Love and War

Chapter IV - Little White Lies

As daughter of one of the Loyalist families, Marion knew both the men by sight. Lord General Cornwallis, commander of the British Armies in the South, and, judging by his uniform, Colonel William Tavington, leader of the Green Dragoons. Tavington the Butcher. She had heard stories of his cruelty, of his disregard for all things colonist, for everything she believed in. Funny, she had pictured him older, battleworn, and as close to a vulture you could get and still be human. It was quite the opposite in fact; he was dashing in his own way. Dark hair, tall, naught 35 years old. But his eyes. So cold, so shielded from the world and his own emotions. They scared her more than any story.

Marion sat up slowly, eyeing both Tavington and General Cornwallis standing uncomfortably in the doorway. "I beg your pardon," she began, pulling the sheets up her small frame in mock modesty, "But exactly where am I?" Marion was banking on the renown British propriety; she was a woman, and at that a young, unmarried woman. They expected her to be the characteristically delicate flower. It wouldn't hurt to play up to the stereotype, now would it?

Tavington saw the flicker of fear in her eyes and he almost took a step back. He hadn't expected that. A Loyalist had nothing to fear from him. She obviously recognized him, by his uniform or his commanding presence. "Don't be alarmed, Miss," he heard himself say, hoping, for some mysterious reason, that his words would comfort her. "You are at Fort Carolina, under the guard of His Lordship, General Cornwallis, and his army."

Marion blinked slowly, looking from Tavington to Cornwallis. "Oh, my," she repeated. Then she raised an eyebrow and the fire behind her eyes made Tavington think twice about his quick judgement of her. "May I inquire as to why I am here, and injured to boot?"

"Colonel Tavington and his men found you in the woods north of Charleston whilst returning from raids. You were unconcious and alone, and the Colonel saw fit to bring you here for examination and medical treatment," Cornwallis explained, shifting so that he was shoulder to shoulder with Tavington. But his stern facade softened; her soft features, she reminded him of his daughter in England. "May I ask your name?"

She hesitated for a second, her gray eyes wide, "Marion," she said softly, her clutch on the blankets still tight. "Marion Foster."

Cornwallis opened his mouth to respond but Tavington, seeing how uncomfortable their presence was making the girl, swiftly cut him off. "My lord, this is not the place for questioning. Perhaps Miss Foster should be given time to collect herself." Get her story straight, he wanted to add. Marion cocked her head slightly, her gaze shifting back to Tavington. She held his icy stare for a moment. Something was wrong. This was Tavington the Butcher, not Tavington the Gentleman. She didn't trust his misleading, sickly sweet manner. She had to be on her guard.

"Yes, of course, Colonel," Cornwallis muttered, looking down for a moment and clasping his hands behind his back. "Miss Foster, would you join us in my study when you're ready?"

Marion blinked slowly, nodding her head. "Yes, sir."

The general nodded his head and turned, gesturing for Tavington to follow. The colonel did, but not before looking over Marion again. She was a Foster; part of one of the great Loyalist families of America. Traditionally, at her age (and she looked to be about twenty) she would have been married, possibly a mother or with child. Yet she was different. She was indefinitely a woman, but not a woman of her time to any extent. The bravery with which she looked at him was not of anyone he had ever met, at least not of anyone he ever allowed to live.

Once the door closed behind the British officers and Marion heard the click of their leather boots finally melt away, she let her hands fly to her head, burying her face in the sheets to muffle her screams of wrath and frustration. She had run away to escapethe life of an oppressed Loyalist, now here she was, in the belly of the beast that was Britain, with Lord General Cornwallis and a warlord if their ever was one, William Tavington. The monster who had slaughtered dozens, maybe even hundreds. She remembered when she had accompanied her father on his last trip to Charleston, to the Assembly, more than two years prior. It was the last time she had seen the Martins together, before Thomas died and Benjamin and Gabriel joined the militia. Before Tavington drove them to war.

"How could I have ended up here?" she yelled into the blankets, her knuckles turning white. "How?"

Her breathing steadied and she unclenched her hands, gingerly feeling the bump on her forehead. She must have fallen off the ledge she was sleeping on. But her horse-? It must have run away in the night. She never was one for tying knots. How was she going to convince Cornwallis and Tavington that she had not, in fact, been running away but living up to the person she was painting herself to be?

"Indians?" she muttered to herself, pushing the sheets off her body. "No, they've been run out."She walked over to the thick window, biting at her thumb and she began to pace. "Escaped slaves? Continentals?" She stopped herself short and shook her head. Marion woud never pin Continentals as the ones who did - whatever Cornwallis thought had happened to her.

She would simply tell them she was out for an early morning ride, to enjoy South Carolina before leaving for England when-

"I lost control of my mare. She must have been spooked by something or other, the silly thing," Marion explained, adding a feminine giggle for effect. Tavington had to refrain from rolling his eyes at her as he stood, at attention, behind Cornwallis, who was seated at his desk. Marion sat in an ornate mahogany chair in front of him, trying to keep a convincing air about herself.

But Tavington wasn't letting her get off that easy. "You were quite aways away from your plantation when we found you, Miss Foster," he said cooly, surveying her with an icy stare. Marion almost stumbled over her words, but composed herself quickly. Years of arguing with her step-mother had made her the queen of quick-thinking.

"I- I must have been turned around on the rode. I'm not really one for navigation." She smirked ever so slightly and tilted her head,letting a drip of sarcasm slip into her voice."Does that satisfy you, Colonel?" Cornwallis couldn't help but smile to himself, allowing his facade to soften. She reminded him of his daughter, so far away in England.

Tavington gave her a wry smile, clucking his tongue softly. "And what of the rope, Miss Foster?"

Despite all her experience, Marion faltered and a flush crept into her cheeks. "The rope?" she echoed, buying precious time to think. Cornwallis narrowed his eyes and looked from the stoic Tavington to the panicing Marion.

"Yes, Miss Foster, the rope. It was found not more than a yard or two from you. Could you possibly enlighten us as to why?" Tavington seemed self-satisfied, certainly catching the young woman in the web of lies she was quickly spinning. "Well, Miss Foster?"

Marion averted her eyes for a moment, "Rope, rope," she muttered, tapping her lip. Her act was wearing thin as her mind raced. "It must have been part of my horse's halter. I thought that old thing was looking a little tattered." Inside, she was cheering at herself for thinking up such a lie so quickly. Tavington seemed to visually deflate and his eyes darkened. He almost began sputtering in response.

"Miss Foster, lying does not help your position-," he warned, his tone growing darker. But Marion wasn't having it.

"My position?" she said, red tinging the tops of her cheeks as her eyes seemed to spark. "And I assure you, Colonel, I am not lying." For a moment, it seemed her facade as a gentle Southern belle would be thrown aside, but she calmed herself quickly looking away. Cornwallis eyed her, looking suspiscious. He wasn't totally convinced by her act, and Marion was forced to grasp at straws.

"I did not know how to tack a horse and all the servants were still asleep. I wished not to wake them, so I simply used the halter my mare was already wearing, sir," she murmured, eyes lowered in seeming respect. "I apologize for my outburst, Colonel," she added slowly, "It was not my place to speak to you so."

Tavington flared his nostrils, an eyebrow raised. What sort of game was this girl playing? "No it was not, Miss Foster."

"Colonel," Cornwallis warned, his voice heavy with reprimand. "Now, Miss Foster, we've sent a dispatch soldier to your home, and we're expecting him back before nightfall-."

Marion raised her eyes quickly, mouth agape, "He won't find anyone," she said slowly. "My father and step-mother left for England this morning. They wouldn't miss that ship for the world."

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