Quartering Acts
By Ahro
(Warning contains explicit sexual content, violence, and language.)

Chapter 10

Damn him!

The wet mud splashed up against the red mares flanks as the soldier pushed her.

Damn me; for falling for such a dolt.

The rain was coming down in sheets as he plowed through the dark roads. The wind tore into him, sending the rain into his face like needles. The heavy breathing from his mount barely audible over the crashing of the storm. It seemed to have come out of nowhere. Once he had mounted Crimson and left the stable, he had taken a final look only to find the smith had vanished from the yard. It was enough of an answer from the smith that he didn't care what Arthur did now. So as he had stepped out onto the road the sky seemed to open up around him.

All he cares about is his fucking revenge! I was nothing more than a convenient lay.

"I think I'm pretty lost now on my own."

"I would rather be hung tomorrow, than to live a life without you."

"...live a life..."

"...without..."

"...you."

"ARG! That is such BULLSHIT!"

His cry of outrage startled Crimson, trumpeting her discomfort to add to the additional cracks of thunder overhead. He knew he should find someplace to wait out the storm, but his anger was fueling him forward. All he knew was north. He wanted to be in Boston by sun up; to put Quincy far behind him, and the blacksmith even further. He would help Micah. The boy did not deserve to be blamed for Alfred's crimes against the Crown. Alfred would turn himself in, and Arthur would make sure Micah was let go unharmed. He would see him swing, along with his desire for freedom.

"Dammit- I'm such a fool."

For once the soldier could be thankful for the rain, as it masked the tears that would have propelled him to turn around.

"H-Hello?" The sudden voice split through the darkness as if a beacon, causing Arthur to pull up on Crimson's reins. It would have gone completely unnoticed by any other as it was barely audible over the heavy rain and winds, had Arthur not been yearning for an excuse to turn around he would have plowed right on past.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" His voice just reached above the sound of slapping rain against mud as he shielded his eyes in hopes of making out some form in the dark. No reply was forthcoming as Arthur spun Crimson around to survey his surroundings only to realize he had no idea where he was exactly. He had been traveling at full-gallop down a small dirt road for however long it had been. Time had completely escaped him, yet he knew he had not passed any other townships along the way. His route had been wrapped in darkness, with the rain heavy clouds above blocking the light of the moon as they drowned the land below. The idea of north had become like a mantra to him. Anything to spur him forward without looking back.

Still with no reply, Arthur turned Crimson back around to continue onward, yet his gaze lingered on the road from whence he came.

No. There is nothing there for me anymore. Had I known he wouldn't stray from his path for revenge I would have never allowed him to get to me.

"Don't lie to yourself, Arthur. You always lie."

"What? Who's there? Show yourself now!" His sword was unsheathed in seconds, knowing too well his pistol and musket were useless in this rain. He pitched Crimson around in tight circles in hopes of catching someone off guard amidst the downpour.

"You've lied to cover up every misdeed in your life, and now you feel a lie will cover up your true feelings."

No, there isn't anyone here. It's that damn voice.

"ARG! Get out of my head!" With a hard kick to the mare's flanks, she whinnied and charged forward once again.

The wind whipped the harsh rain against his face as he fled through the densely overgrown road once more. Low branches slapped against his arms and legs, cutting and drawing blood even through the thick fabric of his coat from the severity of the lash. The road appeared to grow thinner as he tried to bring distance between the soldier and whatever lingered behind him. Be it in his subconscious or not.

"Faster, dammit!" Kicking Crimson's sides more, she let out a cry as her chest heaved from the unfamiliar exertion. Her breathing coming heavy and more labored to Arthur's ears.

"You'll kill her."

"Keep going!"

"Just like how you killed your younger brother."

They were airborne, and for a moment Arthur believed whatever the voice was had caught up to him now, and he had been lifted up as if a puppet on a string. That voice that had followed him from London. The voice that now resembled-.

"Alfred-"

Icey cold water surged up and over him as he felt himself pulled from Crimson's saddle. The sheer force of the current forcing him down the river like he was nothing more than a stray leaf in it's grasp. So easy to cast aside in it's wake. Arthur felt his body tumble about underwater. Completely disoriented as to what direction would bring him air, he felt his body slam against monstrous rocks and boulders that were lodged in the river bed as the current pulled him further downstream. Perhaps this was it. He was meant to drown, just like his younger brother.

"Exactly how I let him die. I was destined to meet that same fate."

Then all went dark.

"He's a damn redcoat! You should have left him there to drown!"

"And only a Lieutenant at that. Hardly worth using to ransom for the boy."

A pistol was cocked and heavy footsteps moved closer.

"I'll save us all the trouble and drive some lead between his eyes."

A quick scuffle and a trigger being pulled released the loud crack from the gun going off.

"There will be no senseless killing while I am in charge of this unit!"

That voice.

"Senseless! That boy will just as soon stick a knife in your back as he would the rest of us, Jones!"

Not just the voice from before. It really is him.

The sound of wet mud sloshed under the boots of the men around him as yet another scuffle broke out, quickly following a slam as someone went down hard with a moan.

"You put me in charge when I never asked for nor desired it. You put your faith in me out of the deep respect you held for my father. With that decision I will not let you down. Be it known that my resolve against the British has not changed. You have all watched me over the years I was in isolation, so you know very well I will see this to the end. However, I will not condone killin' a man who is unarmed and unconscious."

He heard a grunt as the man who had fallen was lifted to his feet.

"I'll say, Jones, for someone who's never shot a man, you've certainly got a harsh uppercut."

Laughter flitted around the small band of men as they massed closer together.

"We'll give ya' the benefit of the doubt here, Jones, as we know you're your father's son, but what are your plans for the Brit?"

There was silence, and the soldier suddenly felt all eyes had fallen on his still form. Would they notice his uneven breathing, his eyes roaming under his shut eyelids? Feigning sleep was not something he was accustomed to doing.

"I will take him in my tent for questioning. He'll come around soon enough. The rest of you get some sleep. One man on watch till midnight. No one disturb me."

"Is it wise to be alone with the redcoat, sir?"

There was a pause, and Arthur felt his breath hitch in which he cursed himself. If they knew he was awake it'd be worse for him.

"He's unarmed and bound; such little faith you seem to have for me, doctor."

There was a grunt of disapproval, "I know you can handle yourself, Alfred. I'm just fearful of ever havin' to bring my daughter the news of your death."

Arthur stiffened as he bit his lip, however, quickly going limp again in case any eyes still lingered on him. There was a sigh and Arthur suddenly felt arms wrapping under his legs and shoulders as he was lifted to rest against the man's chest. The minute Arthur caught that familiar scent his heart fluttered in his chest as he realized he was cradled in Alfred's strong arms again.

"I gave your daughter my sworn vow, Dr. Shannon. I will return to her." Arthur's heart sunk hearing those words again. He had forgotten that not only was Alfred's revenge standing between them, but also the doctor's daughter. Alfred had sworn to marry her in order to gain the help of these men. All to save Micah. Otherwise, they wouldn't have formed such a unit until the war was truly on.

A breeze picked up as he felt Alfred turning away from the group and back towards, where Arthur assumed, the smith's tent was located. A cloth canvas brushed his hair as the smith shouldered his way inside.

The interior was dry and warm, and a soft light lit the back of his eyelids as he continued to fain unconsciousness. There had been no words shared at the entrance to the small tent, which meant Alfred had no guards even though the men had claimed him their leader. Perhaps it was a way to protect him. Guards would draw attention to an officer's location. It was a smart tactic, if still dangerous in a different way.

He then felt himself lowered, gently, on the cold ground, and the sudden absence of Alfred's warmth behind him. A rustle of fabric and Alfred was sitting adjacent from him.

"There's no need to fake sleepin' anymore, Arthur. We're alone."

He had no reason to not believe him, so the soldier slowly opened his eyes to take in his surroundings.

The tent was far from extravagant. Nothing more than one that could be broken down quickly and strapped to the back of a horse and move on. It would hold no more than four men, and all would need to kneel or stand bent over without letting their heads hit the canvas. On closer inspection, Arthur noted that the walls were in fact covered with dried mud, leaves, and sticks, with what looked like fish netting keeping it all together. "My father used this when he went huntin' with the Germans. It works well when you're down wind from a herd of deer who can't smell or see you aimin' up your shot."

"What do you want with me, aside from showing me more of your father's ideas."

"Aside from saving your life, you mean?"

"You pulled me from the river. Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Arthur scowled, "You obviously do not trust me as my hands are still bound."

Alfred's blue eyes looked fiercely into the soldier's as he stood some, bent at the waist due to the tent's low ceiling, and walked over to kneel down behind soldier. The drag of steel against steel as a knife was unsheathed made Arthur's palms begin to sweat as he waited for whatever Alfred's decision would bring about. Either his hands would be freed, or his life's blood would spill from his neck. The soldier's breathing had grown heavy as Alfred suddenly pushed up against Arthur's back, the man's golden hair suddenly coming into the soldier's peripheral. Warm breath was at his neck and he knew why Alfred had told his men he would be fine by himself.

"They're only bound because I don't want you to run from me again." He whispered against the soldier's ear. A shiver ran through the soldier as the words danced across his skin and Alfred's hand glided gently up the soldier's side. Everything inside him screamed to be held by this man again. To know that he was safe and his past could no longer reach him. That someone still wanted him. He thought that being just a body needed on the front line was enough, but after meeting Alfred he knew that it wasn't. Nothing would mean anything more than what Alfred meant to him. However, the smith still held that sense of duty to his people and his own desire for revenge that would keep an impregnable wall between them. It wasn't something Arthur would be able to break down before this was all over. It was a wall built over four years time, and who knew how much had started before that.

"I-I did not run from you. Do not give yourself so much credit."

A chuckle escaped the smith's lips as he backed away. Arthur cursed mentally at his stubbornness but suddenly felt the bindings around his hands slip away. Alfred had gotten back up and moved back to the opposite side of the tent, holding the cut rope in his hands.

"Are you going to run now?"

Arthur sat there in silence, looking anywhere but at the man across from him. He could run, but he had no idea where he was. Crimson was probably dead because of him. It had gotten colder, so snow was inevitable at this point. He was also still wearing his dripping wet uniform. A shot to the head sounded better than freezing to death. As Alfred's question continued to hang in the air, Arthur finally answered with a shake of his head.

"Good. Then undress and put these on. You'll catch your death in those wet clothes." Alfred had reached behind himself for a pile of the smith's own clothing and handed it to the soldier.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Always with the questions."

"I thought your intention was to question me."

"It is, but you won't do me much good if you die of frostbite."

Arthur scoffed as he took the clothing and marched to the far end of the tent to remove his uniform.

"What are your plans for me?" Arthur asked over his shoulder as he unbuttoned his shirt to pull on the heavy wool top. It hung extremely loose on his thin frame but he wouldn't be wearing them for long.

"I thought I was askin' the questions." Alfred said, a smirk flitting across his face as he watched the soldier undress. Arthur's face grew warm as he finished and returned back to where the smith sat.

"Out of curiosity, what sort of questions do you honestly have for me? I only just left you a few hours ago."

"Yes, and you left without any explanation as to why. I would like to know what exactly came over you to run off like that."

Arthur bit his lip as the smith's blue eyes bore into him. What could he say? That he had suddenly remembered his duty here in the Colonies. That he was assigned to find rebels, like the one that sat before him. Only instead he had fallen for this man in a matter of a few days, given his mind and body to him, then to find out that the smith hadn't shirked his own responsibilities. As if his selfishness would in turn infect Alfred and they both could run away and live elsewhere. Alfred never thought about him, only of what he could get from him.

"I was reassigned to Boston. I had to leave."

"You said that, but-" it was Alfred's turn to think about his words. "I... thought we had somethin'. I thought you'd have come with me... to save Micah." The smith fumbled over his words as he averted his gaze to stare at a lantern's flame.

"I am helping you save Micah. I was going to clear his name once you turned yourself in."

Alfred winced at his words as they bit into him. Arthur couldn't help it. After his brush with death in the river, and slowly feeling warmth come back to him, he had resumed his feelings from before. Alfred's needs for revenge being put before his want to be with Arthur left the soldier feeling abandoned. Especially after swearing to marry the doctor's daughter, all for the assistance of other men to save a small child. As it dawned on him, it was really selfish that the doctor would force Alfred's hand over the life of an innocent child.

"Did it ever occur to you that you did not need these men to help you save Micah?" Arthur brought up as he motioned to the men outside.

Alfred remained silent for Arthur to continue.

"A British officer, who was on your side, is staring you in the face and yet you run to other men for help."

Alfred tensed where he sat, "So you're no longer on my side then."

Arthur bit his lip as he looked away again. He hadn't realized his wording, but it was true now wasn't it? He had moments before Micah's capture that he would switch sides, fight alongside the smith against his own countrymen. Yet, having seen that fire in Alfred's eyes, not for him, but for the recovery of the confiscated muskets and saving Micah had made him realize just what the soldier meant to Alfred. Losing Arthur wasn't nearly as important as losing weapons that could help them win the war.

"How can I be on your side when I'm a British officer?"

"You just said that you had been on my side. You could become a loyalist to the colonists."

"A rebel, you mean."

"If we get those muskets back, you'll want to be on the winnin' side."

"If you get the muskets back." Arthur felt his blood beginning to boil again. It kept returning to those damn muskets. Things that had no feelings yet Alfred treated them like they were his own children.

Arthur quickly stood up, only to curse as his head hit the heavy canvas above him. Frustrated now, he turned and stormed back out into the cold. He didn't know where he was going, he just wanted to walk, to not be confronted by Alfred anymore. He had been hurt once only hours ago and now he was being faced with the same situation again.

Being forced to come to a stop, Arthur looked on at the river that blocked his path. It had quieted at this part. Still moving fast yet without the ferocity to churn the waters white with foam. Then his attention was quickly pulled to a large, red form that was trapped against a large boulder that stuck up high out of the water.

His knees finally buckled as he sunk to the wet ground. His eyes never leaving the shape in the water as it rolled listlessly against the stone by the rushing waters. In his blindness, he had done this. The same way he let his brother drown. Selfish, that was all he was, and all he had left was to watch the pain that it brought to others. Even here, on soil so far from his home, he had been selfish in hopes of ridding himself of the pain of his past in another world, only for it to follow him here as well.

A hand rested on his shoulder but it couldn't bring him to react. He wished it would just shove him into the river. To take him forever out to sea, and with him the death he would undoubtedly bring to other living beings if he continued on his path.

"Come with me." Alfred's voice was soft as he removed his hand and walked off, leaving Arthur kneeling in the mud still staring; but he had to get up.

Getting to his feet was a shaky experience, but once he was there finding a resolve to turn away from another life he had claimed seemed somewhat easier. Had Alfred not come by to get him to his feet he probably would have allowed himself to freeze to death there.

A familiar snort caught his attention as he looked off between the trees to see Hero, saddled and ready, with Alfred standing along side the tall horse. Alfred's eyes met his own and with a wave beckoned the soldier over to him.

What is he planning?

Approaching him, Alfred hoisted himself up into Hero's saddle (without a hint of concern over his still broken collar bone), and offered a hand down to the soldier.

"Ride with me. I need to take you somewhere." By this point, Arthur didn't exactly have much of a choice. He was Alfred's captive, even with the freedom he was given. As much freedom as it could offer anyway, considering the desolate forest all around them. Arthur's eyes trailed across the packs that clung to Hero's saddle, noticing his own weaponry had been attached as well.

"Are you freeing me?"

"Just give me your hand. The men might wake up soon and Hero isn't a horse that can go unnoticed."

With a nod, Arthur grabbed Alfred's hand and he was practically lifted into the saddle as if he weighed nothing.

"You know your collar bone is still broken, correct?"

"Yeah, but Dr. Shannon took a look at it and gave me somethin' to ease the pain. Can hardly feel it." The smith laughed as he flexed his right arm. Arthur couldn't help but notice as Alfred's smile quivered slightly as he put on his display.

He's fighting the pain. Doing everything he can to not show any sign of weakness. His men probably have no idea he's injured.

With Arthur now seated in front of Alfred like before, Alfred kicked Hero's flanks and urged the horse to walk on to wherever the smith had planned to take them.

They hadn't gone far by the time Alfred reigned in the large horse to a walk. Arthur noted that they had turned and traveled south. Farther from Boston than Arthur would have liked. He still needed to report to the General. The last thing he wanted was to be on the man's bad side when he pleaded for the release of Micah.

"Where are we?" Looking about, Arthur couldn't help but take in the view as they reached the top of the large hill. Further up a sheer cliff met them head on with the vast stretch of Boston harbour reaching off into the distance to meet with the great Atlantic. Islands littered the harbour while vast tall ships sailed about between them. Cautious of the shallows as they went.

"We've entered Weymouth, just south of Quincy." Arthur turned in the saddle to look up at Alfred in confusion. "You had been traveling north to Boston, however, the river you fell in swept you back down south. This here is one of the highest elevations along the south shore of Boston, Great Hill."

Alfred slipped down from the saddle as Arthur continued to look out across the waters. The storm had moved off and left the waters to calm to a mirror finish. It was beautiful, and the reflection of the moon and stars seemed to lift Arthur's spirits. Perhaps this was the feeling Alfred had looked for the night the soldier had held his pistol to the man's head.

"Arthur, over here."

Sliding to the ground, Arthur walked over to meet Alfred where he stood next to a large maple that grew apart from the heavy treeline beyond it. At his feet, was a small mound of stones, a wooden cross tied together by twine stood tall from the middle of it, while a newly placed lily rested at it's base.

"This is your father's grave."

A slow nod was all Alfred gave as an answer. The smith's gaze then looked back to the maple and Arthur followed to take note of two more identical graves. The smith rounded his father's memorial to approach the other two, and placed two more lily's on either grave as he did his father's. Then, without a word, Alfred disappeared down a slight drop that Arthur hadn't noticed before.

Quickly following behind the smith Arthur didn't need to get far before his breath caught in his throat. Laid about before him were dozens upon dozens of graves.

"This is the Jones family burial ground." Came Alfred's words. Arthur was struck dumb as Alfred turned to look up at him. "The large majority here I've never met in my life. Many are the graves of babes that didn't make it past their first year." He then turned back to look out at them. "I don't know how, or who does it, but there are new graves every few years. The Jones name is spread wide amongst the colonies but they all some how find their way back to this hill."

Turning back to face Arthur, he took the few steps up the slope to stand alongside the soldier. Silence fell between them while only their breathing and the puffs of smoke in the cold air filled the silence. Moments it took, but what seemed like days passed until Alfred finally spoke again. This time, taking Arthur's shoulders in his hands to turn the soldier to face him. Those blue eyes, so distant now. Faded and gray. As if standing on these grounds drained the life from them.

"I am the last Jones of my immediate family. There is no one else that knows about me, or this place." He paused as he looked back up the slope to where the three crosses of his father, mother, and younger brother rested before he turned back to the soldier. "Arthur... if I die tomorrow, or out on that battlefield, that you could please... lay me to rest here with my family. Or at the very least, raise a cross in my name beside them."

Arthur watched as this strong man, who seemed to carry the world's weight on his shoulders alone, allowed tears to gently fall down his face. Barriers breaking around him as he exposed his heart to only Arthur in that moment. It was hard, as Arthur had never truly been alone in his life. He had felt alone, but his mother had been there even after they pulled his brother from the sea. She held him and stroked his hair as she cried, even when he had no tears of his own. She had been there years after when Arthur decided to enlist in the army and head out across the sea for good. Yet still, during his short time in this new world, he had met Alfred and they had shared something he thought he had lost for good. Even so, he had never truly been alone. To feel that sense of abandonment, and longing to be held in familiar arms. To push it all behind and wear a mask just to be able to wake up each morning. Now, that mask had been removed, and the broken Alfred lay crumbling before him. Desperation made him seek out a stranger, one that could turn what was crumbling into dust. Or, the stranger could try to piece him back together.

Arthur's shoulders shook with the weight he now felt had been placed on him, and he wasn't so sure he could hold it up. "Alfred- I won't be there to see your death. I will be long gone by then, and you will have gone on to have children of your own to carry on your family's name for generations to come."

With a thumb, Arthur moved up to brush the tears that had stained Alfred's face.

"You will reunite with Micah again and tell him of the wonderful news that you are both brothers. You will help bring him up right, train him to work the smithery, and learn to be that veterinarian he dreams about." Arthur felt a smile form on his lips as his own eyes began to blur with tears. "He will go on to train the fastest horses no country has ever seen, and it will all be because of you. Your strength and optimism. You, Alfred. Only you." Arthur's hand went up to wipe the tears from his own eyes as he tried to find some composure however flitting it was. "So don't go dying on me yet. You have too much work ahead of you to grow lazy now." He grinned as he slapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder to wake the man up some.

Alfred sniffed and made to wipe his own eyes before standing up straight. His composure seeming to return as he did. "Come then. There is one last thing that needs to be done."

Dawn had begun to break by the time Alfred slowed Hero amidst dense forest with no obvious sign as to why they were there. It was countless questions regarding the smith's motives. Always seeming to lead to the most obscure conclusions. Yet, in the midst prior to this he would joke and laugh, as if being cheerful would lessen the blow to whomever he was with. Or perhaps, it was an act to make it easier for himself.

"Well, this is it."

Arthur looked around, not understanding what he was being showed.

"We're in the middle of the forest."

"Very observant of you."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the smith's obnoxious behaviour returning.

"Alright then, what are we doing in the middle of the forest?" Arthur coincided.

With a 'tut' to Hero, Alfred walked the large horse slowly down a slope towards a thick line of trees, and as they neared a large clearing began to come into view between the trunks and brush. Arthur squinted as if to get a clearer view at the open expanse until he saw it. A gasp escaped him as he sat back against Alfred's chest, only causing him to quickly turn in the seat to look up at the smith.

"That's a British camp! What are we doing so close to them?" Fear laced his words as he tried to get Alfred to look down at him. The smith simply remained staring off at the small compound. A smile on his face as he did.

"Are you insane? They could have patrols out here!" Arthur was now gripping the smith's shirt, shaking the man to get his attention onto him.

"Just remember that you were undercover in a rebel camp to find me, and the actual camp is due south from here. There are fifteen men stationed there, minus one now."

"What are you saying? Have you gone mad?"

Alfred finally looked down at Arthur. Those blue eyes gleaming again. The mask had been replaced.

"You should know what to do after that."

With those final words, Alfred kicked Hero hard, causing the massive horse to rear up in distress before plunging through the mess of trees out into the expansive clearing.

"No Alfred! Hero! Woah!" Arthur attempted to stop the horse as it barreled full-speed towards the camp in the distance. Union Jack's waving proudly at each post and tent. Alfred's hands suddenly disappeared from the reins in which Arthur quickly picked up, pulling back immediately to try and stop the horse before they came too close. However, Hero never let up.

"Keep on! Keep on, Hero!" Arthur spun to look at Alfred who was smiling. The bloody fool was actually smiling, and was somehow able to control his horse just by his words alone.

Then his attention was brought to the smith's hands. He had fashioned some sort of knot and had slipped his hands into the loops. Once they were bound, he grabbed a loose piece of the rope with his teeth and pulled, securing the rope tightly.

"You are turning yourself in-"

Alfred looked to Arthur with a smile.

"-By making me look like I captured you?"

A nod this time as he suddenly leaned in close to the soldier, bringing his face down only to rest in the crook of Arthur's neck and shoulder. The smith's warm breath teased along his skin, causing Arthur to stiffen in his seat, as Alfred lifted his head to reach the soldier's ear where he whispered, "Save Micah."

Alfred then quickly pulled away before Arthur could even gather what was going on until he started to hear shouts from all around him.

Facing forward again, Arthur was surprised to see they had barreled into the camp and sleeping soldiers had stirred from the commotion to see what was going on. Before Arthur could react, Alfred slid from the saddle and allowed himself to fall hard on the cold ground where he hissed and curled up some from the impact. With Alfred no longer on Hero, the horse stopped and pawed at the ground in anger as soldiers approached them.

"Hold your fire, he-"

"You fuckin' redcoat, bastard!" Arthur was caught off guard as he looked down at Alfred on the ground. His eyes now filled with anger as he glared up at Arthur. Arthur then noticed that not only had Alfred secured his hands, but he had bound his legs as well. When had he done that? But the scene was obvious. Alfred was acting as a captive rebel, and Arthur needed to play the part of the undercover British soldier who had done the capturing.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?"

A general Arthur wasn't familiar with stepped out of a large tent, flanked by men with muskets drawn and aimed at both Alfred and himself.

"Lieutenant Arthur Kirkland, sir! I-I was undercover in a rebel camp just south of here. I was able to apprehend the Quincy blacksmith who was suspected to be the one to have made the contraband that was confiscated yesterday afternoon, sir."

"I did nothin' of the sort! This pig is lyin'! I'm nothin' more than an apprentice!"

"Men, stand the yank up." Two soldiers quickly ran over to Alfred where he sputtered and sneered at the soldiers around him. He was hoisted up under his arms, and Arthur couldn't help but notice him wince at the obvious pain he was still feeling from his broken collar bone. This scene was taking everything Arthur had to not run to Alfred's help and get him out of here.

"State your name, yank."

Alfred spat at the general which only earned him the butt of a rifle across his face.

"I'll ask again. State your name."

"It is him, sir. The boy's description matches." Another soldier said as he quickly approached them.

The general took a piece of paper that was offered to him, and his eyes ran down the list and back again to Alfred. "Well then, Alfred F. Jones, you are under arrest for treason against the Crown. Lock him up for now and begin preparing to continue north for Boston."

The soldiers saluted, while the two still holding Alfred drug him off towards a tent in the far back of the compound. Arthur watched where they took Alfred only to have his attention quickly taken back to where he was and exactly what he was still doing.

"Has mingling with those ruffians made you forget your place, Lieutenant?"

"Oh, sorry, sir." Arthur quickly hopped down from Hero, and saluted the general. The man nodded allowing Arthur to take a relaxed stance.

The same man that had brought the note concerning Alfred returned with a large book, open to a page which the general than scanned and began to read off of.

"Says here you just arrived less than a week ago aboard the Elizabeth. You were stationed to quarter with the blacksmith in question. Is that correct?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes, sir."

"I take it you observed his work then?"

"To a point, sir. He... was secretive about it, and managed to work while I was ordered to patrol." It was a lie, but it was the best he could come up with as to why he didn't watch Alfred closely. He had caught him in the forge but he had never seen him working on more than a bayonet. Nothing worth telling this general about. He was certain the general was more interested in the rifling done to the barrels, if he had been given a report regarding the muskets in question that is. If not, Arthur wouldn't want to draw attention to them.

"I see. Where is your uniform?"

"In one of the saddle bags, sir. I'm afraid they were soiled during the storm this past evening while I was disguised as a colonist."

The general laughed, "Disguised as a colonist. Well you certainly look disheveled enough. How about the accent?"

Arthur grimaced as he had not been practicing the American's accent as he portrayed, but he had been around Alfred long enough that perhaps he could pull something off.

"Ahh- might I speak freely, sir?"

The general nodded, so Arthur swallowed and attempted the best Boston accent he had listened come out of Alfred's mouth over the short couple days he had spent with him.

"These Brits ah nothin' but assholes. Takin' ovah ah land and taxin' the hell out of us all, without givin' us a chance to speak fo' ahselves."

The general paused a moment before letting out a loud laugh as he walked over to Arthur to pat him on the back.

"Well done, lad. Not so sure I appreciate hearing those particular words but if you were under cover I'm sure those yanks were fooled easily."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Well then, how about getting yourself suited up in a new uniform. You'll be wanting to display your Captain ranking now."

Arthur stopped where he stood after having been following the general to his tent.

"Sorry, sir? I am afraid I misunderstood you."

The general turned, "Thanks to you we have a valuable prisoner in our midst. Field ranks are not given lightly. I suggest you accept your new title without question, Captain Kirkland."

Arthur saluted, "Yes, sir." And the general left into his tent with a flourish of the canvas signaling Arthur's dismissal.

A Captain. I never thought I'd make anything above Lieutenant as it is so expensive. But a Captain.

He stood there baffled until it dawned on him. He had paid for his new position. Only not with pounds, but with the life of one man who meant more to him than all the gold in the world. Arthur's gaze then moved off to the prisoner tent where Alfred was being kept.

Is this his big plan? To have himself captured just like that.

"Save Micah."

"Captain Kirkland, sir." Arthur jumped upon being addressed to find a private next to him holding his old uniform as well as his weapons that had been secured to Hero.

"Sorry, sir, I did not mean to startle you. The general has instructed that you are housed in tent eight. Your new adornments will be brought to you there." Arthur nodded as he took his things from the private, until a whinny grabbed his attention as he looked over the man's shoulder.

"Wait- what are they doing to He- the horse?" The private turned to see that Alfred's horse was being roughly handled by five soldiers trying to calm the massive animal.

"It is a plow horse. Not meant to be in our camp. It is also wild and not well trained. It will be put down."

That was all Arthur needed to hear before he shoved his clothing and weapons back at the private before running up to the group of men.

"Wait, sir! Stay back! This one is wild! I don't know how you managed to ride him out here."

Arthur ignored the man as he pushed past him and grabbed the reins from his hands. Hero calmed some upon seeing Arthur approach as well as pick up on Alfred's scent from the clothing he was still wearing.

"That is it boy. Nothing here to be afraid of. You are in my care now." Hero allowed Arthur to get closer to rest a hand on the animal's strong neck in a comforting pat. With a snort, the horse shook his head about, still unsettled but more agreeable than before.

"I am claiming this horse as my own. No one is to go near him. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Captain, sir!" The group around him saluted.

"Very well, you are dismissed." The group scattered leaving Arthur with Hero alone.

Alfred would not want to see his horse harmed. He will have him back as well once this is all over. I will make sure of that.

Hero tossed his head up and down as if he could hear Arthur's thoughts, bringing a smile to the new Captain's face.

"That's a good boy. How about an apple?"

A few hours in the morning sun had dried Arthur's uniform and a fringed epaulette was placed on his left shoulder to mark his new rank as Captain. With a new rank came some relief for Micah's release to be accepted. However, now there was the matter of Alfred to deal with.

/If only that fool could have told me more concerning his plan. If he even has a plan for that matter. Running blindly towards a British camp. What on earth was he thinking?

"Captain Kirkland, sir?"

"Enter."

The private he had met earlier stepped just inside the canvas door and saluted before stating his business.

"We will be heading out to Boston by 0900 hours. You may break your fast in the officer's tent. Also General Redford gives you permission to speak with the prisoner."

At this Arthur looked away from cleaning his pistol to the private. "Why would he give me permission to see Al- er... the yank?" Arthur grit his teeth in hopes the private missed the slip.

"He believes you may have a better time getting information out of him, sir." Arthur scrutinized the private a moment until he finally nodded, signaling the man's dismissal.

So, General Redford, wants me to get information out of Alfred. What information could he mean? Has he been informed of exactly what the contraband contained? If that's the case, do they already know about the modifications to them?

With his sword belted on and his pistol returned to it's holster, Arthur headed out into the brisk morning air to be confronted by British soldiers up and about the compound gathering up supplies and gear to begin heading out for Boston. He had an hour before he needed to get Hero saddled. He was thankful the General had allowed Hero to remain under his care. A draught horse was not a military standard by far, but he hoped that Hero wouldn't be among the British Army for long.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, he located the lone tent set well aside from the rest of the camp, guarded by two men who appeared to be rather frazzled.

I hope I do not find him in pieces in there.

As Arthur approached the tent the guards quickly saluted their new captain and Arthur couldn't help but notice the disheveled look to both of them. He smirked to himself thinking of all the things that Alfred must have been doing to cause these two men to look in such a way.

"Someone else approaches! You boy's didn't have to go through all the trouble of findin' me some pretty lady to keep me company! You're too kind!"

"Quiet down in there!"

"Aren't you gettin' feisty! Come on in here and say that to my face!"

Arthur wasn't sure just how much more he could take without loosing his control. Already he could feel his shoulders shaking in mirth from Alfred's outbursts.

"That is enough, men. Go and break fast."

The two guards looked at each other, "Are you sure, sir?"

Arthur nodded and both shrugged and headed off.

After the men had left and Arthur was left alone, he fixed his uniform and pressed his way into the small tent. What he was confronted with was something he thought he had been prepared for.

"Well, you're not a pretty lady but I'll take what I can get."

"Dear God, Alfred! You've only been locked in here for three hours and you look like a horse trampled you!"

That was putting it lightly. The smith was tied to a post in the middle of the tent where he was kneeling and bent over in obvious pain. Both of Alfred's eyes were black, and he sported a broken nose complete with dried blood running down his face. Arthur would have believed the man's jaw to be broken if it wasn't for his previous quips at the guards. Beyond that, Arthur could only imagine the bruises Alfred had forming under his clothing as there were tears and scuff marks on the white linen of his shirt as well as on his brown trousers. His coat had been tossed to the side of the tent which only added to Alfred's pain by leaving him exposed to the cold.

"I've been through worse. Those kids need a few lessons on interrogation methods."

Arthur was now kneeling at Alfred's side, trying to look over the stubborn man's injuries.

"About that... what exactly were they interrogating you about?"

Alfred winced when Arthur's hand touched lightly on a large bruise that was forming on his side where he had been obviously kicked.

Hissing through clenched teeth, Alfred tried to push past his discomfort, "About the damn muskets they took. They're askin' why they're fashioned from bronze and why the barrel has been altered."

"You did not tell them?"

"Obviously."

"That's not good then. Their gunsmith must have looked them over already. They must be planning to replicate them but they need you to show them how."

"Least I know I won't be killed right away."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It will be much longer than that." Arthur than pointed out the new addition to his uniform.

"I had a feelin' you'd get a promotion out of bringin' me in. Part of the plan."

"Ha! You mean you actually planned this."

"Always such little faith."

"Captain Kirkland, we need to pull down this tent to begin our trek north, sir." Arthur quickly stood as the soldier's voice from outside grabbed his attention.

"Right then. Give me just a moment."

The shadow of the soldier against the closed canvas overhang walked off and Arthur turned back to Alfred.

"Whatever this plan of yours is... I do hope it works." Alfred smiled, his blue eyes showing the pain he was in but still holding that special gleam that seemed to only shine for Arthur. The soldier hoped that some day soon those eyes would forever shine without pain etched within them.

"Part of it has already been successful. You came back to me."

Arthur felt his face grow warm as he tried to avert his gaze. Clearing his throat, he pulled on his coat to fix it of any wrinkles and began to head for the door until he was stopped once more.

"Wait- let me see your pistol."

Confused; Arthur pulled his pistol from it's holster and held it out for Alfred to inspect.

"Angle it so I can look down the barrel."

Arthur did as he was instructed and a curse escaped Alfred's lips as the barrel lined with his vision.

"What is it?"

"The barrel isn't rifled."

Alfred lifted his gaze again to meet Arthur's. That gleam now gone and replaced with a stern look as if trying to explain everything to the soldier within that moment.

"This isn't your pistol. They've seen the rifling I did to your weapon."

"You mean to say-"

Alfred nodded, "Watch your back."

Author's Notes:

WOAH! So sorry for the long delay with this chapter! Had some writer's block in the early stages of it and when I finally pushed past that it was X-mas week so I had very little time to write. Then xmas came and I got sucked into Doctor Who. Go me and my procrastination! :D

As for bringing in yet another town in Massachusetts; I always said I would never write a story that mentions my hometown, but it just so happens Quincy borders Weymouth, and "Great Hill" is an actual place in Weymouth that overlooks Boston Harbour. You can see Boston from that hill. It's pretty sweet. :3 Breathtaking place to check out.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It was a fun one to write. Be sure to let me know what you think on your way out! ^^ I love hearing from you all, and feel free to nitpick as you see fit. I've been a little slack on my research and have been taking a few liberties. *bad* Thank you again for reading! See you again in Chapter 11! :D

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