Stars were coming out, the night winds blew and the moon showed itself. Cora sat on her porch in a light green frock, resting after a hard day's work. She was tired. Absolutely worn out and it showed. She was so tired that she didn't have the energy to raise her hand and brush the locks of her loose hair from her face. She was tired and ached all over, and not from strenuous work or a day in the fields but from longing. She missed him. She missed him terribly. She had no idea were he was, not a clue whether or not he was dead or alive if her was cold or hurt or hungry. She wanted to take care of him. She wanted him to pull her into his arms again and kiss her hair and tell her that he had missed her dearly and that he loved her more than life itself. He probably would have if she had told him how she felt but she would never know now. He was gone, and the air felt so empty. The house was clearer now, cleaner. Less soldiers, more chores. Most of them had either gotten better or had died. The only thing that kept her trying for life was Gabriel's words; his words of encouragement and admiration and respect. All that was well and good but she wanted to hear more than that in his voice. She wanted to hear yearning and longing and sadness, she wanted to hear love and desire. She wanted him close to her. To flash his toothy grin at her and make her smile. His smile could make the dead laugh and the warmth in his eyes the generosity, the life, the compassion, and the sincerity in those brown orbs. His eyes could make the devil repent. And when he smiled they would sparkle with gold. She smiled remembering them. He had touched something deep inside of her. Something that no one else had. He had made her yearn for the first time to be in love and have it returned. She wanted his love so badly. 'Come gentle night. Come loving black browed night give me my Romeo. And when I shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun.' she thought idly. She wanted him back. But she also should have told him and now it was too late now. And her father. She missed her father as well. How long had it been since he had written? Months, a year maybe. She wanted him here to hold her and stroke her hair and sing to her. She wanted to see his kind eyes, smell his scent of peppermint, pine, and pipe tobacco. She sighed and finally willed her arm to raise to brush her hair away from her face. Lights in the distance caught her attention. She rose to her feet and walked down the stairs a bit staring intently at the night. Who was that? She caught a faint glimpse of a tall-feathered hat. "Tavington." She whispered. Turning abruptly she ran into the house shutting the door.