Chapter 5

Lady Kris departed from camp early the next morning, dreading the ride home. She had decided to only tell Jane where she was headed. She had stopped off at the nearest town to order a carriage and driver as not to look suspicious in her father's eyes. It had been two months since her departure, and the last thing she needed was her father to go galloping the colonies searching for her. Not that he would, she thought, but I have to be cautious. From afar, the estate that she was supposed to call 'home' was quite breathtaking. Acres upon acres of the greenest of land had been given to Robert Doyle from King George III. Even the driver whistled in wonder as they came upon the driveway. Two soldiers halted their carriage, but Kristina was surprised to find her father running out to her, arms stretched. Shortly behind him, a man Kristina had never seen before came out. His eyes were stern, his lips statute, as if God himself could not pry them open if this man did not agree to it. The many badges on his chest indicated his superiority; even over her father. One of the soldiers helped her out of the carriage.

"My dear daughter!" Her father said, embracing her. Kristina cringed inwardly, but hugged him back. This sudden change from cold hearted enemy to loving dad confused her. Her father innocently took a quick look at the other man, and gave her one last squeeze for reassurance. Oh, that's his game, she wondered. Who could this stranger be? Father obviously is vying for his affection through me. He let go, but still kept his hands in hers. They were rough and cold, though the day was hot. "Kristina, I was beginning to worry; I was just about to send out a letter to our cousin to find out what has been going on. Honestly young lady, do you know how much it worries me when you don't write?"

The older man narrowed his eyes, his nose twitching as if he knew the obvious theatrical act this was. She realized she was staring, and turned back to her father, who was sweating profusely. Maybe I'll see where this goes…she thought was a smile.

"I'm so sorry I haven't been writing father, it completely skipped my mind. You see, cousin Emiline and I simply lost all track of time, we were having such an infectiously grand time. You purely MUST let me go back soon." She turned to her father's well dressed superior. "Father, you have not introduced me. I know I did horrible in those etiquette classes you gave me, but one thing I learned was that guests must be introduced before any conversations persist."

"Quite right. May I present to you My Lord General Cornwallis." Her eyes widened, her hand shook as he gracefully kissed it. Never in all her years had she seen this man, though his name was known throughout the entire world. At every party, at every meeting, on every document his name was talked about with the utmost sincerity, the utmost respect, the utmost loyalty. It was like she was staring at the King of England himself. Cornwallis was known as a hero in England; a perfect gentleman whose intelligence excelled beyond the normal individual. She had stolen several of his documents written to other officials- he boasted of flawless victories and practically zero defeats. She saw him as a threat. King George was nothing but a tyrant with no disregard for freedom. Cornwallis was the backbone; the wolf that could sneak into the village and kill the prey before the farmer sees what he's doing.

Her breath quickened. The information she could pick off him could save this war. It could undoubtedly cause the needed blow in the chest to end a fight for liberty, a fight for justice. His eyes never wavered from hers. Can he see right through me? She wondered.

"Pleased to meet you, my lord. I've heard nothing but powerful things of you." To this, he smiled delightfully.

"Yes, my dear, the general, along with a few other officials are staying with us for dinner. May I persuade you to get ready?"

Smiling sweetly, she bowed to her elders and entered the mansion. Inside, standing by one of the many angel statues, she was even more surprised to see a young man dressed in an officer's uniform, though he could not be older than twenty. He was bending over, and she observed with quiet amusement the foul terminology he expressed as he picked up several broken off bits of the effigy. Kristina cleared her throat, signaling her existence.

He instantly rose, and, having seen the intruder, blushed copiously. He fidgeted with his brown locks of hair. "My lady, I'm so terribly sorry, I was admiring the exotic carpet when I bent over and the statue fell and I tried to-"

She cut him off with a heart felt laugh. "It's quite all right good sir. May I inquire as to your business in my father's house though?" He stared at her for a minute, and for an instant she thought he misunderstood her. Finally he spoke again.

"YOUR Miss Kristina Doyle?" Another minute of silence followed. She awkwardly looked down at her shoes, not knowing what to say. What did this boy want, anyway?

"I'm sorry, I kind of lost track for a moment. This is not the introduction I wanted, nor is it one I normally make to people, I assure you. I am Colonel Evan Tavington, at your service, m'lady."

At hearing his name her smile instantly vanquished, and was replaced by a look of extreme horror. "Ta-Tavington?"

His eyes bore down on his coat. "Yes. My uncle was William Tavington, recently killed in action serving his Majesty in duties for the Crown of England." She found it hard to breathe. Suddenly that day, that awful day came snarling back into her head. Those eyes, those cold, dark eyes. The look of shock. The sudden realization hit that she had killed a man, a man who had not tried to kill her; a man who was a guest in her house frequently. Her throat swelled, her eyes blurred. Would this nightmare never end?

Suddenly she realized she was laying on the ground, her head being patted by the young man. Her eyesight returned slowly, and her breathing steadied. She looked over and saw her father on her right; Cornwallis peeking behind.

"Kristina? Dear? Are you alright? What happened?" He demanded of the boy.

"I'm sorry sir. I introduced myself and she started breathing really heavily and she just…collapsed."

Her father nodded. "Of course. Your uncle was a dear friend of ours, and no one had told her of his untimely death in the field. Come on, Kristina, let's see you sit up." With the help of Evan Tavington and her father, she slowly got to her feet. After repeatedly telling her father over and over she was alright, he and Cornwallis left, leaving her and Colonel Tavington alone once again.

Sighing with anxiety, she turned to Evan. "I'm so sorry mr. Tavington, I don't know what came over me."

He brought her over to a chair, where she willingly sat down. "I believe it is I who should apologize. It is not my place to speak of death on having just met you." Again, he was blushing.

Feeling bold, she spoke freely. "Did you know him well?"

To this he hesitated. "Well enough to know he loved his country, not well enough to know him personally. He was held in the highest regards in our family, and my father persuaded me to join the army as soon as I could so that I might one day be under Colonel Tavington's wing." She nodded her head, too tired to think to ask anything further about Tavington.

"May I get you a drink of water, miss?" One of the new maids asked. She nodded once again and returned her stare at Evan Tavington. He looked nothing like his uncle. His face was soft, yet a twinkle crossed his eyes that made her smile once more.

"Are you well enough to walk, Miss Doyle?"

Gulping, she replied, "Yes, I believe I am." He took her hand ever so slightly, and together they made their way out the back into the garden, and for once in her year and a half of spying, she didn't even think about the war.

*******

"ANNE!!!" He woke up sweating, his heart beat racing to the point where it hurt his chest. He clutched his blanket, and looked around, hoping no one heard. Gabriel was in his tent, the moon could still be seen high in the shadows that was the evening night. He brushed a tear aside. Every night her face plagues his mind; every night he envisioned it brutally smeared in a different fashion. He heard footsteps approaching the tent. Before his father could walk in, he turned over to his side and closed his eyes.

He wanted this war to be over. He wanted to see his family- his brothers, his sisters- he wanted to return to the farm, start over. Could anything be reversed? He wished he had never met Anne. He wished Tavington had never come to America. He wished with all his heart that that Kris girl would have just let him die.