Chapter Five
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Patricia Kellings.
"Saddle Big Ben for me and I'll be out in two minutes," Tavington said to O'Hara, who was standing in the doorway. He tucked in his shirt and pulled on his red vest.
"I can't do that, Colonel."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"You know as well as I do, sir, that he will not let anyone else but you saddle him, or he will rear."
Tavington chuckled at the thought of O'Hara being kicked. "Exactly, O'Hara. Saddle my horse."
O'Hara rolled his eyes and walked away.
Outside, the colonel stood, watching four or five men try to conquer the stubborn horse. He laughed in a sadistic little way. Finally, they got it right.
Tavington got on. He kicked the horses' side and took off, the Dragoons slowly assembling behind him in their formation. By the time he reached the fort gates, they were all there.
He sped out, feeling the cool, crisp wind biting his face. He had grown immune to the sharpness of the wind in his eyes long ago. After a while, the towns started to appear.
As he could see the towns, the towns could see him.
Cries of, "It's the Butcher!" and "No, he's back!" rang from the now-panicked colonists. When he finally reached the town, everyone had boarded themselves up into their homes.
Tavington's shoulder bean to sting, but he ignored it. The Dragoons behind him halted as he raised his hand to think. Where had Cornwallis told him to raid, again?
His train of thought was interrupted by a woman with a musket, standing in the center of the main road, facing him with angry blue eyes.
She had brown hair, about up to shoulder length. She was about 5'7 with a long, black dress on. She was about twenty-five or so.
Tavington smiled, being a gentleman. "And who, may I ask, are you?"
The young woman picked up the musket and aimed. "You know who I am," she said, hostilely.
"No, I believe I-" Tavington began, but a sudden memory crossed his mind. It was that silly little woman from the farm and her husband, the one he had shot. But, why wasn't she dead?
"Oh, you. That stupid woman with her stupid husband. Forgive my memory," he said.
The gun clicked at him, almost threateningly.
"I'm not forgiving anything about you!" she cried.
"Oh, you fool. Put that down," Tavington said. He was careless, yet he knew she might shoot at any time. But what were the chances? He had shot her before, he could afford to do it again. One less brat on the face of the planet.
"My name's Patricia, and I'm going to kill you!" she cried. Rage burned inside her. Why wasn't he afraid?
Then it hit her. He was Tavington.
Tavington smiled at her. "Going to kill me?" he repeated, in a question. He chuckled. The Dragoons stood behind him, silent, like bodyguards.
Patricia's hands were shaking.
Tavington tipped his hat to her, in an insulting kind of way. "I bid you good day," he said obnoxiously, and turned the other way.
Before she knew what she was doing, Patricia fired at Tavington's head.
Tavington felt the bullet graze his hat, and watched some of the fluff fall. The bullet, which had almost killed him, soared into the chest of a Dragoon, who screamed and fell, dead. Tavington spun around, whipping out his pistol.
"I bid you good day," he whispered, furious, and pulled the trigger as a burning sensation from his shoulder to his hand made him drop the gun.
He gasped, and clutched his shoulder, as the bullet managed to graze Patricia's side.
She doubled over and looked at her hands, covered in blood. Bending over in pain, she looked up at Tavington, who stared at her from his horse, before riding away, the Dragoons following him.
She saw circles dancing before her eyes, and felt a man's hands grabbing her shoulders as she fainted for a second time.
A/N: Please review!
