Chapter Three
Disclaimer: I do not own T.P.
A/N: This chapter skips ahead two months from the first two chapters, I mean, come on. Who likes to see a wounded Tavy? Please review!
"Colonel! You're almost completely well!" cried a soldier, as Tavington walked out of the medical tent for the first time in five months.
His shoulder, not surprisingly, was the only thing he was waiting for. And he wasn't going to wait anymore.
"Colonel," O'Hara said, coming up to him and shaking his hand, "It's nice to see you better. Lord Cornwallis wants a word with you."
"Oh, that man. Damn him. Are you sure he wanted to see me?" Tavington asked, already aggravated.
"Why, yes."
"How did he know I would be out by today?"
"He arranged it, sir."
"Leave me, then. I'll go," the colonel said, coldly. He was quite annoyed that his freedom from bed was interrupted. Again.
He cursed out O'Hara in his head. 'Such a lapdog', he thought, 'That man has no life.' He reached Cornwallis' tent.
"Take a seat," Cornwallis commanded.
Tavington sat, in the famous 'yelling chair', as he called it. He was asked to sit in it whenever the Lord was to criticize his battle tactics.
"I trust your arm andbayonet wounds are better?" Cornwallis asked.
Tavington tried to stretch his arm, but recoiled it in sharp, stinging pain.
"Actually, everything but the arm," Tavington said.
"Is it infected?"
"There is a chance."
Cornwallis leaned back in his seat. "We thought you had been killed."
Tavington said nothing.
Cornwallis leaned back, took a bottle of wine from the shelf behind him, and put it on his desk. He handed Tavington a crystalline glass, and took one for himself.
"Unfortunately, the bullet only hit your shoulder," Cornwallis joked, and poured the wine. Tavington, used to being made fun of by Cornwallis, used his grin-and-bear-it method. He smiled a tiny bit, but was really thinking, 'If you weren't my lord, I'd have a bullet through your head.'
He sipped the wine. "Why did you call me down here?" he asked, cautiously.
Cornwallis leaned foward. His fingers were entwined. "I hope you can understand, Colonel, that I respect the injury of your shoulder and such, but I need ask of you to get back to work as soon as you can. I need you to lead the Dragoons on a few raids, and there are simply no others to do the job."
A call to go back to work? "Oh, but my Lord, "Tavington said, "I've seen other colonel's around the camp... Is there no one else but I?"
Cornwallis stood up, wine in hand, looking out the window. "Yes, there are, but they...how do I put it? They cannot get the job done...as you do."
Tavington smirked as he drank. He did favor his tactics, after all.
"I'll give you two more days off, then can you return to work?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Excellent, colonel. Here's to your health."
Both men clinked glasses and drank the rest.
More Coming!
