AUTHOR'S INITIAL APOLOGY: Alright, this is my first actual fanfic. I tried to keep it short, but if there's anything you have questions on, let me know in a review. Be only as kind as necessary. Umm, so if there's anything that conflicts with something that happened in the movie (I've my doubts since it only deals with one main person), my millions of apologies ahead of time. Basically, what is it that fuels Tavington?? You've got to be a depraved sociopath for some reason. Since his backround is murky (at best), I thought 'Why not?' Maybe it hints at why has some sort of animosity toward Wilkins (Or is it Wilkinson? I think I'm thinking of the guy who played Cornwallis, but feel free to correct me in a review ;P). Anyhow, this is before we say 'he lets himself go' and becomes the bugger everyone hates. Stop reading here if you are an ardent Whig and aren't capable of any empathy/dealing with the thought that bad guys CAN get chicks too/cannot believe that the bad guy, at one point in his life, could say the three words every person wants to hear from their significant other. Thus, I am probably going to be blacklisted (or something. Please, no molotov cocktails). Enjoy(?)!
DISCLAIMER: I own absolutely nothing of this movie (the Doyles are mine though), yaddah yah, etc. 'Tis a pity, because I am seriously broke (ah, the joys of being an unemployed high school student).
NOTES: Non-italicized (Do we all know what italics are?) writing is what he's remembering, or if they are in an italicized passage, those would be thoughts. Simple enough? I'll think you'll figure it out.
[During the assumed recouperation time after the near fatal wounding (hehe) of our dashing, impetuous anti-hero.]
Pity was a rare occuring feeling now for him, and grief and sadness even more fleeting. But now, injured and temporarily out of action, when he was supposed to rest, the colonel couldn't sleep for dreaming. A face in utter agony haunted his thoughts. The clear trails running down the blackened cheeks weren't tears....Eyes. The deep grass green eyes had popped in the heat. Tavington wasn't only haunted by a vindictive Patriot colonel known as the Ghost, but also a very real one from a year and a half prior.
He turned to face the tent wall with a shudder, lest his men see him as anything but the ruthless, bitter man they followed with a mixture of fear and awe.
The Doyles were a quiet Tory family. They gave as much aid to the the Royal Army as they could, and their home was known to be the hospitable, and quite fashionable, lounge of the British officers in the vicinity. Making it even more enticing were the three ladies of the house and a large rose garden to lay in under the sun.
The fairest and youngest was Elizabeth, but she was rather subversive. She greeted the English troops with indifferent grace and entertained them with distant effort. Her manner was cold, as if they were encroaching upon some deep secret. The visiting men paid little heed to her initial disinterest and spent a good portion of their time conversing with her. Any remaining free time was used up listening to Bella play the harpsichord. There was no time for quiet little Christine.
She enjoyed that. She needed no suitor.
So imagine her surprise when a hail distracted her reading in the gardens. A man approached her, stride showing great enthusiasm. Christine narrowed her eyes and peered at him before her face lit into a brilliant smile. The girl threw down her book and bounded to meet him.
"Will!" she cried, flinging her arms about him. They embraced. "I've not seen you in three months. Haven't you the decency to write me? You know I don't like you involved in this bloody affair. Nevermind that; it's good for me to see you in one piece."
Polished jade eyes smiled lovingly down on her bright face. "It's good for me to see you. My apologies, sweet, I would have written, but--"
"Oh, enough. You are here now, and that more than makes up for your failed correspondence."
He glanced to the house. "Your sisters are entertaining today?"
"When do they not? I do my best to avoid them, Elizabeth especially. She grows more cruel by each day, and even more so toward me. Bella remains in her fair graces by never voicing her opinion on the war. Anyhow, what reason would I have to chat with lonely men when I am perfectly content with my husband?" Christine rose on her toes to give him a gentle kiss.
He grimaced. Tavington's wounds ached, but he ignored the surgeon's offers of treatment.
"Leave me in peace. I cannot recouperate with you disturbing my rest. You damned me to this bed, leave me in it. I am fine," he snapped. No, I'm not well. My thoughts trouble me more than my injuries. I've damned ghosts everywhere. If not Martin....Why does she come to me now? I've no time for sentiments now.
Grumbling, he closed his eyes. The tormented face of his wife tore into his mind. She was screaming something, but it was inaudible. Christine reached for him, and then she vanished in a warm reverie:
Contentment was to cradle Christine in his arms out in the sunlight while the dour Elizabeth and silent Bella charmed in the drawing room. A Bach two-part invention trilled through the open window from the middle sister's deft fingers. A soft kiss was planted on his wife's cheek as she read him Shakespeare. It filled the void where small talk of his military life should have been, but he never dared speak of it. Undue angst across his young wife's pretty brow was all it caused, along with pleas for him to stay with her.
Chuckling, he squeezed her about the middle and took the book. "Ah, sonnets." He studied the page. "Perhaps I shall compare thee to a summer's day, or tell you how mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd they beauty's form in the table of my heart. Or--or:" He began to read.
"Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason--"
"William!" she chided in a flustered voice, a furious blush rising in her cheeks.
"I've missed you," he whispered in her ear. "It took you much longer to recongize that one than I would assume." The colonel grinned. "I guess I would do better to pick you a flower than read you that sort of poetry."
"I would agree." She rose and brushed off her skirts with a sigh.
"What is it?" Tavington questioned, studying her from the ground. "You seem uncommonly distraught. I did not mean to offend you--"
"You didn't," she answered simply. "Bella stopped playing. Elizabeth surely forced her visitors out. William, I believe her to be Whig. I'm worried for you--she's not a kind girl anymore."
"She never was," he teased. "That's why I married you. Elizabeth is evil, Bella is boring, and you--you are an entirely different sort."
"I do not jest--" shouts and bellows from inside the house cut her off. Christine ran for the house, calling to her sister. She found Elizabeth raging in the portal to the drawing room. A young officer stared wide eyed at her in a mixture of horror and disgust as the fuming Doyle threw her elder sister, Bella, to the couch. Elizabeth then turned on the man.
"You, get out of my house! How dare you proposition me! Never come back, and I swear if I see you, there will be a bullet 'twixt your eyes! Leave, you bastard."
"Sister, peace," Christine cooed, hurrying to the officer. She glanced fearfully over her shoulder at her sister to make sure she had nothing in hand to throw before ushering the young man out. Mortified, she escorted him to his mount.
"I apologize for my sister; she's not been well lately. Please accept my plea--I pray she didn't injure you."
"No, no," he replied, reining in his mount. "I pray she doesn't injure you. Good day."
Trembling, she turned to see her husband sitting on the porch. "You complain about being seperated from me--Christine, sweetest, the dragoons could take you on as a necessary woman. I'm the one who has any say on the matter. Provided the others keep their hands off you, it would be no trouble. I'd rather enjoy having you about camp."
"You forget my loathing of battle." She ran a hand over her hair. "I hear muskets and cannons every day. Sometimes into the night. I hear horses and pray to God that isn't you galloping headlong into bayonet charge. Providence doesn't speak to me, and so I must cower in my bed and wait to learn that you are safe."
Shaking his head, he gazed mournfully at her. He beckoned to her. Quietly, she stood before him, and he took her hands. "Then I will fear for you more than you ever could for me. Those closest to you can be your greatest enemies. You I need--I don't want to be a widower, Christine. I love you. I promise you that once this is all past, we will make a fair living here. But until then, please join me--"
"I do not want to see my husband dragged into the encampment in a bloody sheet! You will not persuade me. Here I will remain. Besides, she is my sister. I must be civil."
"Suit yourself. I will not force you into it, but you would do well to remember my offer." Tavington kissed her fingertips. His eyes ran over her downcast feaures while his thumbs rubbed the tops of her hands. He felt them quivering. "Strength and prudence, Christine. Remember that. Elizabeth has none, and therefore would quail in the face of it."
Elizabeth turned from the doorway with a resolved snort.
Vile bitch. Tavington sat up stiffly with a wince. He glanced about. Everyone around him was asleep. Night. A nightjar called somewhere in the trees, and a few crickets buzzed in an unearthly song. The colonel draped his jacket over his shoulders. He went out into the cool autumn darkness. Breaths twisted into mocking wraiths about his face.
"Please, Christine, do not haunt me now!" he groaned, frustration rising when his tired eyes deceived him with the form of a woman in the tendrils of steam. Grief washed over him along with a transient moment of weakness when something resembling a tear wetted the corner of his eye. He fumed and flung a nearby rock into the trees.
If he had not ordered the church burned, its bells would have tolled midnight--the witching hour. He heard her voice whispering to him on the wind. This ghost was a 'bedtime story,' as Cornwallis grudgingly put it once, he wouldn't mind being bested by, but not now.
It one of those overcast, brooding mornings when William rose from his wife's side. The moon still hung in the sky like the slitted eye of an angry giant. He wriggled into his boots and stretched. He finished dressing quietly and methodically. Binding his hair, Tavington admired the sleeping form nestled into the pillows: others might have thought Elizabeth pretty, but Christine was beautiful. Sadly, duty wrenched him from her side.
"I'll be back later," he whispered, kissing her in parting. "I love you. Sleep tight." So he padded to the door in efforts to keep his spurs from rattling with his helmet tucked under his arm. With a soft look back, he slipped through the door and went out of the house.
Christine's deep green eyes met her husband's across the room. Hers were blazing with the candle light while she stroked Elizabeth's hair. The youngest Doyle sister was curled up at her side, dozing. Bella peered at him over her book--naturally one of music theory. At feeling another presence in the room, Elizabeth rose.
"Good evening, brother," she said softly. "I hope you are well?"
Tavington scrutinized the three sisters crammed onto one sofa. Bella and Christine sitting together was conceivable, but to see the youngest showing some sort of affection--or at least civility--was profoundly unsettling. He crossed from the entrance to his wife, clutching his helmet to his chest. Elizabeth watched from the corner of her dark eyes as her sister lovingly received him in her arms. Christine gracefully got to her feet with a secretive blush. Placing her hand in William's, she led him from the room.
They passed Mr. Doyle in the corridor. Tavington acknowledged him with a courteous nod before carrying on with his wife. The darkness of the foyer hid Christine's quiet face. They ventured out onto the porch. Stars were more so distant in the hazy southern night. Intrigue was eating at him, and so he questioned her simply:
"Where are you taking me, my love?" His tone was one of eager hope for some interesting surprise. The dragoon's arm wrapped about her hips.
She shrugged. "Away from the house. Anywhere would suffice." Christine tucked her skirts under her as she sat in the dewy grass by the gate post. The girl motioned for him to join her. "How was your day?"
Sensing an introduction to something exciting, he hurriedly crouched down beside her: "Quite dull, really. Fear not, there were no attempts on my life today. The marauders have nearly disappeared, and for that I won't complain."
She nodded, imbibing it. "It pleases me to hear that, Will. I did a little embroidery--'tis nowhere near as enjoyable as Mother says. Was very boring. And then I felt ill. I fainted, really. Mother sent for the doctor. I told him my monthly cycles had stopped some months ago and--"
"What is it?" his face was blanched. "Are you not well?"
"Oh no, I am perfectly well. And quite happy as well. The old corset is just getting too tight." The hidden smile returned to her face, and he understood. "Elizabeth is elated, strangely. She rests her head on my belly like she did when she was much younger when Mother was expecting our poor baby brother. And she coos to it as if it were her own. I hope this damnable war ends soon--I want to go home with you. She is out of her wits, and I fear she will grow attached if I remain here longer."
"I actually found her rather sensible." The colonel drew her to to him with a distressed sigh. "Christine, the child--we cannot go to England. I cannot provide for you or the baby there, providing these damned rustics don't kill me first."
"Don't say that."
"It's speculation, sweet. My own father destroyed me, so it's within their power."
"My parents would not mind you. Bella will wed in a matter of months; she was asked just today by a local man by the name of Wilkins, or something like that. And Elizabeth--Elizabeth will probably wander out onto the highroad one of these days and vanish. Not soon enough, though."
Exasperated, he clenched his fists. "Christine, I am your husband, I will provide for you and my child, one way or another. We won't live with your parents. I cannot impose upon them further."
"And how do you do so?" she demanded.
"You should be with me. I keep you caged here, under their roof. I would have you shipped to England if my ass of a father didn't milk every penny from my estate to feed his obsessive gambling habits. At least I could sleep without fearing you are being held at bayonet point by marauders. But I've no means and no home."
"It does not matter to me. My parents are glad to support you; they are proud of you, and are pleased that we are wed. William, I love you. I don't need baubles and trinkets as that is what 'providing for' is to you. I will be content as long as you are with me."
He softened. "But you deserve them."
Frustrated, his wife got to her feet. She shook her head and turned. Tavington noticed the small swell of her belly and wondered why he had not seen it yesterday. Christine swished to the house with her head flagging. She ignored his calls, and shoved him away when he caught up to her. Finding reaching her to be futile, he trudged to the barns and saddled his horse.
Elizabeth's mount skidded to a halt before Tavington. The girl was dressed in fine riding clothes. She grinned sweetly from under her wide brimmed hat and swung in the saddle with her mount's caracoling. To ease the beast, she tapped its shoulder with her crop. Elizabeth nodded kindly to him.
"'Tis a lovely new morning, eh, William? I thought I would go for a ride and take the air," the young woman chirruped. "A good thing I met you. Christine wanted to see you. She wanted to show you something." Elizabeth sidled up to him. "You'd best hurry, brother."
He eyed her somewhat thankfully and warily before spurring into his horse and charging up the road. The dragoon still nursed a bruised ego from the previous night. He prayed Christine was in better spirits. Not far from the house, two men in drab clothing galloped furiously, in the other direction. Fear clenched him as he then saw smoke.
What he saw brought him to tears. A lone figure in a long nightshirt wept upon her knees over two corpses on the lawn. The house was ablaze. He jumped from his horse and scrambled to the girl, praying it was Christine. Instead, Bella's tear swollen grey eyes met his. The corpses were her parents. William siezed his sister-in-law in a panic.
"Where is she?"
"Elizabeth!" Bella wailed.
"Where is my wife!" he bellowed in anguish, despite the obvious assumption that she was trapped in the burning house. Bella paid no heed to him and slumped down again, sobbing. She ignored him and clung to her parents.
He stormed past the girl onto the porch of the burning house. Heaving himself against the door, the dragoon staggered into the flames. He nearly vomited at a sticky sweet scent that hit his nostrils. Smoke twisted up the steps to the bedrooms. Tavington stumbled upward to his wife's quarters.
The door hung on one buckling hinge, and twists of flame shot from the doorway. The scent was strongest here. Wretching, he picked his way in. Kneeling against the bed was his young wife. Her prayers could be held over the crackling of the fire.
William siezed her about the waist and gave a yelp of alarm upon feeling her burning flesh. He ignored the pain and dodged a falling beam. He bounded down the steps with her curled in his arms. Upon reaching the lawn he took in gulps of air. And gazed down lovingly to his wife eyes as he fell to his knees.
Instead, hazy emeralds did not shine up at him. A sickly whitish film oozed down her blackened and smoldering cheeks. Her lips were still somewhat distinguishable, though blistered. A gurgling breath came from her throat. There were a few incoherent words from her, and she groped for his face with a charred hand.
"Why did you not flee?" he cried, wiping her face tenderly with his sleeve. He kissed her. "Why did you not flee?"
"William," she wheezed and then grew still. Her husband held her face, sobbing. He pressed her hand in his--and saw a burnt bit of of rope melded with the flesh of her wrist.
So, Elizabeth; I hope you are happy. You murdered your family for a bit of spy work. How nice. I would not be surprised to find you in coition with Martin himself, dissembling whore. You may have known those people in the church--I do hope you did. Bella--Wilkins did Christine say? Leave it to a Wilkins to betray those close to them. The lovely eyes of Christine came to his mind, then melted into the burnt ghost. Tavington recalled one girl clinging to her mother in the church and imagined the terror in her eyes resembled that of his late wife. She was a pretty girl, but Christine had far outshined her.
Burning the church, however, had brought him some sort of malign joy. Sometimes business was a real pleasure.
A/N: And then we know he ends up on the business end of a bayonet and another through his throat. Well, at least he gets be with Christine. I hope; I mean, it worked for Jack and Rose in Titanic. Maybe he can be a nice guy again. Dunno.
Ok, it's over. Unless for some bizarre reason you don't hate me now and want me to write more Tavington friendly stuff. Actually, I love Will; such a charming asocial. Hugs to Will. Gotta love the bad guys, so I won't mind writing good stuff about him. (You think I'm odd, you should see the cult following he's got on this one site that I go to for 18 cent. research--'hoodang' is all I can say.) So does this help explain his fire fetish? Bash at your discretion, but just tell me why it's peachy keen for Mel to be the only one who gets to go on a psychotic grief induced killing spree.