A/N: No, I do not have an A/N. Ok, well I guess I do. Nods to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, more specifically, "The Knight's Tale." No, not the silly movie starring Heath Ledger (*gags*), but the actually tale, "The Knight's Tale." Go read it if you have no idea what I'm talking about.

Constance was gloomy riding "home." She had left all her feminine attire and Roxelana at the home of a friend she had stayed with before going through with her hair brained guardian plan. The lady of the house had playfully jibed Constance, telling her what a handsome man she was. Constance did have to admit that she cut a rather dashing figure in the uniform of the Green Dragoons….

She rode back to camp on an onyx black stallion, Hermes. The temptation to leave him with all her other things was strong, as every dragoon had whispered claims on the horse should Joseph Carleton ever be killed. The stallion was tall and well built for speed and agility. Tavington even had his eyes on the horse and had been considering passing some sort of rule that would bring Hermes into his own possession. Until he had learned that the owner was his sister. Constance knew all of this and it only caused her to seethe more.

Who in Hell did he think he was, trying to auction her off like a head of livestock? At six-and-twenty years of age, she could very well decide whom she wished to favor. Her brother need not take on the offices of her father. William's authority, in the terms of their relationship, ended at the superiority of his age. And that was all. He could not condemn her, disown her…force her to marry some fop. Except now, things were more complicated. He was her commanding officer.

But ha! She thought. I have the power of his life in my hands. If I were cruel, I would not defend him in a battle…but I'm not cruel or mean or at least I don't aim to be. Oh, spite! Hang it all.

And so, Constance rode on, stewing about the injustices of the world and stupid older brothers.

---

The dragoons rode out early the next morning. William nodded to his sister as he trotted by to the head of the group. He was glad she had returned. For a while, he had worried about where she was, as Constance was one not given to caring much about properly informing people of her leaving.

She did not cast a glance in his direction.

"Ah, Joseph! You're back," Bordon smiled as he cantered alongside his friend.

She nodded.

"Beware Wilkins today. The colonel is a bit down after his sister left last night, so it's likely Wilkins will the get the brunt of his rage if he so much as speaks."

Constance nodded again in thanks. "His sister was here? I had no idea he had a sister. The colonel seems much like an only child."

"Oh yes, he does." Whether or not he was responding to the question of there being a sister or Tavington's sulking, it was not clear. "At risk of sounding odd, the colonel is a fairly attractive man. His sister is astonishingly beautiful. You did not see her?"

"No. I was carrying papers for the colonel."

"Ah. But Joseph, she was so lovely and fun—she had a wit to her, sometimes dangerously sharp. But Miss Tavington lavished me with much of her attention…." His voice had become wistful and yearning. "It is a pity she left so abruptly."

"Indeed," she answered, smiling inwardly. "So you've taken a liking to her, John?"

Bordon colored in response. "Yes, but I fear no one can top the new lieutenant. He saw her but once last night, hardly spoke to her, but proclaims he will die without her love, for she is a goddess, &c. My poor cousin."

"'Poor cousin?' You brought family into this fray?"

"He's a cousin several times removed only after being related by marriage in the first place. How surprised he was to see me."

"I pity Miss Tavington, then. If I recall "The Knight's Tale" correctly, she is going to be slighted the one who deserves her…. So, who are you, John? Arcite or Palamon?"

A call from the colonel at the head of the galloping column prompted Bordon to leave his friend's side. But, as he rode off, he said gravely: "Palamon, I pray."

Constance could only wonder.

The day was, for the most part, dull and uneventful. Nothing happened as they ranged about, guarding the supply lines. A few whistled, carefree, as they trotted through a field of cotton. The white bolls were dislodged in the wind and tickled across Constance's cheek as they floated upward. Things were shockingly peaceful.

A cry rose up from the men toward the front. Some dismounted. Still more turned away in disgust.

Several soldiers of the King's Army had been slaughtered and lay at odd angles after their murderers had searched the corpses. Some had been hacked at with some sort of blade, probably having been still alive and fighting. All the corpses had been looted—guns, swords, even buttons, buckles, and any other bit that could be sold for any sort of gain.

Constance slid from the saddle. She found a young officer slit from breast to belly. One hand had been clenched over his stomach in efforts to hold in his entrails, while the other hand held a little white handkerchief. There were superficial wounds in his arm and leg.

He had been waving that handkerchief for quarter. Some militiaman had murdered the surrendering man out of pure malice.

Tavington rode to her side, stone faced. "Ride back to camp and get assistance for bringing these poor boys back." His eyes wandered to the dead officer, and the colonel shook his head.

"All right." Constance mounted and watched her brother a moment. William pinched his eyes closed.

He muttered: "I am sorry." To whom it was addressed, to her or the dead officer, Constance knew not. As she was about to leave, she heard him released a choked sob.

"Sir?" she said softly, then even softer still: "Brother?"

"I-I knew him well. A good number of these men the yokels murder have been my friends—whatever you have ever heard of my reputation, take into consideration my injuries…. God, Constance, I hate this so much. I strain myself for the advancement of a man wallowing in too much glory to go do his own dirty work. And for it, he chides me more, never content with it."

Constance sighed. She wished to take his hand but could only bring herself to say: "I know, William, I know." And she heeled into Hermes, charging back for camp. With as angered as she had been with him, and as seemingly cruel as he could be, there was certainly a heart beating within his breast. Some how, she understood, and she forgave him.

Next chapter: Bordon gets drunk and admits his love for Constance and his intent to escort to a half-mentioned ball at Middleton Place. Fife is furious, and only Constance herself (in a dress) can stop it.