Chapter 4
Kris returned to her burrow with her followers wrapped in tow, and all the while she pondered on what the great Benjamin Martin had told her. Was what she and her girls doing respectable? Selling their bodies to gain information…it was the same as men dying on the battlefields. Mr. Martin just didn't understand. She had much respect for the man before their meeting, and afterward her thoughts on him did not change.
Her thoughts drifted back to the source of all this. Her years in the colonies, though few in number, had taught her a lot about the value of the human spirit. Back in England, everything dealt with etiquette and refinery; there was no need for a woman to waste time with trivialities such as philosophy, economics, and even the simple act of farming. The minute she had touched American soil, she knew her chains to social finesse would break. Her father, Captain Robert Doyle of the 101st infantry to the crown of England; a man who despised the colonies; tried to keep his daughter locked away in their newly built mansion. But she had her own agenda.
She saw with her own eyes the horrors her father's men were doing to the good citizens once the war began. On more than one occasion she peeked at his documents in his drafty office, noticing mortgage foreclosures and even hangings of innocent men. The slaves he owned were treated with no more regard than piss on a street. Robert Doyle was a cold hearted, sinister man, and Kris wanted nothing to do with him.
The fire was winding down to its last breath. The girls were all asleep. Mosquitoes picked at Kris, and she flicked them away. A tear slowly brushed the side of her cheek, but she didn't know why.
A gunshot sounded in her ear. Her eyes searched over the man she had just killed. His eyes were open, a look of shock plastered on his already pale looking face. She breathed heavily, dropping her gun. The man he had tried to kill was sprawled out on the ground, blood pouring out of his stomach. Her hands shook. She didn't know what to do. Her energy giving way, she knelt to the ground beside the young man, her leg hitting part of his curly blonde hair. His eyes were dilated; his head shaking. He looked up at her, and she thought she heard him whisper the name, "Anne". By now he was unconscious; a few feet away his attempted murderer lay. She recognized the dead man immediately. Her father had spent many an evening sharing drinks and laughing with him. He was the leader of the dragoons; the most ruthless of the King's army. One of her friends gently touched her shoulder.
"Lady Kris, their all dead. We…we were too late."
Kris turned around, then looked back at the young man. "This one isn't. Here, help me get him on my horse."
The night air brushed against her skin. She headed into her tent, her hands once again shaking. I'm doing the right thing, she thought with reassurance.
*******
It had been a week since Benjamin had met with the 'women militia'. Gabriel questioned him day and night relentlessly, hoping he'd give up what was said during his father's private conversation with the English girl. Ben did no such thing, inwardly laughing at his son's attempts. Frankly, he had worse things to worry about. A battle was forming, he could smell it. One of Lady Kris' documents explained the location of Cornwallis and his army, which had helped a great deal. Now they could pinpoint their moves; their numbers. Everything was leading up to one big battle, and general Howe had fled.
Benjamin noticed the changes in his son; Gabriel had frequent nightmares, he spent long hours away from camp, riding through the countryside, and worst of all, he refused to talk about Anne. His son was going through the same grief as he did when his wife had died. He had prayed day and night to God to make sure his son had the life that he had not- a loving wife by his side until old age. He had lost a daughter in law, a son, and almost another son to the same evil man. Their murderer was dead, but not by a Martins' hand. Tavington's shadow continued to haunt father and son, mocking them. Benjamin knew Gabriel felt the same, and maybe that is why he lashed at so at the young woman. His rescuer had killed the man that Gabriel was supposed to kill. His revenge was incomplete, and it was tearing him apart day by day.