Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own the Patriot

A/N: Tell me how it be so far!

'Goodness gracious,' thought Lark, as she dragged the heavy body that was Patricia outside, 'She is heavy!"

She pulled her down the hill, trying not to hurt her or bump her around to much. After a while, she decided it best to sling her over her shoulder.

Despite the enormous amounts of pressure and the cracking weight on her shoulders pulling her down, she struggled for a while, then finally started off. She staggered while running, but regained her footing and balance and kept moving. As she ran towards the woods, she felt something brush her shoulder... Even odder, it was the shoulder that Patricia was on.

She stopped. Nothing. She could've sworn...

Oh, well.

Reaching the edge of the forest, she gently put Patricia down beside her. Honestly, how could someone sleep through all that? As she looked at the road ahead, she realized there was no way she could get through the underbrush to hide her friend without someone getting hurt. She couldn't drag, pull, or carry her, and Tavington's orders were to hide her in the forest. If the rebels came down, they could easily see and kill her.

It was her Lark's safety, or Patricia's life.

Picking her up honey-moon style, she stepped over logs, sticks, rocks, and the like, her face getting scraped with all sorts of things that scraped people when in the forest. Damn, did she just step in poison ivy? Dammit!

After carrying her into the heart of the forest for about twenty five minutes, she rested Patricia's head against a moldy stump, as cushioning. She looked around. It was a clearing about ten feet wide, with the edge off a creek flowing through it. Perfect.

She stood up, stretched, and headed towards the church.

When she got there, she was horrified.

It was burning.

She ducked and peeked over the hills as rebels swarmed out, holding torches and laughing to themselves. Their horses were going wild, prancing and stomping and nipping at one another. Like a band of cowboys, they rode off, leaving the church ablaze.

"Charles!" she screamed (O'Hara's first name), "William!"

Nothing, except the loud crackles, like the ones you'd hear at a bonfire. There was also the sound of glass shattering.

The rebels war-whooped. "Burn the church, ay? Burn the church! I'll show you how to burn the church, colonel!"

She ran towards the building, and started banging her fists on the wall. It was hot. He tried to look through the windows, but all she saw were flames.

Then, she heard voices inside.

"Lark!" cried the voice of O'Hara. It was muffled.

Lark paused. Was she hearing correctly...?

"CHARLES!" she screamed, banging on the walls even more.

"Lark, get away from the window. William and I are breaking out!"

Lark stepped back, and glad she did, because in a rain of glass and burning wood, O'Hara and Tavington broke through.

Out they tumbled, coughing, falling onto the ground in coughing fits. They were both covered in soot and grime. Flames burst from the open window towards the new source of oxygen.

Lark ran to help them. "Are you okay?" she asked, brushing the soot out of their eyes, which were inadvertently tearing. They both nodded, and Tavington showed her a little burn he had received on his leg.

They stood up, and for safety, put ground between them and the church. As they walked towards the forest, Tavington stated, "I'm going back after them."

O'Hara stopped. "Colonel, that's madness. You can't possibly be serious. What you need is to get back to Patricia and carry out your wedding schedule as it always has been."

Tavington glared. "And what would that be?"

O'Hara smiled. "Well, the minister never said, "You may now kiss the bride", so something along the lines of that, and then you've got the reception and the honeymoon and everything else –"

Tavington rolled his eyes. "There won't be a reception, O'Hara," he snapped, "And a honeymoon? Here? I think not."

There was silence, as the trio walked into the forest.

Lark took the lead. "Okay. Now follow me, and don't step in that," she said, pointing to the poison ivy she had previously walked into.

They followed her, until they reached the clearing, where Patricia lay. Tavington, as soon as he saw her, ran to her. He lifted her head, and she warily opened her eyes.

"Patricia!" he cried, and hugged her. She smiled weakly, and said, "William."

He smiled at her, helping her prop herself up against a tree. He pulled out a canteen and popped it open. 'Here," he said, "Drink it."

She drank some, and then put a hand to her head to steady herself. "What happened?"

Tavington grinned to himself, rejoicing that his beloved was alive.

"Nothing."