Wow, its hard to believe two years have gone by and Im still not done with this story!! I hope my writing has improved since then…..maybe not, we'll see. And for those who actually remember reading this story and actually reviewed saying they hoped I'd continue soon, my deepest apologies for keeping you waiting. I honestly can say this story will be finished by summer's end. And now, ta da! Chapter 15!!

"Miss? Come one now, miss, you better get up, the guards be coming.." Slowly two eyes lifted to reveal the old Irishman by her side, his face one of nervousness. Glancing to her left she saw the guards coming, and forced herself to sit up. The day before a man was almost beaten to death for not getting up. The cage that held the small group was opened, as British soldiers pushed the prisoners out. It was at this time that the prisoners were allowed to piss and get a scrap of bread to eat. Before they left, each had to be chained together, to prevent escape.

It was dawn of the third day of her captivity. A cough had sprung from nowhere, her lungs burned, and the other inmates had taken good care to avoid her at all costs. She liked this: the less questions asked, the better. She desperately tried not to think of the near future. Who wanted to think about death?

Escape was near impossible in this place. It seemed the only way to flee the hanging was to kill herself before. And that wouldn't solve anything, now would it?

The waiting game was hard. Mostly her thoughts drifted to her life over the past year. Images of Jane, Gabriel, Mr. Martin, Evan, Meg, her militia; all flooded through her mind. The Irishman told her she spoke these names out in her sleep; she only hoped no one else heard anything important.

On the fourth day they were not allowed to get out of the cage, and no food was given. The coughing persisted, and she soon found that even thinking made her weary. The sunlight always barred down on them, and her skin was burned and peeling away. Water was rationed to one cup per day, and the other prisoners soon became enemies as well. The 5th day came and when her one cup of water came into her hands, the snakelike man who watched her everyday snatched it from her. She growled and drew a fist to get it back, but by the time his eye was black the water had spilt. The guards just laughed and shook their heads. "Savages", they muttered under their breaths.

At night the British soldiers would gamble and drink nearby. Their laughter kept her awake. She had to keep one eye open at all times to see what they would do. Luckily, the lieutenant must have told his mine to lay hands off her, for not one guard tried to touch her inappropriately.

The colonel came out to speak to them on the sixth night. He was a middle aged man, whose small but fearsome body told his authority. He had one finger missing on his left hand, which showed he had once been a soldier who had earned his way to the top, not a sniveling aristocrat who got his position by money and stature. Still, there was not a single glance or gesture to assume he was even decent.

His eyes narrowed when he spoke. "Tonight is your last, treasonous pigs! So you will eat like them!" His voice was barely above his whisper, but everyone heard him correctly. Buckets of slop were brought before the wooden cage, and eager pairs of hands reached for clumps of God knows what.

Kris stayed back in her corner, disinterested. A few moments later the Irishman came to her with the slop in his hands.

"Come on lass, there's enough for everyone."

Her eyes seemed distant, and she kept her expression frozen. "I am not a pig," she gargled. Her lungs burned from speaking.

"Tis not being a pig to eat."

"It is when you eat a soldier's shit." For that was what it smelled like. The old man sighed and went back to the others to eat.

The sky was clear that night, and the coolness relaxed her muscles. It had been two days since she had tried to even move her body. Her coughing that night persisted stronger, and it kept everyone awake. Finally, a guard came by, screaming at her to shut up, and he kicked her ribs hard. It was just as well, her body had decided that it was too tired to cough anymore anyway.

Her mind however, would not let her have one last night of rest. That's because your about to sleep for all eternity, she concluded with herself.

"Your not coming, are you?" she whispered to the sky. "No, I suppose not. You've already saved my life before, I doubt I have nine lives." Already the sky was turning from black to dark blue, then to an orange-pink. Dawn. Still her eyes did not even blink.

"Maybe it's my destiny to join you, Ethan."

The trumpet sounded. The gates opened as a rider cantered all the way towards the lieutenant's cabin. He flung off the horse and went in. He did not return for a good hour. The sun was already in full view above the horizon. Something was happening.

The lieutenant came out, though no drums were beating. His face was furious. He was addressing the prisoners. "Seems the general wants to let you live and suffer a little longer than expected. But I wouldn't look to hope." He marched back towards his cabin, the guards looking just as confused as the captives.

They continued to only get one cup of water each that day. That night, however, when most of the prying ears were out of sight or asleep, the prisoners conversed.

It was Kris who spoke. "The Continentals must be winning. General Cornwallis can use us and other captives as a back up in case the battles go wrong. If he killed us all, he could lose everything." To this no one could disagree.

The Irishman muttered, "And here I thought the British actually had hearts." Laughs erupted, and Kris wriggled enough energy to join in.

It was another three days before they were given food again. By then Kris was steadily weathering away to nothing. Thankfully, her cough had subsided, though she wheezed when she breathed. She could feel her ribs beginning to stick out, her skin thinning. Thank God they don't have a mirror here.

To keep herself alive, she made up stories and fairy tales in her head, and recited all the ones she had learned from others. If the other prisoners heard her, they paid her stories no attention. Each man had his own thoughts to drift to.

"Now, most people disagree, but I like to think that Lancelot had his own lover, and that the love triangle was just a sham to make the story more appealing. Guinevere was actually a Pict, you see, not a princess. A warrior. The Picts actually let women fight. And Arthur saved her from a Roman priest…" she stopped speaking, for some kind of activity erupted her thoughts. Shots had been fired, and the guards had scrambled past then to take places atop the wooden tower wall. Screams echoed in, though the cage was too far to the side of the fort to see anything. Kristina's eyes had been blurry over the past few days anyway. Hours went by before…

"They've broken the gate!" One prisoner yelled. It seemed weariness had overtaken her once more. She closed her eyes as cannons exploded and smoke swept through the camp. She relied on her ears entirely now. Soon the screams subsided, but the hollers of the other prisoners told her all she needed to know. They were saved.

"Kris!" He shouted amidst the smoke. It was so hard to see anything. A soldier came at him with a bayonet, but Gabriel was far too angry to stop. He quickly sliced through the man's gut and continued. The fight was over, and the Continentals had won. It had been his father's idea to raid the fort, once they had found out what happened to Kristina. Benjamin made sure the Continentals thought the fort was a valuable asset and an easy target, but truly his motive was to get out the girl.

Gabriel thought back to the last time he thought she had been taken by the British. She certainly didn't need your help that time, did she? He questioned. This is different, I can feel that she's here. I sense her. She needs help.

"Over here!" A booming Irish voice sounded. Already the Continentals had chopped off the lock and started to pull the prisoners out.

Soon Gabriel heard it. "Colonel, I found a girl over here!" one soldier exclaimed.

The Martin boy pushed through the soldiers and made his way to the opening just as a thin girl, veiled in a hood was being unloaded. Surely this girl was too small to be his Kristina. He walked over to the man who held her and unwrapped the veil. His heart both cheered and faltered at the sight that it was, indeed, her.

He quickly told the man he knew who she was, and soon she was scooped up in his arms. "Arthur" she whispered, though he paid her words no mind. He stroked the few strands of hair that stuck to her forehead. She was so red, so hot.

"It's okay" he whispered back. "I'm here". Her eyes dilated. Heat fever, he thought.

They made their way outside the fort and into the army. Benjamin Martin awaited them.

"How is she?"

"I don't know. I…I honestly don't know. Father, look at her. She's skin and bones." He paced back and forth as she was laid on his father's bed inside a tent.

The army doctor was brought in and examined her as she slept.

As the physician spoke, all Gabriel could do was look at her face, which was now white as a sheet.

"She hasn't got much chance, it's a miracle she's lasted this long without food and water. Her ribs are broken, and her lungs swelled. If she doesn't die from the heat exposure, it'll be the starvation and cold. Keep giving her fluids every few hours, and sweat out the fever. Other than that, only time can heal her." As he passed, he gave Gabriel a quick pat on the shoulder.

The Martin boy bit his lip. Benjamin could not look him in the eye. "She's been lucky so far, Gabriel-"

But the son cut him off. "We could have been here days ago! We could have taken the militia and still won the fort! Why did we have to wait for the Goddamn Continentals to decide whether it was in the best interest of the army to overtake it?"

"Gabriel-"

"If she dies, it will be on your head, father. You and your political bullshit. Leave us." Never before had Gabriel spoken so to his father. On seeing the anger, Benjamin sighed and left. Before closing the tent, he watched as Gabriel squeezed a cold cloth and dabbed her forehead his other hand stroking hers.