Let me apologize profusely for being so long in updating this. As some of you know I've been busy. I've been more involved in our community here from auditioning and joining a choir to volunteering and working with my daughter's choir group and still homeschooling and being active in our co-ops and such...it's just taken me away from writing.
This chapter has been ALMOST finished for a whole month if that gives you any kind of idea of what life has been like. Apart from it being incredibly long, I also ended up rewriting a large section of it...which of course, just added to the delay. That was partly my fault for trying to write parts of this story while suffering from the chest cold from hell...(I don't recommend mixing writing with cold medicine) but even after rewriting that section there were just parts of it that I just wasn't happy with and so I muddled over passages for days and weeks until I finally worked out the kinks.
This chapter gives us Wyatt's POV and will see our team finally catching a break in all of their misery. I hope you enjoy it and again, I apologize SO SO MUCH for the delay! As always, I appreciate your patience and your comments. Thank you so much for understanding. Happy Reading!
Several months ago, Lucy had been at home, nursing a massive blow to her ego, when Homeland Security Agent Kondo knocked on her door and essentially turned her life upside down. Whisking her off to Mason Industries where she learned for the first time that time travel was not only possible, but was in fact, an actuality, had stunned her in a way nothing else ever had before.
That, however, was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
Seeing the Hindenburg, watching it defy known history and land, coming back from 1937 only to find that her beloved sister, Amy, had never been born and her terminally ill mother was now thriving and healthy…had all culminated into what was, by far, the most shocking day of her life.
This? This was a close second.
Too flabbergasted to move, hardly able to even breathe as she stared through a steady stream of rain at a bloody and bruised Wyatt, Lucy stammered, "You…you're…supposed to be dead."
"Sorry to disappoint you, ma'am." he gritted out as he took hold of the knife, groaning as he attempted to pull it out of his arm.
It was only then that Lucy realized, with horror, what she had done, "Oh my God, Wyatt…I'm so sorry." she whimpered as she went to help him pull it free. "Are…are you okay?"
"No, I'm not okay!" Wyatt spat out as he wrenched it free, "You stabbed me!" he exclaimed as he tossed the knife off to the side, "I mean, seriously…what the hell?
"I didn't know it was you!" Lucy argued weakly. "Besides, why would you grab me from behind like that?"
"Why…" Wyatt stared at her incredulously, "you want to jump in a river during a thunderstorm? Be my guest. Do you have any idea what I've just been through trying to save your life?" he spat out angrily.
"What you've been through?" Lucy bristled. "What about what I've been through? I thought…" she stammered in a voice choked with emotion, "I thought you were dead."
A crack as loud as lightening rent the air, causing Wyatt to duck defensively, pulling Lucy with him as a nearby tree bore the brunt of the musket shot meant for them.
"Well if we stay here any longer, we're both dead." Wyatt huffed out as a host of French soldiers made their way out of the gate. All of them pointing and yelling at them. Gripping her arm, he urged, "C'mon…we need to get the hell out of here."
"What about Rufus?" Lucy asked desperately as Wyatt pulled her along. "Wyatt…they just sent him off to be sold into slavery."
"No, they didn't." Wyatt urged, "come on, Lucy - I didn't do all of this just to be shot by those assholes again." He took her by the hand and set off at a hard sprint, racing towards the woods, but their efforts were in vain. No sooner had they made it to the tree line when Lucy, already suffering from a sore ankle, got her foot caught up in a wooden crate left lying out and tumbled to the muddy ground. "Shit…Lucy." Wyatt breathed out, but as he stooped down to help her, more shots rang out forcing him to take cover. Pulling out his own gun, Wyatt took out a few of the French soldiers, all the while shouting at Lucy to crawl towards him.
Desperately clawing at the crate her foot was tangled in, Lucy tried to get free but it was no use. Between attempting to shield herself from musket fire and maneuver her foot out of the crate, she was having a hell of a time and Wyatt was getting desperate. Abandoning his position behind a large tree, he quickly scrambled to her side using the butt end of his gun to break her foot free from the wooden crate only to be set upon by two more soldiers. Wyatt grappled with one, while the other took hold of Lucy, attempting to drag her back to the fort as she clawed and kicked in a desperate effort to get away.
"Get off of me!" she gritted out angrily as she kicked the French soldier in the shin, causing him to howl out in pain and release her, at which point Wyatt came charging towards the soldier, knocking him over. Before the soldier could scramble to his feet to make a grab at Lucy again, Wyatt was on him, punching him relentlessly in the face until Lucy spun around only to see a familiar face charging towards them, pistol drawn…and aimed directly at Wyatt.
"No!" Lucy cried out, stumbling forward. "Ne lui faites pas de mal." she pleaded. Nicolas hesitated, looking at Lucy with the greatest sense of conflict; torn between doing his duty and showing her…them…mercy. "On veut juste rentrer à la maison.'' she begged, standing in front of Wyatt, who had quickly scrambled to his feet. "C'est tout. S'll vous plaît, laissez-nous partir.''
Wyatt stood behind Lucy, alert and tense, ready to reach for his own gun in a moment as Nicolas ordered her to step aside, but Lucy shook her head at him defiantly, "No. Tu vas devoir me tuer. Je ne vais pas te laisser faire du mal à cet homme.''
They stood, facing off, as the rain pummeled the Earth all around them, but when it was clear to Nicolas that Lucy was not going to give in to his repeated demands that she move aside, he shakily took aim again, this time pointing the pistol at her…which made Wyatt quickly reach for his own gun. Lucy however, took a step towards Nicolas, "S'll te plaît, ne fais pas ça. Tu es un homme bien."
Nicolas' face contorted in agony, clearly in conflict with his emotions, but as Lucy reached out tentatively and touched his arm, he relented with a sigh and lowered his weapon. "Sois parti. Quittez cet endroit." he muttered.
Lucy let out a sigh of relief and had just opened her mouth to thank him when a deafening shot pierced the night. Instinctively, Wyatt made a grab for Lucy, but it was Nicolas who faltered and fell to the ground. "Nicolas!" Lucy yelled out as she stooped to check his wounds, but Wyatt pulled her away as more gun shots exploded into the trees around them.
"We gotta move, Lucy!" he urged, pulling her along beside him as they dove into the rain drenched forest, dodging more gunshots as they quite literally ran for their lives. As musket balls exploded into the trees all around them, Wyatt silently thanked God again that accuracy was not a main attribute of the flintlock pistol, but as Lucy faltered beside him, his heart sank into his stomach. "Lucy?!" he cried out, gripping onto her arm tighter as she nearly collapsed on the ground.
"It's just my ankle" she gasped out, gripping at a stitch in her side.
"Come on, we're almost there…we can't stop now." Wyatt ordered pulling her forward, as shouts of "Meurtriers!" rang out behind them. "What the hell does that mean?" he asked as they splashed through a large mud puddle.
"Murderers." Lucy moaned, "Oh my God, Wyatt…if they're calling us that…that must mean Nicolas is dead…oh my God…he's the commander's son! This is bad…this is very, very bad."
"Better him than us." he gritted out, clearly unsympathetic as he hoisted her up and over fallen log before tugging her forward once more. They ran onward, the shouts from the French sounding mercifully further away, until at last, they reached a steep embankment that sloped sharply down towards the river. Practically sliding down it in the hopes that their sudden disappearance would keep the French off their tail, Lucy and Wyatt tumbled to the rocks below, slipping to the bottom in an awkward and graceless embrace.
"Ouch!" Lucy cried out as they collapsed onto the gravelly surface, but for Wyatt, this was no time to nurse injuries. As quickly as he could he scrambled to his feet, pulling a protesting Lucy up behind him.
"We can't stay here, Lucy!" Wyatt reminded her urgently, "we've got to get the hell out of here before they catch up to us."
"Where are we going to go?" Lucy moaned, as she faltered again beside him, "It's no use…they're just going to find us again…"
Wyatt wanted to argue with her, but they didn't have time for that right now. Right now, he was focused on getting them to safety. Not saying a word, therefore, Wyatt pulled her forward with more determination than ever before, racing along the river bank until they came to a depression near the water's edge where, huddled against the rocky outcropping was…
"Rufus?!" Lucy gasped, stopping short at the sight of him. "How…how…?"
"What the hell took you guys so long?" Rufus demanded, ignoring her as he rushed towards them, "I may not be Bear Grylls, but I know you're not supposed to be on or near water during a damn lightning storm!"
"We ran into a little trouble," Wyatt answered hurriedly as he quickly brushed past him and snatched up the small bag of supplies he had left behind with Rufus.
"Uh-huh." Rufus said with a nod of his head noticing Wyatt's bloody arm, "define trouble…"
Shouts sounding somewhere above them, however, made explanation unnecessary, "Shit." Wyatt breathed out, "We've gotta move." As he looked around desperately for a route of escape, he knew that in this storm, with Lucy's sore ankle, there was no way in hell they were going to outrun them. Making up his mind, he threw their meager bundle of supplies into the small canoe lying on the shore, covered almost completely with limbs that Wyatt was now furiously tossing to and fro. "Get in the boat." he said decisively.
"Get in the boat? Did you not hear a damn word I just said?" Rufus exclaimed loudly. "You don't go out on the water during a lightning storm!"
Musket shot exploded into the ground next to them, showering their feet with gravel and rock. "Shit!" Wyatt exclaimed as he grabbed Lucy around the waist and practically tossed her into the canoe, "Get in the damn boat, Rufus!"
As another shot exploded into the rocks next to them, Rufus didn't need any further convincing. Scrambling into the boat next to Lucy, he covered his head with his hands as the shouts from the French soldiers got louder. Using all of his strength, Wyatt pushed the canoe into the swift flowing river clambering up the side of the boat before it carried the three of them northward up the Monongahela.
Keeping low in the canoe, the three of them lay there together as rain, thunder, and musket fire pounded all around them. "Just stay down." Wyatt ordered them, "we're surrounded by mountains…that's a good thing. Lightening usually hits high ground first."
"Excuse me," Rufus argued anxiously, "but there's a reason you don't go into the pool during a damn thunderstorm. Do you know if lightning strikes water it can kill someone 10 miles away?"
"Will you shut up, Rufus?" Wyatt hissed as Lucy whimpered in fear. "It's not like this was my first choice, okay? But since those assholes think we murdered the commander's son…"
"Wait, what?" Rufus asked. "You murdered somebody?"
"No!" Lucy and Wyatt answered together. "They think we did." Lucy explained, "Nicolas was trying to stop Wyatt from taking off with me when...he took a shot that was probably meant for us...and since he's Louis Coulon's son. I mean, first his brother at Jumonville Glen, now his son…if they think we're British spies…"
"I don't give a damn what they think." Wyatt spat out angrily, "We didn't do it…if that asshole would have just left us alone…"
"He was not an asshole." Lucy snapped angrily, "He was the only person in that whole place who was nice to me. He watched out for me, defended me…and now he's probably dead because of us, so I'd appreciate it if you'd try and show a little respect."
Wyatt stared at her in complete disbelief. "He tried to kill me." he reminded her with an angry scoff, shifting away from her.
"But he didn't." Lucy argued, "He was letting us go...besides, what do you expect him to do? I mean, you're a soldier…what would you have done in the same situation?"
Wyatt rolled his eyes, "I'll tell you what I wouldn't have done…I wouldn't have been playing nice with the French after they nearly murdered one of you." Wyatt scoffed indignantly, "Do you know how many damn times I tried to save your ass in that fort? But you didn't even...it was like I wasn't even there…"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucy asked, gaping at him. "How...how was I supposed to know you were alive? And for the record," she said as she turned to Rufus, "how are you even here? The last time I saw you, you were on a boat going to God knows where."
"You didn't tell her?" Rufus asked Wyatt incredulously.
"I was kind of busy, Rufus." Wyatt grunted out in exasperation as he shifted into a more comfortable position.
"Tell me, what?" she asked, her head sloshing back and forth to look at both Wyatt and Rufus who were situated on either side of her. "How long have you known he was alive?" she asked Rufus accusingly.
"Since last night." Rufus answered with a shrug, "What…you didn't know?"
"No, I didn't know! So, you could tell Rufus you were alive, but not me?" Lucy asked as she rounded on Wyatt who was now cursing underneath his breath.
"And when the hell was I supposed to do that? Huh? When you were cozying up next to your French boyfriend back at the fort?" He spat out forcefully, rolling his eyes at Lucy's affronted gasp, "Yeah, don't think I didn't see the two of you hitting it off back there."
"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about." Lucy gritted out, talking over Wyatt as he made to argue with her, "He was not my boyfriend."
"Could have fooled me." Wyatt huffed out as Rufus bit back a laugh.
Wyatt rolled his eyes and shifted away from her, but Lucy pressed further, "And if there was something going on between us…which there wasn't…then maybe you should have come up to me to let me know you were still alive instead of sneaking around and spying on me!"
'She's got a point there, man" Rufus muttered.
"Nobody asked you, Rufus." Wyatt spat out before he flipped over on his stomach, rocking the boat in the process to look at Lucy more directly, "And I wasn't spying on you…" he countered angrily, "I spent the whole damn night trying to get you the hell out of there."
"Oh really?" Lucy argued doubtfully, "When?"
ONE DAY EARLIER
Despite a massive headache, nausea, and more than a little bit of dizziness, Wyatt had made his way back to their old campsite, found the discarded clothes Lucy had left behind and clumsily raced towards the French fort still completely at a loss as to what to do when he got there.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that without his usual stealth, he was bound to run into trouble, but at the time, his focus was solely on getting to his team mates as quickly as possible. With a fresh set of clothes and a fairly shabby visage, he was holding out hope that he would be able to slip into the fort, among the trappers, traders, and farmers and find out what the hell the French soldiers had done with Lucy and Rufus. The moment he reached Fort Duquesne, however, he realized he was going to have a tough time blending in with the other denizens of the French compound. It wasn't that there weren't enough people moving freely in and out of the fort to avoid detection, it was that those people were decidedly dressed differently than he was.
Yes, Rufus had procured a new set of clothes and while otherwise unremarkable in their make up (just a plain white silken shirt and a pair of khaki breeches) the only persons wearing similar attire were, oddly enough, the Native Americans who were gathered along the shoreline trading animal skins for muskets, metal tools and the like. Unlike him, however, they had adorned their plain garments with colorful beaded necklaces and sashes...making an otherwise plain raiment, stylish and vibrant. The French traders, by contrast, were draped in dark furs and wore leather pouches…their hair an unkempt mess causing them to look far more wild and uncivilized than the people they had come to cultivate. The farmers and even the slaves too, wore darker shirts of a coarser material, while the French, in their smart uniforms of bright blue and white, stood in sharp contrast to all of them.
In most circumstances, plain, ordinary and otherwise commonplace attire would work to ones' advantage in attempting to blend in with the crowd. But in this crowd, among all of this, Wyatt was most certainly the odd man out. Deciding he was either going to have to come up with a better plan to blend in or figure out another way into the fort, Wyatt made his way towards the Monongahela side of the outpost in an attempt at the latter hoping that he might be able to find a back door or a low place in the wall he could climb over.
But that is where he ran into trouble.
No sooner had he crashed through the underbrush on his way to the Eastern side of the fort, then he found himself completely surrounded by a very angry looking bunch of Native Americans. Since they didn't look at all surprised by his sudden appearance, he could only imagine that his brash ramble through the woods had drawn their attention to his presence and they had spent the better part of the morning tracking his movements.
Throwing up his hands in surrender, Wyatt inwardly cursed himself for being so damn careless. Taking a deep breath as they slowly made their way towards him, he pleaded, "Listen…I'm not here to hurt anybody. I just want to save my friends…okay?" He pointed towards the fort in explanation, "My friends…I think they're prisoners there…this whole thing has been a misunderstanding. I just want to get them out of there and go home."
He held out little hope that they understood a word he said, but as they began murmuring amongst themselves Wyatt thought that perhaps, maybe they had. He was just beginning to believe that they were going to let him go, when he found himself being poked roughly with a musket barrel and sent marching in the direction of the fort.
Dammit. Well…that was one way to get in…
Wyatt knew however, it was not at all ideal considering the French had already tried to kill him once. If he suddenly appeared on their doorstep alive? He might not have been the historian, but he was pretty damn sure they wouldn't respond by sending out the welcoming committee.
Well, they might send out a "welcoming" committee, but he hardly believed he'd be made to actually feel welcomed.
Wyatt stomped along in the midst of the Native Americans fully expecting to turn towards the fort at any moment, but to his surprise, the troop veered off to the left, towards the Monongahela River marching him all the way down to the water's edge where they paused and motioned him into one of several waiting canoes. "No…no…wait." Wyatt protested. "I need to help my friends." he argued as he pointed back towards the fort, but with several muskets now pointed in his direction, he decided the best thing to do, at this point, was to comply.
Reluctantly, therefore, he sat down deciding he had better not press his luck. He had already had one close call as it was and if he was going to be of any help to Lucy and Rufus he didn't need anymore. He took some comfort in the fact that thus far, the Indians had neither bound his hands nor searched him for any weapons and so while he wasn't happy about his current predicament, he felt that maybe cooperating with them might work in his best interest.
Maybe if he could communicate to them, make them understand that he was not a threat - he could earn their trust…and their help.
Battling against the north flowing current of the river, the canoes slowly made their way southward down the twisty and winding bends of the Monongahela and Wyatt couldn't help but look back towards the direction of the fort, his thoughts wholly turned to his friends who now seemed more out of reach than ever. The further they traveled, the more anxious he became -with every stroke of the oar, he was being pulled further and further away from the people who needed him. His anxiety must have been evident on his face, for no sooner had he shifted nervously in his seat than a hand rested on his shoulder followed by words he didn't understand, but one look into the face of the man speaking to him and Wyatt knew they weren't planning on hurting him.
But that didn't stop him from seriously contemplating about jumping out of the damn boat and swimming for it.
After what had to have been hours, the canoes finally made their way towards the Eastern shore of the river, 10 miles south of Fort Duquesne, coming to rest at a small peninsula that jutted out away from the shore. As the Natives scrambled onto the bank, they motioned for Wyatt to follow, but his patience was now wearing thin. He stubbornly hesitated in the boat, half scheming to commandeer the canoe he was in and paddle as fast as he could back to Fort Duquesne. Several hands, however, grabbed for him and pulled him forward, urging him up the sloping forest path to where Wyatt came face to face with an honest to goodness Indian village. He stood gaping at the scene around him – a scene he had truly only seen in books and movies and he couldn't help but wish that Lucy was with him to see it too.
And it made him all the more anxious to get back to her.
As he stumbled into the camp, murmurs arose among the tribe as they all turned to stare at him, a newcomer, and from the looks of tension on the faces of some – a perceived threat. While Wyatt felt completely out of place and a more than a little alarmed at his current situation, he breathed out a sigh of relief when his eyes fell upon a man donning the familiar uniform of a British officer speaking with one of the men who had ushered him into a canoe.
The officer was of a darker complexion with fierce, nearly black eyebrows, sharp eyes and a strong jaw and Wyatt had a strong suspicion that whoever this man was, he wasn't your typical Englishman. He acknowledged Wyatt with a nod of his head as he listened intently to whatever message was being conveyed to him by his Indian captor. After several moments, the officer approached him with a bow. "I understand you speak English?"
"Yeah." Wyatt responded somewhat impatiently. Though he knew he was probably being rude as hell, Wyatt's eagerness to get back to finding Lucy and Rufus outweighed any sense of protocol he probably should have followed in addressing this man. He could barely hide the tone of annoyance in his voice as he barked out, "Listen, I don't know why the hell I'm here…but I can't stay…I have to get back to that fort…my friends need my help."
The British officer looked up at him in marked surprise, clearly unused to be spoken to with such little civility, but far from reprimanding Wyatt, he chuckled mirthlessly, "I'm sorry to say, but if your friends have been taken captive by the French there is very little chance that…"
"They're alive." Wyatt interrupted curtly with a look of grim determination in his eye, "I just need to get in that fort – can you help me or not?"
"I'd love to be of service to you…but…" the officer trailed off, eyeing Wyatt suspiciously, "Why don't you start by telling me who you are and how you came to be here?"
Wyatt groaned, feeling completely out of his element since it was Lucy who usually provided the context of their cover stories, understanding better than any of them what was conventional and what was not in any point in time they were visiting. It wasn't like he could exactly tell this man the truth, but he knew, given that they were out in the literal middle of nowhere, amid high tensions, their presence was suspicious. "Look," Wyatt said as he rubbed a hand across his face, "you're the ones who brought me here. No offense, but I don't care about you or the French…I'm just trying to save my friends."
"My dear man," the officer replied, "we are on the brink of war…"
"I don't give a damn about any war." Wyatt spat out impatiently, "This is not my fight…"
"Ah…so you're a Quaker." the officer nodded in understanding, "but I must say, given your physique and build, you'd make a fine soldier for his majesty, the King…particularly in these desperate times. We cannot allow the French to continue their conquest of this land…which is why, unfortunately, there is very little I can do to help you. The French and English aren't on the best of terms, you see. But perhaps you can help me?" he asked as he ushered Wyatt over to a nearby log.
Wyatt took a reluctant seat beside him as the officer continued, "Several months ago, a dear friend of mine, John Fraser, was forced to give up a trading post many miles north of here due to French aggression. He had been there for years, tried to maintain his neutrality in all of this madness, even flew the French flag…but Louis Coulon and his men seized his land and ran him out of his home so that they could build yet another fort in this region." He sighed heavily as he continued, "That was alarming enough, to be sure, but several days ago, we heard reports that members of the Confederation to which this tribe belongs, peacefully sought out that trading post in an effort to do business as usual…and though we have no account as to what happened, my own investigations have provided enough information to alarm me exceedingly…from what I can tell the entire party were slaughtered."
Wyatt blanched, remembering the bloodbath they had encountered almost as soon as they arrived. Noting this, the British officer nodded, "You seem to know to what I am referring…"
"Yeah." Wyatt breathed out, "I was there…my friends and I" he swallowed hard as he explained, "I didn't…I mean, we didn't have anything to do with that. We were just…lost and ran into that damn bloodbath." he stammered out.
"Yes, well you see…I am tasked, as the Crown's representative in these colonies with the affairs of the Indians to reach some sort of conclusion as to what is to be done. We have a responsibility to our allies here…
Wyatt cleared his throat nervously, "Look, my friends and I…we don't belong here…we're just trying to get home. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong damn time. The French thought we were spies and chased us down for days until last night when they ambushed us…took off with my friends…nearly killed me…I just need to get them back so we can try to get the hell out of here.
"My dear man, how do you even know your friends are still alive? If the French truly believed your friends were guilty of espionage, I'm afraid the odds don't appear to be in their favor."
"I know." Wyatt admitted glumly, "but I have to try…if they are alive, I'm the only one who can help them. Please," Wyatt begged, "isn't there something you can do to get me in there? Send me as an envoy or something?"
"I'm afraid I cannot help you there." the British soldier replied. "With this latest act, the French have made it clear that they aren't interested in negotiating a compromise to the present situation….and now with kidnapping English citizens…" He tutted with a shake of his head, "No…all negotiations appear to be at an end and I am under direct orders from the Governor, himself, that no further attempts should be made without a blessing from the King..."
"Then why the hell did you bring me here?" Wyatt demanded.
"Why…to save your life." the officer responded in surprise, nodding towards the Native Americans situated around the camp. "My friend here tells me you were stumbling about in the woods, confused and injured," he said with a nod towards Wyatt's head. "they thought that perhaps you might be French…that is until you started speaking…these men may speak very little English, but they recognize it when they hear it."
"It's not that I don't appreciate what you all were trying to do for me." Wyatt said with a nod, "but every minute I'm here is more time for them to do God knows what to Lucy and Rufus…I'm not asking for anything…I just need to get in that fort…and sitting here," he spat out suddenly, leaping to his feet in agitation, "is just wasting time!"
"I understand your frustration, but how do you expect to get into the fort dressed as you are?"
"Help me with that." Wyatt urged, "Get me so damn clothes…I don't care what it is…just…please help me."
The officer pursed his lips thoughtfully as he took in Wyatt's appearance before calling to one of the Native American men, speaking to him in the native tongue, before turning back to Wyatt with an appraising nod, "They'll supply you with trapper garments, furs and things - that should at least help you look less like an out of place Englishman…but it will require payment."
Wyatt threw up his hands, "I don't have any money."
"Money?" My dear sir, who said anything about money? In these wild and untamed lands, trading goods and services is far more valuable than money." He pursed his lips in thought before adding in explanation, "I require information…if you can give me a full report on the events that transpired near this Fort Machault, you will have done your duty as an Englishman and have the unwavering gratitude of the Crown.
Not seeing any other safe way out of his predicament, Wyatt agreed with a sigh, relating to the British officer all that he had witnessed that horrible afternoon and how the French, thinking that they were spies, had pursued and captured them.
The British officer assailed him with questions, which Wyatt attempted to answer to the best of his knowledge until finally, the officer stood up and shook Wyatt's hand, "Thank you…this information will prove most useful to our cause. I wish you the best of luck…and if you are able to secure the release of your friends, might I suggest you journey back here? John Fraser has relocated his post just a few miles east of here. I will be traveling to see him shortly before I return to Williamsburg, I'd be happy to make the necessary introductions - he could always use some help, particularly around harvest time. Though I do advise," he said with frown, "that you make your way to Fort Cumberland as soon as possible. With war on the horizon, it will be the safest place."
"Th…thank…thank you." Wyatt stammered, "That would be…"
"Oh please, don't mention it…really in times such as these we Englishman have got to stick together, haven't we?"
Wyatt nodded, "Yes sir...Colonel…?"
"Alexander McKee, at your service." the officer said with a bow.
Wyatt knew that name…he couldn't remember why he knew that name…but he knew he knew that name. Figuring it would come to him later he shrugged it off and went to work securing his disguise. The Native Americans, it seemed, preferred the European style of dress, so the trade of Wyatt's plain outfit for the furs, coarse shirt and pants was all that was left to finish the transaction. Not only was Wyatt supplied with a full arraignment of a fur vest, coat and even a hat, the Indians gave him use of one of their canoes so that he could make his way back across the Monongahela to the fort. Unlike his trek southward, the voyage back up the river took less time, rowing as he was, with the current instead of against, but even so…rowing for miles on his own through the serpentine bends of the Monongahela had all but exhausted him by the time he finally reached Fort Duquesne.
Towering above him on his right were the high mountain peaks, where he, Lucy and Rufus had once spied on the fort, and though Wyatt was not one to get spooked by much of anything, he couldn't help but feel unsettled by their dark looming shadows as he rowed slowly past them in his tiny canoe. Nearly an entire day had passed since Wyatt last saw Lucy and Rufus alive, and though he refused to even consider the possibility that he might well be too late, he couldn't help but feel a mounting sense of dread as he silently maneuvered his boat to shore.
After securing his boat at the dock, Wyatt eased his way onto the shore, taking care to mimic the attitudes and actions of the other French trappers around him. He didn't speak a lick of French, after all, and the last thing he needed was to be roped into a conversation and have his cover completely blown. Since the fort doubled as a trading post, his presence, thankfully, was nothing out of the ordinary and soon he found himself within the walls of the fort itself, without so much as a second glance drawn his way.
By now, evening had fallen and as the last vestiges of light streaked across the sky, the French soldiers were busing themselves with lighting torches and fires throughout the fort…something that worked to his benefit. Thus occupied, it allowed him more freedom to search than he might normally have had, since their attentions were focused elsewhere. Despite that freedom, however, there was no sign of either Lucy or Rufus and while he repeatedly willed himself not to panic, his inability to readily locate them had him more than a little desperate.
As casually as he could, he wandered among the tents and the buildings that he could readily access but nowhere did he find any indication that there were prisoners in the fort. He saw a few women in the back freely handling the washing and the cooking, but he highly doubted Lucy would be among them considering she was an accused spy. No. As spies, Lucy and Rufus would be secured somewhere….and as Wyatt's eyes scanned the far wall, he realized where they could be. The interior portion of the fort, the military headquarters, would be the most secure area of the entire place, but as such, it was a place Wyatt would not be able to enter, given that he was clearly not dressed as a French soldier.
Wyatt leaned up against the balustrades of the interior wall, studying the movements of the soldiers as they made their way in and out, as they patrolled along the interior gate and the upper wall, trying to memorize the pattern and the timing so he could somehow find a window to slip in without being noticed. His musings, however, were interrupted by the call to dinner which sent many men, trapper and soldier alike, racing towards the large cauldrons near the kitchens.
Taking the opportunity in their absence to search a little more thoroughly, Wyatt scoured the now nearly vacant areas of the fort desperately, looking for any sign of either Lucy or Rufus, anything to indicate that they were still alive, when the sounds of loud laughter and jeers caught his attention. At first, Wyatt nearly dismissed it as normal dinner time ruckus…a chance for the soldiers to kick back and relax after hours on duty. There was something, though, in the the way the men were talking that made Wyatt's hair stand on end. It was lecherous and taunting…and reminded Wyatt strongly of how that one asshole had spoken to Lucy when they had first been captured.
Wandering towards the grouping of men, Wyatt's suspicions were confirmed when he saw the soldiers hounding the women dishing out their meals. Though most of the women looked used to it and gave as good as they got…one woman did not…and she seemed to be the one bearing the full force of their attention. Even though she shook off their advances time and time again, soldier after soldier teased and harassed her. It wasn't until Wyatt got into the meal line and a few soldiers parted that he realized the woman was Lucy.
He hardly recognized her.
No longer in her underwear (thank God), she was dressed in a drab colonial get up that had her looking just like every other woman in the place. Her hair was mostly hidden beneath a reddish scarf and while she appeared to look unhurt, the amount of hands currently wandering all over her body, made Wyatt want to beat the shit out of every single man in the place.
Knowing that he was going to have to keep his emotions in check if they had any chance of getting out of all of this alive, Wyatt could do little more than watch as countless men harassed her as she tried to serve them dinner. He could see the tension in her face at every lewd comment tossed her way and though he wished she would look up so that he could catch her eye, she kept her eyes and her head determinedly down, refusing to look at any one of the men who grabbed her around the waist and nuzzled their damn faces in her neck.
Surrounded as she was by soldiers, Wyatt knew he couldn't call out to her – that would be bad for them both. He thought about getting in line and whispering to her, but that too, seemed like it might be too risky. He had no idea how Lucy would react to seeing him and given that she was currently rebuffing every advance and attempted advance made towards her, to have one seemingly well-received would certainly raise suspicions.
No. He needed to blend in and try to get her alone.
Taking his place in the service line, Wyatt watched and waited, gritting his teeth angrily at every indecent proposal thrown her way until finally, he was near enough to touch her. With a firm, but gentle hand, he gripped her arm, hoping that that action would make her look up at him, but to his ultimate frustration, it did not. Instead, Lucy only ducked her head away from him and attempted to tug her arm out of his grip. Refusing to let her go, Wyatt pulled on her arm, this time actually making her stumble towards him as he attempted to get her the hell out of that proverbial meat market, when a French soldier came rushing forward, knocking Lucy's arm out of his grip and loudly admonishing the others, calling for them to disperse as he took Lucy by the hand and led her away.
Wyatt should have been grateful that somebody was looking out for Lucy…he knew that…deep down he knew that Lucy's safety and security was the priority in this situation. But as he watched as the French soldier led Lucy away, offering her food and a blanket as he sat next to her by the fire, he couldn't help but hate the guy…especially when he noticed that Lucy had absolutely no problem looking at him.
"Asshole" Wyatt breathed out under his breath as he took up a new position closer to the fire so that he could keep an eye on them.
Her…he mentally corrected himself.
The two of them sat huddled close to one another, talking…and as Wyatt crept nearer hoping that he might be able to hear something he could understand, he realized that Lucy was crying and it absolutely killed him to stand helplessly by watching someone else attempt to comfort her.
That was his damn job.
Okay, maybe it wasn't his job…but she was his friend, his team mate…and dammit, he should have been the one sitting next to her, comforting her…not this jackass. Hell, these assholes kidnapped her…in her underwear…and shot him…why was she even giving them the time of day?
And where the hell was Rufus?
His disgust at the situation had set him to brooding…and he was only getting more indignant with every passing moment as he watched and listened to them murmuring words to each other he didn't understand – Lucy, offering up grateful smiles to the soldier who was now nudging his soup bowl at her.
Damn it.
He wanted nothing more than to bust up their little dinner date, but he knew that was probably a sure- fire way to get them both killed and as he had no idea where the hell Rufus was, he figured he was just going to have to stick it out. So instead, he settled himself down next to one of the tents, shooting scornful glares in the direction of Lucy and her 18th century boyfriend in the hopes that she might pull her eyes away from that jackass long enough to see him sitting right there, practically in front of her.
When she did eventually lift her eyes to scan faces of the soldiers among the torch-lit grounds of the fort, Wyatt sat up, alert and ready…half hoping she would recognize him, half-hoping she wouldn't. He had no idea how she would react, after all, and the last thing they needed was a blown cover…but in the end, her eyes passed over him, dismissing him as a nameless face in a crowd of other men and soldiers…and though he should have felt relieved that even Lucy didn't recognize him in this get up…he wasn't. It just made him all the more irritated, particularly when she went back to muttering with her French companion.
He was just about to storm off in search of Rufus and leave her to her new-found confidante when he stood up suddenly and left Lucy sitting alone by the fire. Wyatt watched him as he walked by, a thoughtful frown on his face, and though he wondered vaguely where the hell he was going and why he would leave Lucy behind after all the harassment she had received, he knew that with him out of the way, he could finally get close to Lucy.
No sooner had Wyatt begun making his determined way towards her than another French asshole was suddenly there at her side…but he wasn't just sitting next to her. Oh no….this sonofabitch had his hand planted firmly on Lucy's thigh…and though Wyatt knew causing a scene with this soldier wouldn't be the best thing in terms of securing their escape, he also felt like it was incumbent upon him to teach him a thing or two about personal space.
Lucy, however, seemed to have the situation well under control…much to Wyatt's surprise and admiration. He had been on several missions with Lucy, had seen her stare down the barrel of Nazis gun, brave the firepower of the Mexican army, and had even seen her covered in the blood of Abraham Lincoln, himself…but somehow, seeing her wrench that soldier's hand off of her thigh and roughly throw it back at him, had him standing almost dumb in awe of her. As she continued to defend herself against his advances, Wyatt actually laughed with the other men surrounding the scene when the soldier lunged for her, only to fall short and crumple to a pathetic heap on the ground.
He didn't laugh long though.
Almost immediately, Wyatt noticed the fury in the man's eyes and saw the subsequent danger to Lucy, who was now surrounded on all sides by people who didn't give a damn about her or her virtue and therefore would do nothing to help her when that asshole retaliated.
As swiftly as he could, therefore, Wyatt pushed past the gathered soldiers and grabbed a hold of Lucy just before the sonofabitch dove for her again. He hadn't intended to stay among the crowd, but that action had caused quite a scene and as soldiers cheered, Wyatt quickly took a seat pulling Lucy onto his lap so that he could talk to her low enough so that only she could hear
The problem was, Lucy thought he was just another asshole.
Despite his grip on her waist, Lucy fought against him with a fury he didn't know she was even capable of. With so many soldiers around, however, he could hardly call out her name to calm her down. Instead, he attempted to pull her back against him so that he could quietly tell her not to worry, that it wasn't some groping jackass who had a hold of her…it was him. He had just managed to press her up against his chest, had his mouth on the shell of her ear, when she rocked forward in an attempt to break free of his grip. In vain, Wyatt tried to pull her back up against him, but Lucy was having none of it, she threw herself forward, writhing this way and that on his lap…
…and oh dammit…this was a bad idea.
Springing to his feet, Wyatt hoisted her up in the air, determined to just carry her the hell out of the there…and from the whistles and cat calls erupting all around him, he felt pretty confident that not one of these assholes would come to her defense, even if he hauled her, kicking and screaming, right out of the front gate. Tightening his grip on her, Wyatt walked backwards through the crowd of soldiers, grunting as Lucy repeatedly jammed her elbow into his ribs.
Not that he blamed her…but it was starting to hurt like hell.
"Lucy! Relax…it's me!" he whispered harshly, but she was leaning too far forward and the shouts from the crowd were far too loud for her to possibly hear him. Once again, he desperately tried to pull her back into his chest so that he could get her close enough to whisper reassurances to her but Lucy took that opportunity to abandon pummeling his ribs and instead, began pounding the hell out of left shin. The shock and pain from the blow to his leg caused him lose his grip on her and before he even realized what was happening, Lucy went tumbling down to the ground. "No, wait…Lucy!" he gritted out as loudly as he dared, but it was no use, Lucy had already begun scrambling away from him and was soon surrounded by a jeering and laughing crowd, completely lost to Wyatt's view.
As he fought to make his way back to her, however, her French defender suddenly reappeared, doing everything Wyatt wished he could do in that situation…okay, well minus a few ass-kickings. To his credit the soldier looked furious at what had befallen Lucy in his absence…and while Wyatt knew Lucy would have been just fine if she had just let him take off with her…the French officer didn't know that. Therefore, Wyatt had to begrudgingly appreciate his attention and concern.
What he did not appreciate was the way the French soldier was currently shooing him away from Lucy, yelling at him with words he did not understand, as Wyatt tried desperately to get her to at least look in his direction. Lucy, however, kept her eyes firmly trained on the ground, hugging herself and flushing from humiliation and while it frustrated the hell out of Wyatt, he knew he it was his own damn fault.
He had obviously scared the hell out of her.
But what else could he have done? There was no way he could communicate with her in English surrounded, as they were, by Frenchman. There was no way he could carry her off without her or her boyfriend putting up some kind of a fight. And so now, as Wyatt watched helplessly as the soldier ushered her off to God knows where, leading her gently and heroically through the gauntlet of lecherous assholes currently staring daggers at them, he felt like maybe this rescue was going to be a hell of a lot harder than he thought.
Dammit.
Dammit.
DAMMIT.
Wyatt rubbed a rough and across his face, frustrated beyond belief, but more determined than ever to get his team back. Huffing out a heavy breath, Wyatt stalked after them, muttering angrily to himself, frantically trying to come up with some distraction that would enable him to get closer to Lucy when he stumbled upon a scene that made him even more pissed than he already was; Lucy, having her ankle…the ankle he had practically begged to help her with…wrapped.
"Are you serious?" Wyatt mumbled irritably under his breath.
Maybe, Wyatt thought irritably, if he had asked to bandage her ankle in French, she wouldn't have been so damn stubborn. As it was, he found himself glowering, watching as the two of them sat huddled together, talking, as the doctor slopped some kind of paste all over her swollen ankle and started dressing her injured foot. Pacing back and forth now as the two of the chit chatted into the night, Wyatt had just about had his fill when he heard Lucy gasp out a name that made him stop in his tracks.
Rufus.
He hung back, watching and waiting, as Lucy and the French soldier gathered some provisions and made their way across the fort to the very place he would not be able to follow…the interior military compound.
Dammit to hell.
He watched them both disappear through the gate, nearly panicking at the idea of Lucy being somewhere, alone, with that French jackass. He desperately sought to find another way in, a weakness in the wall, a place where he could climb over, but it was no use. He was not getting into that part of the fort…not dressed as he was anyway. Agitated and nervous, yet knowing he had to keep his emotions in check so as to not draw unwanted attention to himself, Wyatt hid in the shadows near the interior gate, half wondering if Lucy was being kept imprisoned in there…or if maybe whatshisdamnface had actually invited her over to his place for a night cap….and while he dismissed that last thought as ridiculous, just the hypothetical notion of that scenario playing out behind 12 foot walls that he could not enter was enough to just about make him lose his damn mind.
It was with a massive sigh of relief, therefore, when what, to him, felt like a damned eternity later, Lucy emerged from that inner fortress, unscathed…even though the French jackass was not trailing too far behind.
But damn it all if she didn't look happier.
Wyatt didn't want to think about the myriad of reasons of why that was…his imagination certainly wasn't doing him any favors…but neither were his own two eyes. The two of them slowly meandered their way through the fort, looking completely oblivious to everyone else but each other. A nice leisurely stroll in the moonlight…didn't mean anything, Wyatt repeatedly told himself…he was just protecting Lucy from any further harassment. But that repeated self-assurance hit a snag when the duo stopped suddenly in front of small, plain cabin and the French soldier pressed his lips against Lucy's outstretched hand.
What in the actual hell?
Wyatt's insides twisted furiously as the French officer gallantly bowed to her before he walked away, leaving her standing by her doorway, staring after him looking, Wyatt had to admit glumly, gratified.
And yes…it bothered him. Clearly, this asshole was just trying to manipulate Lucy…or maybe this was some weird Stockholm Syndrome thing…or maybe he was just a charming French speaking sonofabitch who had just happened to sweep Lucy Preston off her damn feet.
Either way, Wyatt hated him…and now more than ever he wanted to get her the hell away from this damn fort.
Throwing all caution to the wind, Wyatt stealthily moved towards the little house Lucy had entered just moments before, and once assuring that the coast was clear, slowly opened the door, "Lucy?" he whispered. But when the door flung open, it was not Lucy who was standing at the threshold greeting him. No. It was a surly looking woman who whacked him with a broom while screeching at him in French before slamming the door on his face. Shaken but not deterred, Wyatt made his way around to the back of the house, hoping to find a window to crawl into or at least find some way that he could send a message to Lucy when none other than Lucy's favorite Frenchman spied him and came predictably running to her defense.
''Qu'est-ce que vous pensez faire là-bas, monsieur?'' he shouted…but as Wyatt hadn't the faintest idea of what he was saying, he merely rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders in return. This response was not deemed acceptable to the French soldier who continued to angrily scold him, "Vous ne trouverez rien là-bas, mais des ennuis si vous continuez à harceler cette femme.''
Wyatt wanted nothing more than to take his frustrations out on this man. It was partly because of him, after all, that he hadn't been able to successfully get near enough to Lucy to talk to her…and after witnessing him fawn all over her all night, he would've loved nothing more than to take this guy down a couple notches. Yes, Wyatt realized that to this soldier, he was essentially the rooster caught in the hen house...skulking around the girls' dormitories, as it were, in the middle of the night. But that was just the thing…he wasn't. Wyatt was pretty damn sure that if Lucy knew he were standing right outside her…whatever the hell this was…she'd tell this asshole as much. As it was, he knew that he had to play nice and so if this jackass wanted to play the part of Lucy's guardian angel, he would just have to let him.
With a sneer, Wyatt shrugged once more and made to stalk off, but the soldier grabbed at his arm roughly, gritting out, "Vous n'êtes là que parce que nous tolérons votre présence. Si vos manières non civilisées continuent de se manifester avec mes soldats, je veillerai personnellement à ce que vous et vos compagnons de commerce soyez bannis de ce fort.''
Hand to hand combat training in Delta Force, had taught Wyatt how to quickly and successfully break someone's arm with one rapid motion and as the Frenchman's grip tightened on his bicep, he was very much tempted to demonstrate just how well those lessons had been received. It was only the fact that this soldier had helped Lucy that made Wyatt reconsider decommissioning the asshole but given that he had repeatedly thwarted every damn attempt Wyatt had made at getting Lucy the hell out of there fort while cozying up to her himself and was now currently breathing down Wyatt's neck about it, took all the self-control he had not to essentially beat the shit out of him right now and go on his merry way.
Instead, though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn't, he glared angrily at the military officer and muttered the only French phrase he knew, the one Lucy had taught him not so very long ago, "J'ai couché avec ta mère."
The effect was immediate.
Before Wyatt could even feel the tiniest tinge of regret for losing his cool, he was being dragged off across the fort, but not to the exit…no, they marched him right past the main gate and into the holy of holies…the military stronghold within. With an angry shout, accompanied by what Wyatt could only assume were threats of punishment, the officer wrenched open a heavily barred door to what appeared to be a small guard house and shoved him within, angrily communicating to the guard what his offenses were. While he was thus engaged, Wyatt's eyes scanned the small, dank, dimly lit building, hoping to find a way out of this mess, inwardly berating himself for being so damn hotheaded. Instead of a way out, however, Wyatt spied the only thing…or rather person…that could bring a smile to his face in his current situation.
As the door to the cell swung closed Wyatt approached his friend and team mate who, upon his arrival, had shrunk back to the far corner of the prison, concentrating on his manacles and was now nervously fidgeting as Wyatt crouched down next to him, "Look…um…if you don't mind…it's not very bright in here," Rufus began, "and you're…" he looked up in annoyance as Wyatt's shadow completely blocked out his only source of light, only to drop his mouth open in shock as he gasped out, "Holy shit."
"Hello, Rufus." Wyatt smirked in amusement.
"Holy shit!" Rufus exclaimed again, his eyes flying open in surprise, "You're…you're alive? I knew it! I knew they couldn't kill you!"
"Got pretty damn close," Wyatt muttered with a sigh, motioning for Rufus to give him his bound wrists, "These shouldn't be too hard to pick," Wyatt muttered, "you got a…"
"Got a hairpin right here." Rufus announced handing it to a confused Wyatt, "not mine…that's Lucy's" he said in explanation before gasping out, "oh my God, Lucy! Have you seen her yet?"
Rolling his eyes with a scoff, Wyatt took the hairpin from Rufus and began to work on his cuffs, "Yeah, I've seen her…"
"Well…what did she say?" Rufus asked, "I bet she was relieved to see you. She came in here just a little while ago, looking like…well…you saw what she looked like." Rufus heaved out a sigh, "Good thing she's got at least one of these French dudes on her side…I guess he's been keeping an eye on her…"
"Yeah, he's keeping an eye on her all right." Wyatt grunted as he twisted the pin in the lock, "A little too much if you ask me." Rufus looked up at him with raised eyebrows, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.
'What's the matter, Wyatt?" Rufus asked glibly, "Jealous?"
"What the hell do you mean, jealous?" Wyatt snapped, "I just don't like the idea of her getting too close to people who have been trying to kill us for the past few days, that's all."
"This guy is different, though" Rufus assured, still smiling at Wyatt, "I mean, he gave her his coat when she was walking around in her underwear, he wouldn't let any of those handsy jackasses come within two feet of her without tearing them a new one…come to think of it," Rufus mused, "he's kind of like a French version of you."
Wyatt stared daggers at Rufus for a moment before continuing on with his work, "Yeah well, forgive me if I don't like the guy."
"Because he's into Lucy?" Rufus asked unapoligetically.
"No!" Wyatt answered a little too quickly, "Who the hell do you think put me in here? I wasn't even doing anything wrong." Wyatt lied.
Rufus shrugged, rubbing his newly freed wrists as he took in Wyatt's full appearance, "Maybe it's because you look like an extra in Deliverance…who the hell are you supposed to be, anyway? Daniel Boone?"
"Very funny, Rufus." Wyatt said with a roll of his eyes, "Do you want to get the hell out of here or not?"
"Mmmm…tough call, I was really hoping to be sold into slavery." he quipped sarcastically. As Wyatt went to work on the cell door, Rufus rubbed his face anxiously, "Look…I uh….I know I shouldn't ya know…tell you how to do your job or anything…but…how exactly are we gonna get out of here? We are literally surrounded by a damn army….and they're not just going to let us walk out the door…"
"I don't know, Rufus." Wyatt sighed in exasperation, "I'm making this up as I go along…it's not like I've got a hell of a lot to work with here…"
"Don't you think we ought to…I don't know…come up with some kind of plan first?" Rufus asked him anxiously.
"Don't you want to get out of here?"
Rufus gaped at him. "Is that really a question you're asking me? Look around you, Wyatt." he demanded. "This place is not exactly the Hilton…hell, it's not even the Motel 6…that prison cell in Jersey? A million times better than this. He shook his head frantically, "You smell that? I've been sitting in this disgusting, unsanitary, disease ridden hell hole since this morning…risking dysentery or the bubonic plague or some other backwoods sickness because these people don't know the first thing about personal hygiene but given that they're gonna put me on a boat tomorrow and send me off to some slave auction, I'd be alright with sucking it up for a little while longer if it means I'm not gonna get pumped full of musket balls because you decided to wing it."
"So…yes?" Wyatt asked, a sardonic smirk pulling at his lips. Turning back to the lock once more, Wyatt tried to reassure Rufus, "Look, I may not have a plan…but I got this far, didn't I?"
"You got thrown into prison, you mean?" Rufus reminded him.
"More like saving your ass from prison," Wyatt remarked as the sound of a metallic click brought a triumphant smile to his face. Swinging open the door to their prison with a look of smug satisfaction, Wyatt motioned Rufus towards the exit, "I've got a boat waiting just outside the fort and…" he trailed off, turning to Rufus suddenly, "Wait a minute…you said they were putting you on a boat tomorrow?"
Rufus stared back at him blankly, "Yeah…I mean…that's what Lucy said…but you're not gonna let that happen…right?" Wyatt frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as Rufus began to panic, "Right, Wyatt?"
"You know…you're right…" Wyatt mused, "…we're not going to be able to just waltz out of here…" he frowned thoughtfully, "I could get us past a couple guards…but we'd still have to make it to the main gate…" Pulling Rufus back into the cell, Wyatt shook his head, "New plan…I'm gonna put you on a boat tomorrow."
"And just how are you going to pull that off?" Rufus asked as Wyatt settled himself down in the corner near door to the guardhouse.
"You'll just have to wait and see." Wyatt said with a shrug, but at Rufus' glare he added encouragingly, "C'mon Rufus…when have I ever not gotten us out of a tight spot before?"
Rufus wanted to point out that 1754 was one hell a tight spot that they had yet to escape from, but since it was kind of on him to repair the LifeBoat and there was no way in hell he would be able to do that sitting in a jail cell…or living life as a slave…he figured he would just avoid pointing that out for the time being and trust that whatever Wyatt was planning would work.
Hell, just the fact that he was sitting across from him, alive and not dead in the middle of the damn forest, was already such a vast improvement than what he believed to be a hopeless situation an hour ago, that arguing with him over the details of how seemed pointless.
So he didn't.
Instead, he followed Wyatt's example, finding a comfortable corner to settle down in…and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was hours before the lock slid open on the door to the guardhouse…and from the looks of the bright beams of sunlight now streaming in through the small barred windows, it was well into the morning. Wyatt swiftly and silently got to his feet, bracing himself against the wall behind the now open door as the guard stomped into the room, barking loudly to Rufus in French, looking somewhat confused at his lone presence within the cell. Before he even had a chance to react, however, Wyatt had him in a rear naked choke, causing him to thrash against his unseen attacker, but to no avail. Seconds later, the guard lay unconscious at his feet.
"Is he dead?" Rufus asked breathlessly.
"No." Wyatt grunted as he moved the soldier into the cell and began shedding him of his clothes. "Help me get his uniform off, will ya?"
"What are you gonna do?" Rufus asked as he began freeing the soldier of his boots.
Wyatt paused in his actions and stared at Rufus, disbelieving, "I'm gonna give him a bath," he snarked, "what do you think I'm gonna do? I'm gonna change into his uniform and get us the hell out of here."
"And what happens when he wakes up?"
Wyatt chuckled mirthlessly, "Let's just hope we're long gone before that happens." Biting his lip in thought, however, Wyatt switched gears, "Hang on…here…start putting these on him" he ordered Rufus, throwing his discarded trapper outfit at him. "…and the handcuffs…give me those….and that other set there on the wall…get me those too."
Rufus quickly complied, all too eager to assist Wyatt in doing whatever he could to escape but no sooner had he returned to his arduous task, then the soldier began to stir. "Uh…Wyatt?" Rufus voiced nervously, but Wyatt was already at his side, slamming his fist into the side of the man's head, until he lay silent and still once more.
Taking off his neckerchief, Wyatt tied it around the guard's mouth before tightly securing the man's wrists and ankles and burying him partially in the hay. "That ought to hold him." Wyatt observed with a sigh. "Alright…" he began, "you stay here…"
"What!?" Rufus exclaimed, "You're kidding, right?"
"I have to go find Lucy…I can't go walking around the fort with you." Wyatt explained as Rufus stood staring back at him completely dumbfounded and absolutely on the verge of a panic attack. "Look, I've got the key," Wyatt reminded him, "I'm just gonna go and talk to Lucy, see if we can figure out a way to get her out of here and then I'll come back for you."
"Uh-huh and what happens when some other soldier comes barging in here and sees me sitting here with this guy…looking like this?" Rufus exclaimed hotly. "Hell, what happens if he wakes up?"
"Hit him again." Wyatt said with a shrug, "Look, I'm not going to be gone long, okay? I promise. I just need to get Lucy the hell out of here too and I can't do that with you trailing along behind me."
"And what if you get caught? What if…"
"Rufus, relax." Wyatt assured him, "You think this is my first time infiltrating an enemy base?"
"Yeah, but…"
"Look, I get it, I don't speak French and we are a little out of our element here…but this
"Alright," Rufus conceded with a sigh, "but if these jackasses sell me…"
"They won't." Wyatt assured him. "I promise, I'm not gonna let that happen." With that solemn pledge, Rufus shakily consented to allow Wyatt to leave him alone in his prison while he went off in search of Lucy. Locking him back in his cell, Wyatt nodded at his friend, "I'll be right back…I swear" he stated before slipping out of the guardhouse door and to the fort beyond.
To his immense relief, no one paid him much attention as he exited the guardhouse. Wyatt almost couldn't believe his luck, but once he stepped through the gates to the more civilian side of the fort, he understood why. It was clear that some sort of shipment must have come in; crates, large and small, were being stacked all around the entrance as soldiers, tradesman and the like were bustling to and fro. In fact, so active was the fort that Wyatt half imagined he and Rufus could waltz out of there and no one would be any wiser.
But he still had to find Lucy.
Taking care to keep his head down, Wyatt made his way through the lively camp, following the trail he had followed the night before, in search of Lucy. He spied several women at wash tubs, some hanging laundry, others tending chickens…but Lucy was nowhere to be seen among them. Cursing his luck, Wyatt tried to nonchalantly search in tents and buildings, but given the stern looks he was receiving from the formidable woman who had scolded him the night before, he figured a soldier's presence in that area of the fort wasn't exactly seen as acceptable.
Dammit.
Not willing to give up just yet, Wyatt made his way back to the house where he had last seen her, thinking that that was as good a place as any to search, but to his utmost frustration, it was empty.
"Where the hell is she?" Wyatt gritted out under his breath. By now, he had been gone far longer than he had anticipated. Not daring to waste a moment's more time, Wyatt rushed back to the guardhouse, only to find to his utmost horror, the door standing wide open. "Shit!" he exclaimed breathlessly as he quickly made his way to the open door, silently praying that Rufus was still inside.
But he wasn't.
"Shit!" Wyatt exclaimed again, racing frantically out of the empty guardhouse, only to be held up by a few soldiers who accosted him with angry, accusatory questions he didn't understand. Shaking his head at them, Wyatt roughly pushed past them, rushing out of the interior gate and out into the bustling fort beyond, where scores of traders, Native Americans and soldiers were standing in large groups, talking among a myriad of crates and supplies. Carving a path through them the best he could as angry shouts trailed behind him, Wyatt stumbled out of the main gate, only to witness Rufus getting loaded onto a large flat supply barge. "Shit!" Wyatt exclaimed again as he raced towards the dock, hardly caring that he was pushing and shoving people as he made his way towards the boat.
He was just about to call out for Rufus to jump in the damn river when the frantic scream of an all-too familiar voice sounded far-off beside him. "Rufus! Rufus!" Lucy's cries pierced the air around them like a bolt of lightning, causing everyone standing without the fort to look in her direction as she desperately fought her way towards the dock.
Wyatt started towards her, but then remembered Rufus…and oh hell, how was he going to get them all out of this mess? A scream from Lucy caused a general stir as two soldiers grabbed onto her and began dragging her, literally kicking and screaming back into the fort. As much as Wyatt wanted to go to her, he knew that this was a perfect distraction.
Rushing the dock, Wyatt knocked several soldiers into the river as he fought his way towards Rufus, grabbing him roughly by the arm, and pulling him towards the opposite end of the long dock with a frantic jerk. Practically tossing Rufus into his waiting boat, Wyatt cut the rope with one swift flick of his knife, before tossing his friend an oar, "Move!" he ordered as the confusion on the docks turned to realization.
"What about Lucy?" Rufus asked, turning back to see her struggling against several soldiers, "Wyatt…look at her…they're…they're"
"I know, Rufus." Wyatt growled, "There's nothing I can do about it right now, okay? Row!"
Doing as he was told, Rufus quickly rowed alongside Wyatt, the swift, north flowing current carrying them away from the French fort at a dizzying pace. "Wyatt, we have to go back and get Lucy…we can't just leave her there."
"Do you honestly think I don't know that?" he spat out he rubbed a frustrated hand across his face, "I'm thinking, alright?"
"They're not gonna let you back in that fort..." Rufus said with a nervous shake of his head.
"I'm just gonna need a distraction…" Wyatt mused.
Wyatt didn't want to leave Rufus, but he had no choice. Even after his daring rescue on the docks, he was still in a French uniform and therefore, could hopefully, still blend in.
He obviously couldn't arrive by boat, though. Pulling the canoe up on shore, Wyatt broke off a few limbs, hiding it from view, so that if the French did come after them in search of Rufus, they would (hopefully) bypass this particular spot near the river. Here, there was a mass of large rocks in which Rufus could safely shelter himself, but just to be sure, Wyatt left him with a pair of flintlock pistols, an extra knife and a few words of encouragement, "Just stay hidden…chances are, if they come looking, they're gonna sail right on past this place…they wouldn't think we'd stop this close to the fort." Wyatt began to walk away, but turned, "I'll be back with Lucy as soon as I can...just…just…"
"I'll stay right here." Rufus promised. "Go get her, Wyatt…and be careful."
The wind had picked up considerably and given the heavy scent in the air and the darkening sky, Wyatt knew it wouldn't be long before he would have to contend with a storm. Rushing through the woods, Wyatt made his way back to Fort Duquesne as quickly and as silently as he could. He didn't have to run very far before he found himself facing the formidable gates of the French fort and while he was relieved that he had no trouble getting to the fort, he had no idea how the hell he was going to get in. The gates, which had been wide open previously, were now unmercifully closed against him. He needed in…but how the hell was he going to do that? Racing along the outside of the walls, he looked for any kind of weakness that he might be able to manipulate to his advantage. Find one he did, a small break in the balustrades…but it did him little good. No way in hell could he fit through the small opening…but it did allow him to spy into the interior of the fort and what he saw made his blood run cold.
Lucy, bound to a damn whipping post.
Shit.
Desperate now, Wyatt raced his way over to the main gate again, his eyes darting around the ground for anything he might be able to use to help him break into the fort. The grounds, which had been full of traders and soldiers, previously, were now eerily empty…everyone apparently distracted by the soon-to-be spectacle within. Ropes, pick axes, shovels, hammers littered the ground all around the exterior of the fort, but none of them would be sufficient to take down the thick wooden gates. Wyatt had just decided he would try to climb over the damn wall when the smell of smoke caught his attention.
Turning a corner, Wyatt found to his utmost delight and relief, a small campfire, still burning, with a pot of melted metal bubbling just over its surface…completely unattended. Not wasting another moment of time, Wyatt gripped one of the burning limbs, not giving a damn about the intense heat radiating from it, and quickly jammed it into the small opening he had previously used to observe the horrifying scene within. Thankful for the strong wind, Wyatt watched as he flame eagerly licked at the dry balustrades, consuming them in just a matter of seconds.
It wasn't long before the cry of alarm sounded from within and Wyatt waited impatiently by the gate until the doors swung open and crowds of soldiers, tradesman and Indians rushed forward, eager to do what they could to save the fort from destruction. Taking advantage of the pandemonium, Wyatt fought his way through the onslaught of terrified people, pushing against them as he attempted to make his way into the fort to the spot where he knew Lucy was.
The smoke, however, was thick…and the wind wasn't doing him any favors now. Having a general idea of where he had seen her, however, helped. Stumbling in the general direction of where he had seen her bound, Wyatt made his way towards the center of the courtyard only to find, when he arrived at the post, that Lucy was no longer there.
Panic nearly overtook him as he stood, peering through the clouds of suffocating fumes, in search of her. "Lucy!" he yelled out, hardly caring if anyone heard him…but the screams and shouts from the soldiers working to put out the fire were so numerous, his voice was lost among them. He raced from one corner of the fort to the next, crashing through every tent, every building until finally he heard her screaming out.
Racing towards the sound of her voice, Wyatt growled in fury at the scene that awaited him when she finally came into view. Lucy was flat on her back on the ground struggling against a French soldier, lying on top of her trying to pin her arms down to the ground. "No means no, asshole." Wyatt growled as he charged at him, but before he could reach her, Lucy had somehow managed to knock the asshole off of her and was scrambling away.
As desperate as Wyatt was to get to Lucy's side, there was no way in hell he was going to pass up an opportunity to teach that sonofabitch a lesson. The moment he reached the asshole, therefore, Wyatt gripped him roughly by the shirt collar and gave him one swift sucker punch to the face. By now, however, Lucy was being trailed by two other soldiers. Not wasting another moment, he charged after them, lunging for them angrily as they sought to apprehend her. The ensuing fistfight was an easy enough win for Wyatt, but the smoke had all but suffocated him. Coughing and wheezing, he stumbled out of the gate, seeing to his horror, that she was shin deep in the raging river…as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. "Lucy!" he tried calling out to her but to no avail, his voice was still grappled from the effects of the fire and the thunder currently booming across the sky made equally sure that she would not hear him.
Racing forward, Wyatt caught her around the waist, still coughing and sputtering as he tried to pull her to the safety of the shore, but no sooner had he dragged her out of the river than she turned and….
"That's when you stabbed me." Wyatt spat out angrily, flinging his arm at her in an attempt to emphasize the point.
"Wait a minute," Rufus interrupted, "you stabbed, Wyatt?"
"How was I supposed to know it was you?" Lucy argued hotly, "After everything I had just been through?"
"Which…if you think about it….was kind of Wyatt's fault." Rufus pointed out glibly. "I mean, all those times you thought…well…it was really you being the handsy jackass…"
"Fine…you want to make me out to be the bad guy? Fine." Wyatt grunted out angrily, "I was just trying to save your damn lives…and I'd think you, especially, should remember that Rufus considering without me you'd be well on your way to God knows where right about now."
"And believe me, no one appreciates that more than I do, Wyatt." Rufus agreed, "but come on, man…you have to admit…you can't really blame Lucy for stabbing you…I mean…"
But Wyatt was in no mood to admit anything. Instead, he shifted away from the two of them brooding darkly as the pounding rain gave way to a gentle shower, the tell-tale sounds of thunder rumbling off somewhere in the distance as the black clouds above them drifted away to reveal a night sky filled with twinkling stars.
Gripping an oar, Wyatt maneuvered the boat to the far shore, unsure of how far they had traveled North, knowing that their best chance at shelter lay somewhere in the opposite direction. Considering they had a long way to go and Lucy was in no condition to walk that far, Wyatt deemed (hoped) that their best option was to paddle back the way they had come, staying close to the further shore and slinking past Fort Duquesne in the dead of night. He hoped then, they might escape detection.
Urging both Lucy and Rufus to get some sleep, therefore, Wyatt worked against the current, taking them back along the winding path towards Fort Duquesne. It was hard work, fighting against the strong current, but Wyatt was frustrated and this work, though difficult, allowed him the chance to burn off a little steam and get lost in his own thoughts.
Yes, he knew that he had added to Lucy's misery…but he hadn't meant to…and it pissed him off that after working so hard to find his way back to them, he was greeted with a damn knife in the arm.
But that wasn't all that was bothering him.
Seeing Lucy depend on someone else for help, seeing her rely on someone else's protection, unnerved him in a way that took him completely by surprise. Rufus could shoot him all the shit-eating grins he wanted but Wyatt knew…he wasn't jealous. No...no way in hell was he jealous. Lucy could cozy up to anyone she wanted…just as long as that someone hadn't tried to kill him…and didn't speak French…and…wasn't a complete jackass.
Okay…maybe the guy wasn't a jackass, he did protect Lucy…and so he really couldn't hate the guy for that…but just as he thought that, the image of him kissing Lucy's hand popped into his brain again and had him rowing with even more vigor than before.
Just as he hoped, they slipped past a quiet Fort Duquesne in the dead of night, the smoldering ruins of the far wall filling the air with the scent of charred wood and ash. If there were any guards on post that night, he didn't see them. He figured the French would be too occupied with the safety of their army than to worry about a small canoe on the far side of the river anyhow, but given that they had been blindsided by the French before, he couldn't help but breathe out a grateful sigh of relief when the drifted silently past, without so much as a peep from the denizens of Fort Duquesne.
By the time he followed the sharp turns and bends of the river to the small peninsula he had taken off from the afternoon before, Wyatt's arms ached terrifically. The pink light of dawn was just beginning to stretch forth across the sky and though he would have loved to collapse in a heap where he sat, Wyatt was determined to get his team to safety. Gently shaking both Lucy and Rufus awake, Wyatt whispered, "Come on you two…get up, we're here."
"Here? Here…where?" Lucy asked with a yawn, looking around, bewildered.
"Home." Wyatt said simply.