - to understand her reasoning. "You are an adulteress, you have shared the bed of a man not your husband. There is no denying it, you have done these things. And Burwell knows it. Which could give Burwell - a gentleman, I am sure, but one that is clearly still in love with you - incorrect expectations of you. It might bring hope you would do those things again. With him."

"No - I… No, he wouldn't disrespect me so…" Beth trailed off, realising how ridiculous that sounded. When they were engaged, they had been indiscreet with one another. Now she was fallen, it stood to reason that Burwell might want to be indiscreet again. Respect - or lack-there-of - had nothing to do with it. Respect was not much of a bulwark against naked desire. He could love her. He could respect her. But if she'd offered it, he'd wouldn't hesitate to fuck her.

"There are all sorts of rumours flying around about you. Would you like to know the latest, the one I heard of you this morning?"

"I'm not sure I do," Beth said in a small voice.

"The men believe that Burwell has taken a lover. Can you guess who -"

"Sweet Lord," Beth ran a tired hand over her eyes. She heaved a breath, slumped in her chair. "Madness. I'm not bedding him."

"I know you're not. But those men out there - they don't know it. They think you are. And you being who you are - I'm speaking of you being the wife of an enemy and the daughter of their highly respected Colonel - and they think you are bedding their General. That does not bode well for either of you. General Burwell is losing the respect of his men, Mrs. Tavington. Don't you see how you could bring him down with you?"

Beth sniffed back the wetness trickling down her nose and rubbed at flooding eyes.

"Are you asking me to give up my only friend, Mrs. Garland?"

"Yes, Mrs. Tavington. I am," Mrs. Garland said.

A sob burst from Beth's chest. She felt the glass being removed from her fingers - Nancy, afraid Beth might drop it. Beth bit her lip until it hurt so much it almost replaced the pain in her heart. She could see it as Mrs. Garland could. She did not want to ruin Harry. And if she continued to spend so much time with him, ruin him she would. She was done with being selfish. She would not drag her only friend down with her. She nodded.

"Alright," she said, sniffing again and wiping her nose and her eyes.

"No more dining with him," Mrs. Garland said. "Breakfast, lunch, dinner…" She trailed off, shaking her head. Every meal, every stop. Every spare moment, Harry Burwell sought Beth out.

"He will be here soon, I suppose. I will tell him I have a headache. Or… hell, maybe I should just tell him the truth. God, how galling. That keeping company with me could bring him to ruin. Fallen woman that I am." Another sob escaped before she could reign her emotions in. Fact was, her destruction was her own fault, there was no point wallowing in self pity. She would take the high road now, acknowledge that she had indeed ruined herself, and do what she could to prevent Burwell being ruined alongside her.

It proved harder than she thought, trying to keep away from him. Initially, he left her alone, when Nancy told him of her 'headache'. But it was clear he needed to see her, was desperate to show her something. He continually returned to her chamber, asking to see her, asking if her headache was gone. He had a surprise for her. Couldn't she not manage just one, short walk? They would be leaving shortly, setting out from the small settlement, constantly on the move to keep ahead of Cornwallis' laborious pursuit.

"Dear Lord," Beth said, her head in her hands. She was sitting on the end of her bed, Mrs. Garland was standing by the fire, while her arms were folded across her chest, her face was not unsympathetic. "He is going to ride alongside the carriage again, anyway. What have I accomplished, trying to keep him away with my supposed headache?"

"The truth, then?" Mrs. Garland suggested.

"Yes. The truth. Will you send him in, Nancy?"

"You will do no such thing," Mrs. Garland said, seizing Nancy's arm. Beth understood immediately - having General Burwell in her bed chamber would not redeem him in the eyes of his men and Officers. Not even slightly. "You will go for this short walk - this one last time. See what this surprise is, accept it if it is not… unseemly. And tell him then. No more walks. No more solitary dinners. No more forcing you into the company of his Officers for the same. No more riding alongside the carriage. You tell him straight: you are going to distance yourself, for his own good. If you don't mind the suggestion."

"No. That's a good way of putting it. Thank you," Beth stood, smoothed her skirts.

"Nancy, you go with her. We'll be leaving soon, I'll stay here and pack," Mrs. Garland said.

Beth wondered if the older woman had made this offer just to stay by the fire for a bit longer. And she didn't blame her in the slightest. It was cold out, Nancy draped a heavy cape around Beth's shoulders, and she pulled gloves over her hands. A short while later, Beth was stepping out onto the porch, the cold air hitting her like a physical blow. Harry offered her his arm and she accepted it - the wooden steps looked awfully slippery and she was carrying a child, after all. Nancy followed close behind, as they began to pick their way across the muddy, churned ground.

When they were away from the house, she saw Beard Face, or more correctly, Mr. Miller across the churned up road. He glanced over at her, paused with a look of horrified recognition. He'd looked conflicted for a moment, as if uncertain how to act. He knew her now, she was not a stranger to him. Decorum dictated that he tip his hat and incline his head, even ask her how she fared.

But she'd gone from innocent Miss Martin, to pregnant Miss Martin, to pregnant Mrs. Tavington who'd one been engaged to General Burwell only to spurn him for, and act disgracefully with, Colonel Tavington during that engagement. Miller seemed to consider this all in that momentary glance; he jerked his gaze away and continued on walking.

Instead of giving her a polite greeting, he chose to ignore her entirely, turn on his heel, and walk away. He wasn't the first to have made this choice and he wouldn't be the last, the entire camp was shunning her in some way or other now. And they said its women who indulge in gossip. She hoped, prayed, that the soldiers and Officers did not lose respect for her father, because of her actions.

They might already losing respect for Harry.

"Where are we going?" She asked, not quite ready to face the discussion that needed to be had.

"There is somewhere I'd like to take you," Harry said.

"Oh? Is this place outside of the camp, perhaps?" She asked, keeping her voice light and teasing. It took a great effort. "Do you have a company of soldiers who will spirit me away to Gullah, so I won't have to return to my husband?" Harry knew she did not want to go back to William; she'd spoken of little else, when the two were truly alone, with no one else to hear her.

"Is that what you want?" Harry asked, slowing her right there, in middle of the road, his arm pulling in to squeeze her fingers gently. He gazed down at her, she could see the conflict cross his face. "I would lose your father's friendship forever," he said.

"It was a jest, Harry. A poor one, but a jest at that. I would not place you in that position for all the world. And I don't believe I'll ever dare to defy my family ever again." She was terrified enough of the interview to come with her father - how worse would it be, if she tried to make a run for it before he even arrived? No. Her days of running were over and done with.

"Good," he said, and they continued to walk. "For a moment there, I was tempted to run off with you to Virginia."

She glanced up at him, his tone was light but there was a look about him… "You say that like you're joking, but I don't think you are." Lord, Mrs. Garland was right. She was completely, utterly right.

He clenched his jaw, then swallowed hard. "Your father's friendship means the world to me. But I'd give him over in a heart beat."

"I won't become another man's mistress," she whispered. "Not ever again."

"Well. It'd only be until I killed Tavington, and then you'd be free to marry me," he said, and this time she could tell he was jesting. Or at least half jesting.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "I don't think I'd make you a very good wife. Look at how your men look at me. They might never know about Colonel Tarleton and I, but they do know I've been up to no good with Colonel Tavington in the city while I was engaged to you. They have a very poor opinion of me and the longer we spend in one another's company, the more they are starting to think lowly of you, too."

"They wouldn't dare -"

"It's not a thing you can will away with stubbornness," she interrupted him. "You are the Commander, you must be above reproach. And the more time you spend with me, the more tarnished your reputation becomes. You know this, Harry. It's partly why you didn't marry me in the first place." That shut him up, his lips became a thin line and his jaw worked. In that moment, they both remembered the conversations that had taken place so long ago. When Harry refused to marry Beth, because she'd fooled around with Tavington. He'd refused to marry her not only because she'd betrayed him, her fiancé, but because he'd known how it would reflect upon him, taking such a woman as his wife. "All that you said then, it was true," Beth pressed on; she was not angry, she was simply trying to reach him. Trying to make him see. "It's coming to pass, right here, right now. You are losing your respectability, because of me. And we're not even married!" She said emphatically. "Think how much worse it'll be, if we were! Lord, look at that - the scowls from your Officers - that's what you'd have to put up with, for the rest of your life." He did look, and he glared when he saw several of his Officers were staring with profound disapproval. She hadn't meant to throw them under the carriage just now, but she would not waste the perfect opportunity to press her point. They hopped to it, those two Officers, the General's glare sent them scarpering. "It doesn't change what they're thinking. And it won't be that easy," she warned, her eyes fixed on the Bluecoats damned near running away. "When we're sitting in church and the good-wives are scowling at our backs because you married a fallen woman and dared to bring her to their community. They won't leap to obey at a glare from you and nor will they run away. For your own sake, we need to spend less time with one another, Harry. And you need to stop this talk of us being together. Our opportunity has come and it has gone, we both squandered it and we'll both have to live with it. I'll always think fondly of you, though," she smiled up at him to take the sting from her words. "I'm so glad I have these days to make things right with you."

"Me too," he said, staring down at her. "Me too. I'll always regret, however."

"And I'll always wonder," she said. He looked at her in askance. "What it would have been like, to marry a true gentleman," she finished and he gave her a sad smile. "I think we would have been happy."

"I know we would have been," he replied.

"You understand then? Why we must spend less time together?" She asked and his expression became as stubborn as a mule. "Harry…"

"I know what you are saying, I see it for myself. I have eyes, lass, and I've been on this earth far longer than you. You will be taken from me soon enough, however. I've given my all to this damned war and I've given all of myself to these damned men. I'll be damned if I can't have a little something for myself, and blast what those damned fops say. As if they are little innocents," he snorted and Beth wondered what his Officers had done, for him to say such thing. "I will not press you for more than you can reasonably give, Beth. But I will spend time with you, whether they," he nudged his chin toward his men. "Like it or not."

Well. At least you warned him… Beth thought. And in truth, it suited her as well. She didn't want him ruined, but she hadn't been lying to him; these last few days had been healing in a way she had not expected. To make things right with at least one of the people she'd wronged had had a restorative affect, leaving her heart lighter for it. She wanted him to be light of heart also.

"I want you to find someone," she said impulsively, thinking that would be the best thing for him, the thing to lift his spirits. "Someone with an impeccable reputation, manners, conduct, virtue. I want you to find her, and I want you to fall in love with her, and marry her."

"Easier said than done, when my heart is already owned by another."

"At least one of us should be happy, Harry," she said. And it wasn't going to be her, she knew it in her marrow. "You've the rest of your days ahead of you, I'd have them be filled with joy and children and grand children."

"Lord, I don't have the energy for either," he laughed softly. "I'm an old man already."

"Hardly that," she said. "So. Where are you taking me?"

Harry had steered her off the road and into the trees, past the rows of soldiers tents to a grove where the horses were picketed.

"I don't like to see you so melancholy, Beth. Frankly, I'd like to see you smile again. A genuine, soulful smile, before your father arrives and takes you away from me," Harry said. "It is my very great pleasure, therefore, to present to you -"

"Shadow Dancer," Beth whispered, seeing her horse, the lead rope tied to a branch. She covered her mouth with her hands and stared, unable to fathom the sight before her. It was definitely her, no horse had markings like her girl.

"I did not want to give you false hope," he said in an apologetic voice. "Which is why I have not told you about her sooner until now. She was in a bad way when I had her bought off the battlefield. I'd seen that…" his voice hardened, "bastard on her and when I saw her fall, I made sure she was bought to me. I thought she was wounded, shot from under him. But it turned out it was exhaustion which had felled her. It also should have killed her, but I have an excellent groomsman, one who has bought back horses from the brink of death before. It was touch and go these last few days but just this morning, I was informed that she has passed the danger period and, although she is still quite weak, she will survive."

"Oh, Harry," without thinking, Beth threw her arms around his neck, she held on tightly and wept into his cravat. She felt him hesitate but his arms came around her back and he held her. "Thank you. Oh, Gods, thank you so much. Is she still mine?" She asked, drawing back slightly and meeting his gaze. "I won't hold it against you if you decide to keep her; as long as she's alright, I -"

"Gods, Beth, I wouldn't show her off to you if I meant to keep her for myself. I've wronged you but surely you know that I am not that cruel."

"I do know," she rested her head against his chest again and smiled, staring at her horse while still in the circle of Harry's arms. At length, she drew back again but she felt resistance when she went to step away. Harry was holding on to her, she smiled up at him and he eventually, reluctantly, let her go. Lifting her skirts, she stepped over twigs and dirt and horse manure, picking her way carefully to her horses side.

"Halloo, dear heart," she called and hearing her voice, the mare threw her head up and an explosion of sound burst from her flared nostrils, she pawed the ground with an excited hoof. "Oh, I know," Beth said, laughing and weeping at once as she reached up to rub Shadow Dancer's muzzle. "I missed you, too. Oh, I thought you were dead! He was awful, oh my poor darling, he treated you so terribly. I'm so sorry, I didn't know he'd taken you and I never would have allowed it, my sweet girl," she continued to croon and whisper as Shadow Dancer danced about, pushing Beth with her muzzle, almost lifting her from the ground.

"You'll need to be gentle on her in the days ahead," Harry warned, patting the horses flank.

"Thank you, Harry," Beth whispered, rounding the horse to hug him again. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you so much, you don't know what this means to me."

"I do know," he said gravely. "I want you to be happy, Beth. When he," he stressed he in such a contemptuous way that Beth knew he was speaking of William. "Causes you distress, at least you'll have Shadow Dancer to lift your heart. Try to keep her out of trouble this time though."

"I promise," she smiled, then turned back to the horse. "When did your groomsman say I can start riding her?"

"Another few days yet," Harry replied. "Can you wait that long?"

"For her, I'll wait a year. For as long as she needs. I'll always take care of her, always," she promised and he inclined his head, then stood back to take pleasure in watching Beth reunite with her horse.

During the week that followed his rescue, Benjamin and his men often received news of the happenings beyond their small band. There'd been a great battle between Tarleton and Burwell, over and done within an hour of its commencement, ending with Tarleton running away with his tail between his legs and over half his force captured or killed. A sound whipping that lightened the hearts of all Patriots. With great excitement, they passed through the battle site, and a local from the area described everything in great detail, as if he'd been there to witness it himself. He hadn't been, the man confessed, but the battle was on everyone's lips and he had heard tell of it twenty times over, so often he could give a decently accurate account. After enjoying the wonder of the now still and quiet Cowpens, the band moved on. By now, they understood that they were following Cornwallis, who had set forth from Turkey Creek to fall upon Burwell at the Cowpens, only to find Burwell long gone.

According to the information they were given, Tarleton was at the front of the army and Tavington was at the rear. Thomas thought that was a wise move, keeping William as far back from Tarleton as possible and putting an army between them. It did make him wonder though, where was Beth? At the front with Tarleton? Or at the rear with her husband? Thomas hoped for the latter. He prayed for it constantly. Surely Tavington would have taken matters into his own hands, he would have removed Beth from Tarleton's camp as soon as he was near enough to do so. That raised another question, another worry. If Tavington had indeed removed Beth from Tarleton, what then had he done with her? Would he be keeping her in his camp, or would he have sent her off someplace? Where would he send her, though? The plan had been for Thomas' father to take Beth her Aunt Charlotte. Tavington didn't even know where Aunt Charlotte was. No matter the scenarios that played out in his head, he was still plagued with the question. Where was Beth? It was not something they were able to discover without revealing their presence to Tavington, who was Cornwallis' rearguard. Yes, he was family, but they knew better than to test his Loyalty, especially where Cornwallis' escaped prisoner was concerned. Instead, Benjamin cautioned patience, they would know where Beth was soon enough. The escaped prisoner did not want to close on Tavington's Legion, son in law or not. The band kept well back and after crossing into North Carolina, they took another road entirely, the one Burwell himself had taken, and they made good time as they skirted up and around from the road the British Army was travelling.

A small band of men could move with far greater swiftness than a massive armada, though it seemed Cornwallis was pushing as hard as he could. The weather was against them all; driving, relentless rain bogging down the roads, preventing the passage of carriages and wagons. Or, at least, making such passage damned hard. Men on horseback fared much better, though it was still arduous going for Thomas, his father and the little band. Still, they at least were on the same road Burwell had taken and after a few days of travelling after the General, they finally came upon his rear guard at a place called Beattie's Ford.

Thomas was completely recovered from his cold. He was also entirely recovered from any desire to ride a horse, ever again. When his father commanded that he and Nathan go on ahead and announce their presence to the friendly force ahead of them, Thomas had given his father such a withering glare. The boys returned with Gabriel and the unhappy news that Beth was not with Tarleton, nor was she with Tavington.

She was with the Continental army.

Benjamin's face was stone as Gabriel explained. In the end, Tavington hadn't had to forcibly remove Beth from Tarleton, she had left of her own accord. That was good, wasn't it? A step in the right direction? She could not undo what she'd done, but perhaps she was turning over a new leaf? Thomas had been on the verge of saying so, until Gabriel told of the most recent events, that appeared to suggest that Burwell had replaced Tarleton as her latest conquest.

"I don't like it at all, father," Gabriel was saying. The Martin men stood facing one another in a small circle, ringed by their horses. No one was close enough to hear but still Gabriel spoke in a hushed voice, eyes darting beyond their equine barrier. "There is talk, and none of it good."

"Where Beth is concerned, when is it ever good?" Benjamin asked. Thomas shuddered to hear the lethal tone in his father's voice. "Have you said anything to Burwell?"

"What could I say?" Gabriel asked. "How could I ask such a thing? I didn't want to voice my suspicions in case I'm wrong. I know he isn't perfect, he has bedded camp followers before and I wouldn't put him above taking a mistress. On the other hand, surely he would not do that to you; he would not disgrace his friend, by taking up with your daughter."

"But you do think it's true. Why?" Nathan asked.

"Because he never leaves her side, Nate," Gabriel spread his hands wide. "Always there. Riding along beside the carriage, riding in the carriage at times. Dining with her. Every single evening. And breaking his fast, every single morning. Luncheon. Every stop. 'Let's walk here', 'let's walk there', always together. And the day before yesterday, he gave her back Shadow Dancer." Gabriel said as if this was a deciding factor, then he added ominously, "and it was reported to me that a woman has been seen leaving his tent every single night. The sightings started shortly after Beth arrived."

Benjamin drew up short, eyes as wide as they could go, lips thin as a razor.

"He hardly ever bothered to have his tent set up at all, before Beth arrived," Gabriel said, adding, "soldiers have seen her, father. Leaving Burwell's tent and walking back to her own, always before dawn."

"And you have done nothing?" Benjamin snapped.

"I did not know about the night time visits until today," Gabriel defended himself. "The soldiers have done well to keep that from me. I thought 'enough is enough' and I was on the verge of confronting Burwell this very moment, but then Thomas and Nate rode in to tell us you're here. And frankly father, she's your damned daughter - you're here now, you can deal with her. Be thankful that I came here to give you fair warning."

"Alright, alright, let's not lose our tempers," Thomas said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture.

In a gentler voice, Gabriel said, "I came down myself so I could tell you all this now, before you arrive." He paused. "And so I could see my da." The catch in his voice made Thomas choke up a little.

"I'm well, lad," Benjamin gripped Gabriel's shoulder, answering the concerned look on his eldest's face. "I look wretched, I know. I tire easily, I'm not what I was. But I'm not about to up and die on you. I'm not so fragile as that. I'm sorry for laying into you just now. It's just… that damned girl…"

"I know," Gabriel said. "And Burwell. They are not helping themselves at all - spending every waking moment together."

"And sleeping too, it seems," Benjamin said, voice filled with fury.

"Talk is rife throughout the Regiment."

"About her and Tarleton?"

"No, they don't know about that; Alby and Scott said that at the very least, Tarleton and Beth did take some measures toward discretion. All the talk is about her and Burwell. I don't want to believe it. I don't even want to acknowledge it. But they're all speaking of the same thing; that Mrs. Tavington is sharing Burwell's bed. Some of the men here were at Pembroke when Burwell ended his engagement to Beth after being told that she'd been unfaithful with Tavington. When she showed up last week, those men started gabbing about that all over again, telling everyone who didn't already know, of how she fooled around with Tavington while she was engaged to Burwell. So now, we've got two camps of thought being bandied about all through the regiment. Some say she regrets being unfaithful and wishes she could have married Burwell and is making up for it by warming his blankets now." Thomas whistled low and shared a quick, concerned glance with Nathan. "The others are saying she's tricking him, bedding him to gain information that she will carry back to her husband." Gabriel's face was bright red and Thomas doubted it was from the cold wind. Anger and embarrassment, more likely. "Either way, no matter what they believe, they know she's sharing his blankets. Thank the Gods only Danvers and Scott know where she's really been these last few months, and they promised not to say a word, out of respect for you. That would just add fuel to the fire, if that were widely known. The men think she's a bit of a whore as it is, a married woman chasing after her former beau. If they knew about Tarleton…"

"It always comes back to that," Benjamin said. "If they knew about Tarleton. They might eventually. And then our family will be in disgrace. But it seems to me that Burwell is helping to drag us there all the sooner…" Benjamin trailed off, lips tight. Without another word, he mounted and with a gesture from him, the band moved out.

Benjamin was aware of the eyes on him. Many men, Regulars and militia, as he rode along to speak to the General. Twenty years ago, Benjamin had served under Burwell in the Cherokee War. The French and Indian war, the British called it. So did the French. But to Benjamin, it would always be the Cherokee War. He'd been young, then, as had Burwell. Benjamin had been a Captain, Burwell his Major, later his Colonel. Back then, the two of them had served under Colonel Austin, who in turn answered to a British General. Because, of course, the British could not trust the Colonists to wage their campaign without a Britisher to lead them.

South Carolina born Austin curried favour with General Harper, by allowing the British General to fuck his wife. And favours the fellow got in plenty.

Benjamin had found the entire affair and the Officers conduct despicable. Now, feeling these eyes on him, under the weight of that collective stare, he could not help but wonder. Did they think he was an Austin, and that Burwell was the same as that British General? Did they think he was currying his General's favour, by allowing his daughter to share Burwell's bed? It rankled, it left him feeling sick to the stomach. It made him determined - absolutely and utterly - to ensure no one believed such a thing of him. He would put an end to Beth and Burwell's affair here and now. He'd put a Goddamned end to Burwell, too. His gloves creaked as he formed a fist on the reins. And the soldiers continued to watch him as he passed them by.

Fury hot in his blood, he wanted nothing more than to lash out. To pummel Burwell into bloody regret. To shake Beth hard enough to see sense. He was denied this outlet even as he approached Burwell, from coming in from the opposite direction was a unit of troops, some seven hundred of them, all wearing the blue uniform of Continental soldiers. Benjamin looked to Gabriel, who - looking oblivious - gave his father a shrug. Burwell stood in the centre of a clearing, seeming not to know who to greet first - Benjamin, or the new Continental detachment. In the end, Burwell gave Benjamin a quick nod, before turning his full attention to the latter.

And rightly so, for this was Major General Nathaniel Greene. Benjamin's private troubles had to be set aside for there was to be a council of war, he needed his wits about him.