Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, it means a lot to me.


Chapter 157 - A New Kind of Normal:

Samuel hung back to the rear of the small travelling party, for they were nearing the end of their journey and he wasn't certain how he felt about it. He was looking forward to seeing his father again, but at the same time… Nerves spun slowly in his stomach, an awful feeling of apprehension and promise. Those feelings didn't mix well together, not at all. What was his father going to say when he saw him? What were his brothers going to say? Perhaps Gabriel, Thomas and Nathan would turn their backs on him, perhaps they wouldn't even call him brother anymore. Was he still a Martin?

For days the small Patriot militia group had travelled, for miles and miles. And every time they encountered allies, they had all seemed so impressed when introduced to Samuel. For this was Colonel Benjamin Martin's son. He was the son of a Patriot and they were all such liberty boys themselves, they were almost in awe at meeting him - a member of the Martin family, who stood so strongly, staunchly, in favour of the Patriots.

Papa didn't even join until his own family was attacked, Samuel thought. Not with rancor, nor with bitterness, not anymore. But still, it was true. If these awestruck Patriots knew it, would they still consider his father akin to a God? Would they still hold the entire family on some pedestal, high up above their own?

Maybe. Who knew?

All he knew was that he didn't feel that he belonged here. Everyone seemed to go silly over him for being Samuel Martin, little knowing that the rest of the Martin's might exile him from their very midst.

Ahead of him, Kevin Rollins glanced back with a smile. Samuel nodded, returned a weak smile, and did nothing to catch up. He hadn't expressed his concerned to anyone; not his sisters, not Aunt Charlotte, and not the men who were so Loyal to his father. For even while he worried that his family might exclude him, he was feeling as though he did not belong with them anyway. It was strange, this disconnected sensation.

As they drew closer to Mr. David Ferguson's plantation, they began to receive news of their family and what was happening. They learned that the British Battalion under Lord Cornwallis was close by and in pursuit of Generals Burwell and Greene. They needed to pass through violently held Patriot lines. Luckily for them, as they made their way toward and across the Patriot lines and into safety, they encountered none of the British patrols they'd heard about. When they were deep within Patriot territory and no longer at risk of being captured by the British (a confusing concept for Samuel, who had thought himself a British Officer. Did that mean he was a British enemy now?) they discovered more about the British Patrols from farmers they encountered. They were search parties, and they were looking for Colonel Tavington, who had been captured along with Major Bordon and sixty Dragoons. As they drew ever nearer the Ferguson Plantation, they learned increasingly more. That fifty of those Dragoons had been killed, with only twelve still alive.

Aunt Charlotte had looked quite disconcerted by this news; Samuel knew, for he'd been watching her face closely to judge her reaction. While holding Bordon's son in her arms, she was informed that Bordon was at death's door and it was almost a certainty that he would pass through it at any moment. Samuel would have despised Charlotte forever if she'd shown the slightest hint of pleasure at the news, for what had occurred between her and Bordon was every bit as much her fault as it was his. Charlotte, however, had shifted her gaze downward, a look of concern for the boy in her arms.

The rebels' reactions were typically joyous, which Samuel found disgusting. Fifty men had died, more yet might, and they were grinning like idiots at a country fair. Samuel didn't like Bordon particularly well but he was his cousin's husband. And William was Beth's husband. Both were family, and these rebels were pleased at what had been done to them? Pleased by all the deaths? They called it a victory?

When they set out again, Samuel fell back a little further away from them, until several yards were between him and the rear of the Patriot escort, even as the large great house came into view.


Samuel entered the chamber slowly, quietly. A stranger was sitting beside the bed; he appeared to understand who Samuel was however, for he rose, nodded, and left the chamber. Samuel's eyes fell on the bed, and the sleeping man reclined against a pile of pillows beneath the covers. His father made the small bed look massive. The boy stepped across the chamber, silently so as to not wake him. Feeling the urge to weep, he reached down to wrap his fingers around his father's, were they rested above the covers.

"I've never seen you look so small," Samuel whispered. He collapsed into the chair and choked back a sob. "Nor so old. Or thin." Beth had tried to warn him before he came into the room but he'd never imagined…

What if he… what if he doesn't wake up? Samuel thought, ignoring the wetness that coated his cheeks. 'We mix his wine with laudanum, to help him sleep. It helps with the cough, too.' Another thing Beth had said. That's why he's so still, he reassured himself; the laudanum had pulled his father into a slumber so deep, he appeared to be as still as the grave. But still, his fears prevailed. What if he doesn't wake up?

"What if I… I never get to… I'll never be able to tell you…" Samuel began to weep in earnest then, his body wracked with sobs.

At length, he drew a shuddering breath and forced himself to stop. Or at least be silent. Beth had warned him - she hadn't wanted any of them to come into the chamber, and never mind how far they'd all travelled to get here. Charlotte, Margaret, William, Susan, they were all still in the parlour, having heeded Beth's warning and advice. Their father was sleeping soundly and that was such a rare event for him these days, and was so deathly important, that she had refused to allow them to see him, lest they disturb him. When he woke would be soon enough, she'd said.

Samuel wished he hadn't ignored her. He wished for so many things.

"Gods, I never should have left. If I'd known I'd never get to speak to you again, I never would have," he said, his voice a mere whisper. When the door opened, Samuel quickly wiped his cheeks and glanced away; he didn't want anyone to see he'd been crying. Especially if it was Thomas or Nathan. They might accuse him of putting on an act by weeping over their father now, the same father he'd done everything within his power to shed himself of before. The father he'd tried to replace with Captain Gordon.

Gods, what must they think of him?

"Good, you stay here with him." Samuel didn't need to turn to recognise Thomas' voice. "He's not to be left alone, so if you need to come out, fetch one of us straight away."

"Alright," Samuel said to the wall. He heard the door close again. He'd barely spoken to his brothers when he'd arrived. He'd barely spoken at all. Charlotte had done all the talking, had told the family where they'd been, what they'd been through, and why they were there. Until Beth told them that their father was gravely ill, Samuel hadn't said a word. But hearing that… after coming all this way, burning with desire to make peace… No-one was going stop him.

He glanced at his father's too pale face. Was he to be denied the chance? To explain, to speak his piece? To hear his father speak his? His fingers wrapped over his father's again and he fell into a grief stricken silence heavy with worry and fear and dark thoughts too weighty for a boy his age.

Had he come in time to watch his father die?

"Should have been Gordon," Samuel whispered, wishing fervently that it was Gordon on his death bed and not his father.

When his father began to cough, Samuel began to panic. It was deep, raspy, his father heaved helplessly as if he couldn't get enough air. Benjamin lurched upward, Samuel put his arms around him to steady him and to hold him up. He slapped his father's back, hard, trying to help shift the blockage. On and on it went and Samuel despaired. He found himself speaking instructions, to 'breathe in', repeating himself over and over and all the while, he wished someone else would come. Someone who knew what they were doing, someone who could help him. What had Thomas been thinking, leaving their father alone with Samuel?

Finally, the coughing began to ease and Benjamin drew in shuddering breath after shuddering breath. He'd been an awful grey hue but his colour was returning to normal now. He began to drop back against the pillows.

"My thanks, Nate," he whispered, as if even that was an effort. His eyes landed on Samuel and after a moments confusion, recognition dawned. "Sammie?" He gasped, sitting up again. "Sammie!" It was almost a shout, it almost had strength in it. Samuel's face crumpled as he nodded. Then he was being pulled by his father's frail arms up against his father's too thin chest - Gods, the man was skin and bones! - But the embrace, that was strong. Samuel doubted he could pull away if he wanted to.

And he didn't want to.

He held tight, his body shuddering, wracked as it was with sobs. After a moment, he realised his father's was too. They wept until his father began to cough again and Samuel forced himself to stop, in order to help him. Benjamin collapsed against the pillows, exhausted.

"Jesus," Benjamin finally whispered, staying at his son. "I can scarcely believe… that you're here. Do you know how… worried I was?"

He can't say a full sentence without gasping for breath, Samuel despaired.

"I know. I'm sorry," Samuel said and then words began to tumble from him; raw, worried, he'd never felt so exposed. "I'm so sorry. I never should have left. But I just… I couldn't stand what I'd done, what you made me do. What I saw you do. I trusted Gordon and oh, that was such a stupid thing to do. I'm so sorry papa, I chose him over you, I thought he was good and you weren't. I thought you were a demon. I thought my whole family had turned out to be demons and all along, he was the one. Not you. I'm so sorry. I love you, I've missed you, all of you. And then when I came in here -" Samuel's voice trembled. - "I thought I was too late to tell you! I thought I'd have to live with that my whole life, that I never got to say how sorry I am, how much I love you!"

"Ah, my boy, come here," Benjamin said and pulled him back into his arms. "I'm the only one who should be sorry. Me. I never… should have made you shoot those men, you… were far too young. And you've always been… gentle. I knew I was demanding too much of you and I did it anyway. I'm… your father, I'm supposed to protect you. Instead I pushed… you beyond what I knew… you were capable and I broke you. It's all my fault, lad. Anything… and everything that has happened… to you since. Anything you have done. All my fault." It took him a long time to push this speech past his lips, but he managed to do so without coughing.

"No," Samuel shook his head. "I didn't have to leave Fresh Water," he said, his voice high and thin. "I didn't have to go off with Gordon. Those were my choices. I put my faith in the wrong man. Gods, I called you a coward. How can you forgive me?"

"Easily. How the devil can you forgive me, boy? Besides, you were right. I was a coward."

"No. I understand why you fled when you saw the Dragoons coming. You and your men would have been slaughtered, had you tried to stay with us. You made the right choice. Flee and live to fight another day. We were safe enough; you knew that and you were right."

"A hypocrite then," Benjamin said. "And don't argue, for I know it's true. Thomas said the same. He has… he confronted me… I know I've been… a very poor father. And I'd like… to make it up to you. To all of you… if you'll let me."

"Of course I'll let you," Samuel said. Thomas called father a hypocrite? Gods, had Thomas called him a poor father, too? Samuel couldn't imagine a world where Thomas would ever dare to say such things, it was simply incomprehensible. "And I'll be a better son -"

"You're already that," Benjamin shook his head, refusing to let even the smallest measure of blame fall on Samuel's shoulders. Samuel blew out a long, slow breath and sent a prayer of thanks to the Almighty, for giving him this chance to speak with his father. He couldn't help but feel that God had bestowed a gift upon the unworthy; for despite his father's efforts, he still felt very much to blame. Benjamin requested some water, which Samuel poured. "You're going to have to tell me… how you came to be here. We've a few months worth… to catch up on.

That can wait a bit, Samuel thought. Instead of launching into his tale of where he'd been and what he'd done, he said, "Aunt Charlotte is here too. And Anne, Maggie, William and Susan."

"What the devil?" Benjamin asked, immediately alert. "Your uncle said they were safe at Mr. Singleton's. What happened that they had to leave?"

Samuel sighed. Gordon happened. As for being safe… None of them were, not really. Not until Gordon was dealt with. It seemed he wasn't going to be able to put off his tale, after all. He began with, "let me just start by saying that everyone is safe. Tired from having travelled all this way. And cold through and through - none of us feel like we'll ever be warm again. But they are all in good health, I promise. As for why they had to leave Mr. Singleton's..." He paused, drew a deep breath, and began from the beginning.


A little dazed, Cilla sat on the chaise holding her baby brother in her arms. Charlotte sat beside her, hovering close in case Cilla needed assistance. Cilla shied back and away from Charlotte, yet another woman of her family who had given herself to Richard. Besides, she had more than enough experience holding infants now, though this one was far heavier than Lydia, Matthew's sister.

Richard's bastards, the both of them. There was no doubt, Lydia had the exact same colouring in her hair as Matthew did, they had the same shaped face, the same colour eyes. It simply was not possible that the child in her arms had come from her father. She breathed out a slow breath, relieved that her father was no longer there; she would not have to tell him. Not in person, anyway. Richard's son. Gods, she was holding Richard's bastard son.

She'd held Richard's daughter often enough, but that was entirely different. Cilla wasn't sister to Lydia. Cilla wasn't the wife of Lydia's father. With Matthew, she was both.

"He should not have our name," Charlotte said and Cilla lifted her face with a glare. Charlotte raised her hands, placating. "I do not say this to be mean spirited. I loved Mage as a sister and for her sake, I accept this boy as… a nephew, I… I suppose," Charlotte frowned, uncertain. "I accept that I have a tie to this boy. But not through my brother. It would be a slap in the face to Mark if Matthew was to continue to bear his name."

"As it happens, I agree with you," Cilla said. "And I said as much to my father, before he left. I told him that if I believed the boy was no Putman, then he would not be a Putman."

Charlotte nodded as if relieved.

"Middleton then?" Margaret asked tentatively and Charlotte began to laugh.

"Oh, that would go down quite well among the Middleton family," she said, highly amused. "No, your mother would not want to bring shame to her family name."

"This is Bordon's child," said Beth. "Matthew should be a Bordon."

"If he acknowledges him," Charlotte said. "I've no doubt there are a multitude of bastards of varying ages scattered through the country gotten by that drunken despot." Her lip was curled and she scoffed softly, her speech and her expression making it clear what she thought of Bordon.

Cilla stared at her aunt in horrified shock, incredulous that Charlotte would say such a thing. It was almost as though Charlotte had forgotten Cilla was married to him. Cilla's stare wiped the condescending look from Charlotte's face, but did she apologise? No. She just sat there looking embarrassed at her outburst. Cilla was not appeased. It nettled her greatly, seeing that look in Charlotte's gaze, hearing that speech from her lips, as if it were somehow Richard's fault, that she had shamed herself so awfully with him.

Lifting her chin, Cilla said to Beth, "I am so pleased that there is still one woman in my family who hasn't bedded my husband, though in truth I'm surprised he never tried with you as well; he's always had a thing for blondes."

Beth drew a sharp breath, her eyes immediately darting to Charlotte. Who recoiled as if slapped, her face flushing hot red, the blood rushing up in mortification. Cilla stared hard at Charlotte, the unspoken words hanging heavily between them. Oh yes, I know.

"Cousin!" Margaret gasped, aghast.

"No, Margaret," Cilla shifted her hard voice to the younger woman. "I will not have my husband disrespected so, especially by someone who is hardly innocent."

Charlotte swallowed hard, she shifted on her seat until she was facing front forward, her body stiff and her gaze fixed on the wall. Her situation was made more tense when neither Margaret nor Beth made a move to defend her.

"If my husband lives to acknowledge Matthew," Cilla snapped at Charlotte, "then yes, my husband shall acknowledge him, and he shall be a Bordon.

"Am I ever going to be forgiven?" Charlotte asked, shifting her tear filled but proud gaze back to the younger women. "Shall I be shunned by you 'til my last breath?"

"No, aunt," Beth said gently. "We've all… done things… we're not proud of. Except for Maggie…" Beth frowned, then cocked her head as she gazed at her sister. Reaching out to wrap her fingers over Margaret's hand, she said, "well, even Maggie if the truth be told."

"Me!"

"You let Captain Brownlow kiss you," Beth pointed out and Margaret's face flushed crimson. "Still, that's not a patch on what the rest of us have done." Cilla, who Beth knew had bedded Banastre Tarleton as well, cocked her head in agreement. "We've all sinned. Aunt Charlotte, the difference between you and us is that we don't lord it over others; we've sinned and we don't act as though we're better than others who also have sinned."

"I did not realise that was what I was doing," Charlotte replied defensively.

"You sit there wrapped in manners and regal bearing while you call my husband a despot," Cilla said.

"I have over thirty years, Cilla," Charlotte said, weakly this time. "I've been taught to hold myself this way since I was a little girl. I can hardly break nearly a lifetime's habit of comportment in one day. I don't mean to… lord it over others."

"Tell that to Harmony," Beth said. Charlotte snapped her mouth shut, her jaw clenched tightly. "Do you remember? At Fresh Water? You wanted me to shun her, you and Emily both joining forces against me. Because she was Richard's mistress. And all that time, there was Emily, lifting her skirts for other men."

"And you lifting yours for our father," Margaret added softly.

"Alright!" Charlotte burst out, deportment shattering into shards like a smashed mirror. She leapt to her feet and whirled to face them, tears coursing her cheeks as she began to sob. "Alright!" She choked out. "I am sorry! I know I never should have but Gods, I was in love and…" she clenched her hands together, then threw one hand toward Cilla. "And I know I never should have with Bordon, but I was trying to protect the man I love and… Gods, Benjamin wouldn't give himself to me wholly and I loved him so much it hurt, I just.. I had to take what I could of him, I had to…" She drew a shuddering breath, then buried her face in her hands and wept.

"Which is precisely what I did with William," Beth said, rising. "And what Harmony did with Richard." She placed an arm around Charlotte's shoulders, the older woman was so much taller however, so Beth steered her back to the chaise where they could sit and she could comfort Charlotte more easily. Margaret had risen also, she settled for kneeling on the floor before the women. Charlotte's shoulders shook under Beth's arm. "We've all made the same, very poor decision to sacrifice our virtue in order to have the small amount the man we loved was willing to give."

Her face still buried in her hands, Charlotte - still sobbing - nodded. At a coercing look from Beth, Cilla heaved a breath, then freed up one arm and placed it around Charlotte's back.

"I did the same. Well, not quite the same but… I did sacrifice my virtue," Cilla admitted. She met Beth's eyes again, and mouthed Banastre. Beth nodded. Though that had been for comfort, not for love… Still, she'd given over her virtue quite readily for that comfort.

Margaret hadn't seen the exchange between Beth and Cilla, she was still quite in the dark of Cilla's affair. Beth reached down to stroke Margaret's face. "Don't you ever, ever, make the same mistake as us, Maggie. If you do, I'll…"

"Come after me with one of papa's rifles?" Margaret offered and Beth nodded, grinning.

"Seriously, just… don't. Don't give in to it, Maggie. No gentleman - no true gentleman - should expect a woman to sacrifice her virtue in exchange for a snippet of his affection. If she is good enough to bed, she is good enough to wed, that is what I've learned. And the wedding should come first. With Brownlow in camp, I worry…"

"Don't," Margaret held up one hand, forestalling her sister. "Don't worry. I've seen first hand the damage that can be done. I won't kiss him again. I won't do anything with him again." She gazed down at her hands, looking melancholy. "Papa has already told me that I'm not to go down to camp, I'm not allowed to help with the wounded, because…" Margaret lifted her face. "Papa doesn't trust me."

"It's men around his daughters that papa doesn't trust," Beth corrected Margaret. "Especially one that not only showed an interest, but acted upon that interest. Then again, being in the company of William and Richard, I'm not sure that Captain Brownlow knew any better. Or if he did once, with those two influencing him, he quite forgot."

"Didn't he apologise to your father?" Cilla asked and Beth nodded.

"Back when papa caught William."

"Brownlow… apologised? Did he… regret it?" Margaret asked, confused and heartsore.

"He regretted his poor conduct toward you," Beth said.

This answer did nothing to appease Margaret, who was feeling as confused and heartsore as before. She couldn't ask for further clarification, as the older women would become suspicious of her continuing sentiment toward Captain Brownlow, who was barely a half mile away, a man she had been forbidden to speak with, a man who may or may not think upon that kiss as much as she did. She was desperately worried that he regretted it because she was too young or that he simply was not interested.

Aunt Charlotte lifted her face from her hands, dropped her head back and closed her eyes.

"Are you alright?" Beth asked gently and Charlotte nodded. "I forgive you, aunt," Beth said. "As you've forgiven me. Just… try not to forget, you know? That you've sinned too."

Without opening her eyes, Charlotte nodded.

"I forgive you too, aunt," Margaret said, taking a hold of Charlotte's hands. Charlotte lowered her grateful gaze to the girl. Then, as if it were the hardest thing she'd ever done, Charlotte turned to meet Cilla's gaze.

Cilla breathed in deeply, blew it out slowly. Finally, she nodded. "I was not married to Richard at the time," she said, adding, "I forgive you." The tension eased from Charlotte but Cilla hadn't finished. "But I will suffer no more talk like that about him. He is my husband and I love him. Nor will I suffer your attitude toward Harmony. She is my sister and I love her. You are my aunt, I love you, too. Equally. For as far as I am concerned, that is what you are. Equals. That is what we all are, that is what our sins have made us."

"If I am in her company, I will be civil," Charlotte said tiredly.

"That's all I ask," Cilla replied. She didn't expect Charlotte and Harmony to befriend one another; she doubted either would ever like the other. But civility cost them nothing. "Will you continue to look after Matthew? I need to return to my husband."

"Of course," Charlotte replied, taking hold of the boy, filling her empty arms with the warmth of the small, sweet baby.

As Beth watched, Charlotte pressed her nose to Matthew's hair and inhaled deeply, a look of deep contentment stealing over her face. Quite strange that. Then again, Charlotte had been looking after the boy these last months, it was only natural that she'd formed a bond with him.

"I'll walk with you, Cil," Beth said, wanting to return to William. "You'll care for papa won't you Maggie? I'll return tonight."

"Of course," Margaret replied.

Beth and Cilla left the younger girl in the care of the older women, including Anne and Mary. They chatted quietly about what had just taken place, both agreeing that while it had been unpleasant, if it made Charlotte less… stuffy… then they were pleased with the result. To their surprise, Samuel came running to catch up with them, he fell in with them, his gaze on the ground and his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Is somewhat wrong, Sammie?" Beth asked as she wrapped one arm through her brother's. Samuel shrugged. He was silent for so long, Beth didn't think he intended to answer.

"Papa forgives me for… well, for all the stuff I did. Taking off with Gordon and all that."

"Of course!" Beth gasped. "There was nothing to forgive, Samuel. You were confused and that awful man tricked you. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I feel like I do. Thomas is being mostly himself but there's something… and Nate. They're just not… the same. I don't think they trust me anymore."

"You've been away for a long time," Beth said. "But you're home now. Give it time, Sammie. It'll return to normal, I promise."

"You don't know that."

"I actually do," Beth snorted. "I was away a long time too - you have no idea…" Samuel looked at her questioningly but she wasn't about to tell him all about leaving William and becoming Banastre's mistress for several months. He'd find out eventually, she supposed, but not now. And not by her. "When I came back, it was so hard, I felt like we were all strangers. We've all changed so much. But we are blood, and we have love, and so I am telling you, give it time and all will be well. It won't return to the way it was, but eventually it will become a new kind of normal."

"She's right, Sammie. You should listen to her," Cilla said. Samuel didn't look convinced.

"I just feel like…" he trailed off. Beth waited him out, but instead of telling her how he felt, he said, "I need to speak with William."

"Oh," Beth said, startled. "Alright… you want to tell him about Gordon, do you?"

Samuel returned his gaze to the ground and nodded.

"Can I talk to him alone, Beth?" He asked, knowing she might not like the idea. She hesitated, then nodded.

"Of course."


William was standing. Gods, it felt good to be back on his feet, even if it was with aid. The crutches were quite well made, they were even curved off at the top, to sit under his arms without digging into the pits. They'd become sore after a while, the oak was hard and unyielding, but Thomas already had ideas to soften them by wrapping padding around the tops.

He was gone now, was Thomas. He'd stayed long enough to tell him that the rest of his family were approaching the house and he was going to greet them. He'd helped William to his feet, given him the crutches, then as soon as he saw that they were the perfect length and would need no altering, he'd bade William farewell and walked off again.

William hadn't been all that pleased to learn that Mrs. Selton was on her way, but he doubted he'd see anything of her, therefore it didn't really matter much to him either way. He wondered if Brownlow would make excuses to see Margaret, if Margaret started coming down with the other women to help with the wounded. If she did, and if Brownlow did, William would give his Captain a talking to - with the crutches, if need be. They would have uses other than helping him to walk, they would make fine weapons against his rebel guards and cad British Officers alike.

With the help of the crutches, William was finally able to see Richard for himself. It was a cumbersome walk, he would need to get accustomed to walking in motion with the crutches, while being careful that they didn't slip and slide in the mud. It was a short walk, he ducked into the tent and made his way down the centre, passing the other beds until he reached Richard's. Harmony glanced up at him, stiffened and looked away. William wasn't sure what that was about. He gazed down at Richard, who tossed and writhed on the cot.

"William," Richard whispered. His face was grey and filled with agony.

"Richard," William set both his crutches under one arm and used his free hand to clasp Richard's shoulder. William could stand now but couldn't sit comfortably on his bullet smashed hip.

"End it, William," Richard groaned, his blue eyes fixed on William's pleadingly. "The pain… Gods, please, William, just end it!"

William stared down at his Major, aghast.

"Time for more laudanum," Harmony said, rising. Richard continued to plead with William, who was struck speechless by his friend who wished only for William to end his life for him. He'd known it was bad, but Gods… Harmony administered the dosage and finally Richard's eyes rolled and his body grew limp. "He finds it difficult to rest, he feels the pain even with this," Harmony said, shaking the small bottle. "So it would be better if you didn't stay."

"And… ah… how are you, Harmony?" William asked, his eyes darting to Richard, thoroughly disturbed.

"How do you imagine I am?" Harmony asked sharply. "Please, William, you can't stay here, you'll disturb him. He needs what little rest we can give."

William stared at her, wondering at her tone. She didn't want him there and he didn't think it was because he might disturb Richard's restless slumber. Was she angry with him for some reason? "Harmony, what -"

"Colonel Tavington?" A voice at the entrance of the tent interrupted, drawing William's attention. It look a moment for William to place the lad, he'd grown much in the months he'd been gone. Samuel Martin had filled out across the shoulders, too and was beginning to look less like the boy who'd fled Fresh Water, and resemble more the young man he would become.

"Samuel," William said. The boy - no, the young man - bowed slightly and looked nervously impatient. Beth and Cilla arrived as well and the moment to question Harmony was now come and gone. William inclined his head to Harmony, then to Cilla who gave him a quick nod as she strode past him to return to Richard's side. Beth and Samuel waited as William positioned the crutch beneath his arm again and began that awkward walk toward them and out of the tent.


They stood outside the little tent that was William's quarters. As Samuel had requested, after seeing to William's needs, Beth had left them alone.

"You should not have gone to King's Mountain," William chided him. "Certainly not in the manner you did. Sneaking off with Gordon? What possessed you?"

"I don't know," Samuel said, eyes dropping to the ground.

"You could have been killed, Samuel."

"I could have been," Samuel agreed. He lifted his gaze. "But King's Mountain wasn't anywhere near the threat that Captain Gordon was. He was going to kill me, I think. He was going to kill my whole family. And he was going to…" his eyes darted to ensure no one was close enough to hear him. Seeing no one nearby, he lowered his voice anyway. "He was going to force himself on Margaret and aunt Charlotte."

"Yes, I'm aware," William said, cocking his head. "That's why they fled."

Samuel blinked in confusion, then shook his head. "No, I don't mean back at Fresh Water. I mean later. Now. Well, a few days ago. I realised it and I left Gordon to warn them. I realised he was a deserter too, ever since King's Mountain. All that time, he said he was taking orders from you but I didn't think you'd command him to… do the things he did… and I eventually realised he hadn't acted upon an order from you in months."

"Tell me," William commanded.

Samuel began, and as he was speaking to a military Commander who had seen death and worse, he left nothing out - he spoke of the women and children that were traumatised by Gordon and the men, while Samuel was made to guard the horses. He told William everything; except for one thing. He was far too embarrassed to admit to William that he'd thought William himself had given him the rank of a junior Officer, a Corporal in the British army. He couldn't stand the idea of being mocked by William, if he revealed he'd been gullible enough to believe that.

"I'm sorry, Samuel," William said heavily when the youth finished with reaching Ferguson Plantation. "I should have done more, I should have tried harder to bring you back."

Samuel shrugged. "I would have been resentful if you had," he said. "I was a fool back then."

"You weren't a fool. You were confused and you put your trust in the wrong person. I could have done much to prevent all of this, but I didn't. To be honest, I didn't want to be saddled with Beth's family. I wanted her, not the rest of you," William's smile was both warm and apologetic. "The more time I spent with any of you, the less time I was able to share with her. If I had been less selfish… Beth told me then that it should be me training you, not Gordon. I realise now that she was absolutely right. I'm sorry, Samuel."

"Thank you," Samuel said.

"I'll make it up to you when I'm recovered," William offered. "Though I suppose you'd rather train with your brothers and when he's recovered, with your father. I assume you will be joining them now, will you?"

"I…" Samuel shook his head, confused. He was a Corporal in the British Army. Oh, not officially. But in his heart he had been. "I don't know."

William arched an eyebrow, sensing the boy's turmoil. "You don't know where you belong, do you?" He asked. Samuel lowered his eyes and nodded miserably. "Well, you don't need to worry about any of that. All that matters is that you're here, your finally safe and -" sudden noise of men's panicked shouts and gunfire erupting cut William short. Safe? Claps from the rifle fire surrounded them completely. They were under attack and not safe at all. "Get down," William said, shoving Samuel toward and behind a tree. "Get back in the tent!" He screamed at Beth, Cilla and Harmony who had rushed out to see what was happening. William's able bodied men came to surround him; Patrick, Hamish, Elisha and George.

"Gods, I need a rifle!" Patrick Brownlow burst out as he and the others began to fan out, the four of them each trying to cover a side to watch the ensuing battle.

"I warned them," William said, his hand flying for the pistol he always kept on him, the pistol that was no longer there. The rebels were rushing past, stopping to fire their rifles before rushing on again. And then Dragoon horses came thundering into view, Green coated horsemen slashed with their sabres and fired their muskets. William's Dragoons had come to the rescue, just as William had predicted. Horses reared, hooves striking the air before falling with full force on rebels trying to race by.

"Stuff this," Brownlow muttered. He darted off, gathering speed as he shoved past the few very confused guards who had remained. George, Hamish and Elisha followed suit, helping to attack the guards and soon the guards were disarmed and subdued and William's men were returning with their weapons. Brownlow handed a rifle to Samuel, a pistol to William, then raced away again to join the skirmish. Hamish, George and Elisha were hot on his heels. Samuel, with his rifle loaded and at the ready, went to stand in front of William, covering him.

"I take it you are still on the side of the British then," William said to Samuel, who had, without thought, taken up a position to protect the Colonel when he could have gone off to join his brothers and his father's men.

Samuel glanced over his shoulder at William and shrugged again. "You're my brother and you're wounded," he said, the only explanation he thought necessary. William nodded agreement.

The fight didn't last long. Soon, the remaining rebels began falling back to the house, William could hear someone out of sight screaming for the retreat. It sounded like Thomas. A moment later a red something rushed by William, Harmony's red cape billowed behind her as she ran from the tents toward the house. He screamed for her to get back for balls and sabres were still flying in a most deadly fashion, but she ignored him, her long legs carrying her swiftly, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. He realised Beth was screaming for her too, as was Cilla. It was too late, she was gone.

The remaining rebels were retreating to the house; William saw the Dragoons try to push toward the house only to be repelled by those within. Windows were smashed, rifles aimed through the gaps and fired upon the Dragoons until the horsemen fell back out of range.

The siege had begun.

Harmony came running back, Mrs. Garland slightly behind her, both with a baby in their arms. Both women stopped to catch their breath; with Cilla fussing over Harmony and Lydia.

"Are you mad?" William snapped at Harmony. "Do you realise what danger you put yourself to? You could have been shot!"

"My baby, William!" Harmony shouted, holding Lydia close against her chest. "I wasn't going to leave her there with those bastards falling back to the house! They might have taken Lydia and Louisa hostage!"

"Oh, they wouldn't have," Cilla said earnestly. "They would have been safe, harm."

"Richard's baby, William's baby, both in enemy hands? It was not a risk I was prepared to take, Cil!" Harmony cried.

William tightened his lips. He was about to argue further, when James Wilkins and several Dragoons rode toward them and dismounted among them.

"That was short and easy work! Well met, Colonel," James said, looking as proud as a peacock.