My thanks to those who have continued to read and review this story. Your comments continue to inspire me. To those who are interested. The cast page as well as more photo pages have been added to the "UC" page. http://www.geocities.com/jareth_sarah/uc/unexpected.html

As always, thanks to my wonderful beta, Scattered Logic, for all her hard work in editing, her patience and her inspiration. Also special thanks to The Hooded Crow and Lady Jamie for their comments and inspiration.

WARNING: This chapter contains scenes that deal with and describe acts of violence against women. Sensitive readers may wish to skip this chapter.

Chapter 11: True Colors

You're old enough to stand and face the truth, through all this crying
Has a little bit of kindness shaken you, so you keep on trying
Your eyes are like the windows to your soul, through all this dying
As adventures shared by many young and old, so you keep on trying

Till the tears come falling down...

It's crying time, it's crying time
It's crying time, it's crying time
It's crying time, those tears don't lie
Those tears you cry, those tears you cry


However things uncertain might appear, don't walk it, blindness
And a single word of magic in your ear, lights up inside us
On many nights your step is strong and sure, so close behind us
Cried out for help, from many distant shore, soon reminds us
And the tears come falling down, falling down...

Magnum- "Crying Time"

Jareth rushed from the tent, his temper flaring. He made his way to his own tent and after pacing the length of it several times, he threw himself down in a chair, running his hands through his hair. His anger was so strong that he was trembling.

Jareth's head shot up as he heard the sound of something moving within his tent. His eyes narrowed as he gazed upon Colonel Rochester. Rochester always seemed to show himself when he was least wanted.

The Colonel had a bottle of wine and 2 glasses in his hands. "Hard day, my lord?" He asked with a smirk.

Jareth didn't answer. Rochester poured himself and Jareth each a glass of wine. "The prisoner not cooperating?"

Jareth sat up and straightened his posture. "You could say that."

Rochester handed Jareth a glass of wine and then spoke, "You should let me take over for you, my lord. Let me talk to her."

"No." Jareth said quickly and firmly. "I will take care of the situation."

Rochester shrugged. "As you wish." He took a sip of his wine. "Camilla sends her regards, my lord. She misses you greatly."

Jareth practically growled. He just wanted to be left alone. "I don't know any Camilla," he said coldly.

Rochester sneered. "Surely you remember the name of your own wife?"

Jareth raised a brow and inwardly cursed for allowing his temper to put him in an awkward situation. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "Ah, yes, my wife," Jareth sighed. "I look forward to seeing her again."

Rochester's smirk widened. "I'm sure you will wish to send a letter to her."

Jareth looked up at Rochester and gave an exhausted expression. "Yes, I will write it in the morning. I'm tired. Leave me."

"Yes, my lord." Rochester drained his wine and with a slight bow, left the tent.

Jareth sank back into his chair. He had allowed his anger to get his better judgment and he had nearly paid the price.

With a sigh, he reached for the leather bound book that enabled him to continue this ridiculous charade. General Thompson's personal journal. A collection of daily or weekly passages that spoke of Thompson's life, his passions, his triumphs and his defeats.

Jareth had found the journal quite by accident while he had been snooping around in the tent and had been reading it for days now. Jareth learned that Thompson was a wealthy lord with a great deal of power. He was friendly with the royal family in England and he owned various estates, though none of them seemed to make him happy.

Jareth opened the book. He was curious that Thompson had not spoken of anyone named Camilla. Why would he not mention his own wife?

Jareth began to leaf through the yellowed pages with words written in dark ink on them. Finally, he found the name he was searching for and relaxed slightly upon seeing it.

My dearest Camilla, not a day goes by that I don't think of you.

Jareth felt himself relax at reading the words. But why had Thompson never spoken of her before in other passages? He continued to read.

It has been so hard these past four years without you.

Jareth frowned. Four years? Thompson had not seen his wife in four years. Had the General been in active duty all that time? He turned his attention back to the journal.

Sometimes I still dream that you will be waiting for me when I return home to England. But then reality sets in and I am forced to remember all that remains for me at home is an empty house.

Jareth frowned again. An empty house?

It's been four years today. Four years of silence and solitude. Rest in peace, my Camilla. Until next year.

G. T. 5th June, 1773

The book was shut abruptly and Jareth's jaw dropped. Camilla was dead! Rochester had set him up to make a mistake and he had! Thompson's wife had been dead for nearly 5 years. Jareth cursed in Goblin. He would have to work extra hard to correct the mistake. He flipped back through the journal and buried himself in the task of making certain he knew everything there was to know about General George Thompson.

* * *

Hot water for baths suddenly stopped being brought daily; meals arrived sometimes hours later than usual. Communication was dropped completely. Jareth had truly meant what he said about not caring. His actions and absence only made Sarah angrier than she had already been with him.

She was angry with herself for trusting him and angry with him for leaving her stranded like this. There was nowhere for her to go in this world even if she did escape and Jareth knew it.

Beneath all the anger, something else brewed within Sarah. But she wouldn't allow herself to think it or feel it. She would not miss the company of someone who had dragged her far from her home and abandoned her.

Three days passed by in a hazy blur. Sarah spent her time either sleeping or sitting in the chair at her table staring off into space. She didn't know what would happen to her now and each day she grew to care less.

* * *

Jareth dove fully into his role as General. He continued to read Thompson's journal and began to use what he had read. He began to oversee the training of soldiers to make certain that they remained in top shape for whatever battle may lie ahead.

Rochester kept pushing to attack the colonists but Jareth refused to give orders to go into battle. He put Rochester in his place by reminding him that they should be in Boston at the moment and not holed up in some woods.

* * *

Each night as the camp grew quiet and activity ceased, a white barn owl perched in a tree for a short while to made certain that a guard remained where he should be outside of a tent.

* * *

"Colonel!" Jareth called. He strode toward where Colonel Rochester stood talking to another soldier, a young man with brown hair and brown eyes.

Rochester said something quickly to the soldier and sent him on his way. Then the Colonel turned to face Jareth. "General, you needed to speak with me?"

"Why have I not received the weapons inventory reports that I asked for?"

"The ammunition and weapons are at the same count as they were just the other day." Rochester told him. "I fail to understand why you need the reports daily. The counts rarely change and it isn't like you will allow us to use the ammunition for its intended purpose. To show the colonists what England does to traitorous rebels."

"I asked for the reports and I want them sent to me. Understood?"

Rochester nodded and he looked uncomfortable for a moment. The General had been acting like himself again, as he had acted before the battle in Concord. Asking for a copy of the weapons inventory was something that Thompson loved to ask for each day. He had started doing it again, as well as making rounds and overseeing training. And he had stopped seeing the woman prisoner.

Rochester hated to be wrong, but he still believed that this man was not who he claimed to be. He was determined to prove that this was not General Thompson and he would see that he was right at all costs.

The Colonel collected himself quickly. "Of course, General. I will have them sent to you straight away."

Jareth gave Rochester a searching glance and then walked away.

Rochester smiled to himself as a plan formed in his mind. "Let's just see if my suspicions are right, shall we?" Snickering, he strolled away.

* * *

"John, you look like you could use a drink."

John turned toward the voice to see Evan Braze walking towards him. He sighed. Just who he wanted to see. He couldn't stand Evan. The tall dark haired man was a stuck up snob that loved to brag about how he had been promoted to Lieutenant. Everyone knew that it was because his father was a Lt. Colonel in the 5th dragoon and he was very wealthy.

"As much as I would enjoy one, I must decline. "John told him. "The General would kill me if I became intoxicated. I'm on active duty."

"Jesus, you're guarding a woman. She ain't going nowhere. C'mon. It's just a drink."

John's brows lowered over his eyes. "I can't," he said firmly.

Laughter filled the air and John saw that 4 other soldiers stood only a short distance away.

"Johnny boy's a chicken!" One of the soldiers folded his arms to his side, pretending they were wings and he began to cluck like a chicken. "Brock Brock Brock. Johnny's a chicken!"

"Cut it out." Evan ordered. "You heard him. He's on active duty."

John's eyes widened. Evan Braze was defending him?

"We don't need him at the party anyway." One of the men muttered. They began to walk away and Evan joined them.

John watched them for a moment before calling out, "What party?"

Evan smiled and then turned to face him. "It's nothing special. Just a few of us, a warm fire and some brandy. It's a real shame that you can't join us." Evan feigned sympathy.

John looked torn. "It isn't that I don't want to go, but someone must be here at all times to guard the prisoner."

A thoughtful expression appeared on Evan's face. "Did the General say who had to guard her?"

"There has never been anyone other than myself and occasionally Joshua Torington, who covers for me when the General believes I deserve some rest."

"But the General didn't say that you specifically had to be here?" Evan asked raising a brow.

"I don't understand why you are asking me this," John told him flatly.

"Well, I was just thinking, " Evan walked up to him and put his arm over John's shoulder. "I can drink anytime I want. You have been hard at work and need a break. Why don't I take over for you, just for a little while? You can have a drink or two, even take a few hours to sleep it off."

John looked at Evan curiously. "Why would you do that for me?" He seemed suspicious.

Evan flashed him a bright smile. "What are friends for?"

"You never wanted to be friendly with me before, why this sudden interest?"

Evan looked hurt. "Here I am, trying to lend you a hand and you act like I want something out of this."

"Well, don't you?" John asked.

Evan threw his hands into the air. "I can't believe this. I offer something out of the goodness of my heart and you insult me."

"I'm sorry." John told him immediately. "My intention wasn't to insult you."

Evan grinned at John's uncomfortable expression. "I'll forgive you on one condition."

"Name it." John told him. Insulting Evan Braze was not a good idea. If you got on his bad side he would let the entire royal army know about it and worse yet was the fact that his father would go the Colonel. And no one wanted to be presented with Colonel Rochester's punishments.

"You go off with the boys for a while and rest yourself. I'll stay and guard the prisoner for you." Evan told him and patted John's back.

John frowned at his request. Why was Evan so interested in guarding the woman? This wasn't exactly a prestigious assignment, though it was better than looking after the horses. John swallowed. He didn't want to upset Evan but he also didn't want the General getting angry. He had seen General Thompson's fury when he had tied Sarah too tightly.

"C'mon, Johnny. You don't get out enough. Too damn busy doing your job." One of the soldiers told him.

"I'm a soldier. That is a twenty-four hour, 7 day a week job." John shot back.

"You're also a man who deserves to give into guilty pleasures every now and again." Evan told John. "I know that you like to drink every so often. This is your chance to indulge in free time. Damn General has you out here in all kinds of weather, day in and day out. Bringing his rebel whore meals and all. Wears a man down."

John opened his mouth to defend the woman and the General but quickly snapped it shut. Evan and his cronies would probably laugh at him for trying anyway.

"I'm just offering to help a fellow soldier to the crown. Nothing wrong with that is there?" Evan smiled broadly.

John shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Good, then go have a drink on me." Evan told John patting him once again on the back.

John nodded and followed after the other soldiers.

Evan smirked and turned to face the tent. "What a gullible fool." He took a quick look around. He noted the musket with a bayonet by the door as well as the barrel John had been leaning against. The camp was quiet other than some laughing he heard in the distance. He smiled and then entered the tent.

Evan's eyes widened as he gazed around the tent. No wonder the rumors were flying around camp. He looked at the metal tub, the table and chair, the dresses hanging to one side. The rebel bitch had more commodities than most of the soldiers!

He glanced at the small bed and he moved to stand at the foot of it. He gazed hungrily over the long dark hair framing a pale face, eyes closed, deep in sleep. His eyes traveled the length of the slender feminine body. He grinned. This was one order that he was going to enjoy following.

* * *

Sarah couldn't stop falling. Hands reached out to grab her and stop her descent but she seemed to pass right through them as if they weren't even there. She was plummeting way too fast. The tunnel was dark and frightening and she still couldn't see the bottom.

Something suddenly grabbed her and she found that she couldn't scream.

Her eyes shot open and she realized with a start that she had been dreaming. She sighed, recognizing the interior of her tent at the British camp. It had been nothing more than a frightening nightmare.

Something grabbed her hand and she cried out. She felt rope wrap around her hands and dig into her wrists that were still healing.

"Let me go! What do you think you're-" The rest of her words became mumbled nonsense as a cloth handkerchief was shoved ruthlessly into her mouth and was tied behind her head. Both hands were tied to the bedposts in a matter of moments and Sarah had little time to react.

Hands seized her feet roughly, and one foot was tied to the lower bedposts. Panicked, Sarah kicked with all her might and felt her foot impact soft flesh.

A masculine groan filled her ears and a hand slapped her hard across the face. "Feisty thing, aren't you! I'll just solve that." The man grabbed her other foot and then tied it to the post tightly. Sarah struggled but her efforts were in vain.

She attempted to call for help, but who would she call? Who would hear her muffled cries? She felt the mattress of the bed sink and her eyes widened with fear.

"I have to give the General some credit. He certainly knows how to pick his prisoners. You're a very pretty little rebel."

Sarah cringed as she felt a bare hand slide down her face and then continue along her chest. She tried to move away and felt a knee press into her side keeping her in place. She didn't recognize the voice that spoke and the seductive tone made her tremble with fright.

"Now, now. This won't take too long." He whispered.

Sarah's eyes adjusted to the dark and she could make out a dark haired man that she had never seen before. She watched as he lowered his face to her chest and placed a kiss on her neck and trailed a few down her collarbone to her chest. Sarah tried to squirm away from him.

"This won't hurt…much." He smiled wickedly. "I assure you, I'm much better than the General." He trailed a finger down the bodice of her dress.

Sarah sobbed when she realized what he planned on doing to her. She tossed and turned, determined to get free. But after only a few moments of struggling, she stopped.

"Are you finished now?" The man chuckled. He brushed Sarah's long dark hair aside and placed another kiss at the base of her neck. "It's no use trying to escape…you might as well let yourself enjoy this."

Enjoy this? How could she enjoy being raped? She caught sight of the man's dark hungry eyes and terror shot through her. She could only watch as he slid down the bed, seating himself near her feet.

Sarah tried to move away as he reached for the hem of her dress, but there was nowhere to go. He slipped one hand beneath the fabric to stroke her thigh. Her breathing became frantic and fear stabbed her everywhere with its icy knife. She lifted her head and watched in horror as he tugged at her skirt undergarments.

Sarah struggled against the bonds that held her but she only succeeded in hurting herself. The man's hands had moved away from the undergarments, which he had half pulled off and his hands were roaming up her side. His breathing had become chaotic and Sarah bit the fabric of the handkerchief when she felt him press his lower body against her as he bent to place kisses on her neck again.

Tears streamed down Sarah's face, staining the dark colored handkerchief that bound her mouth. Her struggling ceased when she realized that she wasn't going to break free. This man was going to rape her and there was nothing she could do about it.

She closed her eyes and the tears continued to fall as the man began to pull down her dress, leaving her clad in only her corset and undergarments. She prayed to god that he would kill her after he was done with her.

As the man continued to do what he pleased, his touches growing bolder, more frantic, Sarah's mind cried out the name that her voice could not.

She felt his hands reach for her breasts and give them a hard squeeze through the fabric of her corset and then suddenly the touch was gone. The weight that had been crushing her had disappeared to be replaced with the cool night air. Sarah opened her eyes and turned her head in confusion. Everything looked hazy and noises seemed far away. She felt as if she was going to black out, but slowly things came into focus. Her eyes filled with fresh tears that began to stream down her face when she learned why the man had not returned to finish her off.

She knew that wild, unruly blond hair and she knew that angry voice.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Evan stumbled backwards after being jerked off the bed, his hands searched blindly for the entrance of the tent. His eyes widened when he realized who had pulled him away. "Ge…General." He nearly squeaked. Rochester had said that he was going to detain the General!

"I asked what do you think you were doing!?" Jareth was absolutely furious. His brows were drawn low and his eyes flashed with anger. He looked positively frightening.

"I…I…" Evan stuttered.

Jareth grabbed Evan by the collar of his uniform and shook him. The General's mismatched eyes were blazing with uncontrollable fury. "Thought you would come in here and have a little fun? Is that what you thought? That no one would mind because she's a prisoner?"

"Sir, I...didn't know she meant something to you…" Evan croaked.

Jareth's eyes flashed with violent rage. "Do you think that this is proper conduct of a British soldier?" He spat, attempting to keep some sort of control. His voice cracked as he continued. "Raping…a woman prisoner?"

Evan's eyes narrowed. "So what's good for the General isn't good for the rest of us?"

Jareth gripped Evan tighter and shoved him against one of the wooden poles that held the tent up.

Sarah let out a soft muffled cry as she moved and split her wrists open in the process.

Jareth turned at the sound to glance at Sarah. She was half-undressed and she was tied to her bed, her mouth bound so she could not call for help. She was frightened and crying. Jareth felt his heart drop into his stomach, felt sick at knowing what this man had intended to do to her. And then he felt anger as he had never felt it before.

As Jareth turned back to Evan, the young man punched Jareth in the jaw, not hard enough to do damage, but hard enough to throw Jareth off balance, allowing Evan to get away.

Evan rushed frantically toward the door and Jareth was after him in a second, his speed almost unrealistic. He grabbed hold of Evan and the two tumbled outside into the darkness. Jareth was on his feet in a second, and angrily he slammed Evan into a nearby tree. A fistfight began.

Evan was no match for the furious General and he knew it. He tried his best, but grew tired quickly and all it took was one last hard shove from the General to end it.

Jareth watched as Evan's eyes widened as the bayonet on top of John's musket was driven unexpectedly through Evan's back and chest. Evan struggled and looked down to see the steel blade protruding from his flesh. He glanced at Jareth, who glared angry hatred. With a deep aching sound, Evan took a last shuddering breath.

Rochester sank into the shadows of a nearby tent as he watched Evan's head roll forward. It was a shame to lose such a good solider. He growled and slipped away into the night.

Jareth sighed deeply, his breathing still heavy from the conflict. He glanced at the unmoving body before him and knew what he had done would cause commotion within the camp. The death of a well-known Calvary officer's son by the hand of a General, all because of a prisoner, was cause for big trouble indeed.

It had been a long time since Jareth had killed. It was something that he did not take pride in, but something that had to be done when a life or a kingdom was at stake. He had not meant to kill Evan, but he honestly was not saddened by the loss. He realized that he would kill anyone who attempted to harm Sarah and that startled and confused him.

Jareth walked on unsteady legs back into the tent. He had just killed a man, had possibly changed history and the cause of all his anguish and pain was tied to her bed, tears streaming down her face. Jareth felt his heart ache as he gazed at Sarah. He moved in quick strides and cut the ties that bound her.

Sarah sat up and coughed. Blood seeped from the corners of her mouth from cuts created by the handkerchief and her wrists were bleeding from the rope. Trembling, she reached painfully for the blankets of her bed and pulled them tightly around herself.

"Sarah…" Jareth's voice was filled with anguish. His eyes pleaded forgiveness.

Sarah turned away from him quickly as tears reformed in her eyes. She didn't want him to see her cry, didn't want him to see her so vulnerable, but it was too late for that.

Jareth watched as Sarah fought with herself to refrain from breaking down. He looked on as her best efforts were shattered like fragile glass. She bent over the bed, burying her face into her hands, her dark hair falling around her like a curtain. Her body shook as she began to sob.

Jareth felt his heart pounding in his chest. He realized with horror that had he been only a few minutes later, it would have been over. Sarah would have been raped and he would have failed to protect her. He would never have forgiven himself if that had happened. He tried to swallow the lump that appeared in his throat as he realized this could have been prevented…

Sarah stiffened as she felt the mattress sink beside her. Strong arms slipped around her trembling form.

The stubborn side of her told her to pull away as Jareth drew her to him, but she found that she couldn't. She wanted him to hold her, needed to feel safe. She buried her face into the warmth of his chest, her sobs muffled by the fabric of his uniform. She gripped the heavy wool and her anguish rushed out of her like a raging deluge.

She felt Jareth begin to rock her slowly. She didn't resist him and pressed her weight against him desperate to feel the warmth and solidity of his body beneath her. She was frightened about what had happened and even more frightening was the discovery that she needed the man that held her. He was all that she had in this world and at the moment, he was all that she wanted.

Sarah raised herself slightly so that she could bury her face into his neck and soft hair. He didn't resist and if anything encouraged her. She felt his gloved hands caress her back through the blankets and felt his face lower into her hair as he whispered soft soothing words. She could hear and feel his heart pounding in his chest. It made her realize that he did care about her in some way, despite what he wanted her to believe.

Jareth knew that Sarah was frightened and that was why she clung to him so desperately. That bothered him more than he cared to admit, but he continued to hold her. The urge to protect her from harm grew even stronger within him.

He continued to rock her and her sobs eventually faded. He glanced down at her to see her looking up at him. Her eyes were red from crying, her wrists were red, her hands were stained with her own blood and she was hiccupping softy. Jareth let out a shuddering breath.

"You came back…" She whispered. Her voice was ragged.

"Of course I came back." He gently pushed aside a few locks of hair that were hanging in her eyes.

"But you…"

"Shhh. You need to rest."

"But how did you know I was in trouble?"

"I didn't. Not until I entered the tent." He gently ran his fingers over her shoulders. "I went for a…walk…I didn't see John outside the tent. I decided to investigate…" Jareth drew a deep breath. "If I had been any later…" The thought was unimaginable. He lowered his chin against her head and closed his eyes.

Sarah pressed her cheek to Jareth's chest and closed her eyes. His reason for coming didn't matter to her right now. He had come and that was what mattered. She had seen his anger, his violent fury as he dealt with the soldier. There was more to Jareth than he was letting on.

The events of the night repeated like a mantra in Jareth's mind. His sudden decision to walk by Sarah's tent in person instead of transforming into an owl to look over the camp. His confused discovery at not finding John outside the tent. Jareth had rushed to her tent and then had stopped outside of it, out of breath from his brisk run. He had glanced around noticing John's musket and bag. But where was John? His breathing had slowed and he heard a voice and heard muffled cries. He had peered into the tent and was not prepared for what he had seen.

Jareth buried his face into the warmth of Sarah's hair trying to block out the images.

It was no longer safe for her here.