Love and War

Chapter VI - Winning The War

Marion did not take well to her new position, but it wasn't as if she could protest. She would have screamed, stomped, cursed, even, if she thought it would have benefited her cause. Unfortunately, only appearing the delicate flower, at least until she was back at home with only the colonel standing between herself and freedom, would save her now.

The knock at the door made her freeze and she slowly turned, her back to the windows letting in the red rays of sunset. She crossed the room, opening the door with a snap. "Yes, what do-?" but she stopped short, seeing Colonel Tavington standing stiffly in her doorway. "Colonel Tavington," she muttered, dropping into a quick curtsy. He nodded his head in greeting, but his eyes were still cold as ever. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Colonel?"

"Tomorrow I will be escorting you to your plantation," he stated simply, folding his hands behind his back. The brass buttons on the brocade of his red and green jacket shimmered in the dimming light. The colonel dare not take a step into the room, for propriety's sake.

Marion raised an eyebrow. She knew all this already. "Yes, and?" she couldn't help but retort. Her lips twitched, begging to pull into smirk, but she resisted.

Tavington didn't react and continued. "We leave an hour after dawn. I advise you to be ready, or you may find yourself riding halfway across South Carolina in your nightclothes," he chuckled coldly, smirking down at her. "Not that I object, but I suspected you would."

She narrowed her eyes, her lips parting slightly, almost as if she were baring her teeth. "Thank you for the warning, Colonel," she replied, eyeing him. He remained stoic and turned to leave, his spurs ringing like tiny silver bells. "Oh, Colonel?" she called after him, leaning out into the luxuriously furnished hall.

He allowed himself a small pat on the back. The girl was warming to him. All the better for his cause. "Yes, Miss Foster?" he said as he turned on his heel, poised as if he was addressing a superior officer.

"Speaking of nightclothes," Marion breathed, her voice almost husky as she took a step towards him. Her gray eyes softened to liquid as she looked up at him through smoky lashes, "I have none." The colonel raised an eyebrow. Perhaps his plan was working a bit too well.

Tavington found himself at a loss for words as he stared down at Marion, now only a few feet from him. He didn't have to speak, as she continued, "Perhaps you can arrange for some to be brought to my quarters?"

The woman was now so close she could see how often he shaved. Marion raised her hands, and Tavington felt himself freeze up as she began to straighten his cravat expertly. "Well," she murmured, looking up at him. The cold steel behind his eyes made her shudder and Tavington didn't miss her lip begin to quiver. Marion couldn't believe she was doing this, to the Butcher most of all. "Can it be done, Colonel?"

He didn't have a chance to answer, as General O'Hara and his merry band of Cornwallis' other lapdogs rounded the corner. "Colonel!" O'Hara rumbled, his body tensing as he drew himself up to his full height. His cheeks became tinged with red as he narrowed his calculating eyes.

Both Marion and Tavington pulled away, Marion with the shadow of a smirk and Tavington with a frown and gritted teeth. "Miss Foster, if you would go to your quarters," O'Hara said, his tone softening as he eyed her. "Lord Cornwallis is having some things of a feminine nature sent to your chamber, to tide you over until Colonel Tavington," at this he glared at the colonel, eyes hard, "can bring you to your home to collect your things."

"However," O'Hara continued, folding his hands behind his back. He began circling around Tavington like a hawk circling prey. He did not, however, count on the predator becoming the prey. "I wonder if the colonel is the best escort for yourself."

Tavington glared at O'Hara, the only evidence that he was smoldering with fury. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Foster," he clipped, nodding towards Marion. "General," he said, his voice turning to gravel as he passed.

Marion watched him go, giving O'Hara a small, modest smile. She didn't miss the retreating Tavington clenching and unclenching his hands before he disappeared.

The next morning was cold, colder than usual for that time of year, in that portion of the colonies. Marion awoke to the sound of whinnying horses in the beaten dirt yard of the fort below her window. She stretched, eyes bleary, and yawned wildly. The cotton nightgown plucked at her skin, making her itch. It seemed this particular garment had been sitting in a chest in the attic of Fort Carolina for months without a snippet of the outside world.

Glancing sideways, Marion noticed it was barely sunrise. Something tugged at the back of her mind, and remembered her little "appointment" with Tavington. Inside, she groaned to herself. She would only have to keep up the little longer, until she was free of the Redcoats and the ice-eyed colonel.

"Good to see you're on time, Miss Foster," Tavington said with a smirk. He was dressed in full Dragoon uniform, save the bearskin helmet. The officer hadn't forgotten the previous night, the way she had touched him. He just preferred not to let her know that. "We've managed to secure one of the more docile horses for your use today. And I think you'll be happy to find she's been completely tacked up as well."

Marion said nothing, but gave him the strongest glare she could muster. The horse he spoke of was a mare, not as young as she wished, but the animal would do. A dark chestnut American Saddlebred, a bay, with a black mane and tail. Marion approached the creature slowly, not wanting to startle the mare. She patted her gently, reveling in the soft velvet touch of the horse's muzzle. Neighing softly, the horse nudged Marion softly, and Marion couldn't help but smile widely, despite the circumstances.

Behind her, Tavington watched with interest. This was a completely different woman; Marion was smiling, without any agenda or trick behind it. In truth, he had seen to it personally that she was given one of the more temperamental horses. This particular animal liked next to no one, save himself. He had always seen the beast as the best judge of character he had ever known; apparently the mare was losing her touch.

She felt his eyes and her smile faded, "Good girl," she murmured, giving the horse one last pat before swinging herself into the saddle, despite her voluminous skirts, and settled into the all-too-familiar sidesaddle.

Tavington raised an eyebrow at her. Couldn't tack a horse, my foot, he thought, still watching her. "Shall we get a move on, Miss Foster?" he called over his thoughts.

"What's her name?" Marion said in reply, not looking up from the leather reins.

She could almost taste Tavington's change in manner. "I beg your pardon?" he sputtered, turning his horse so that he was facing her.

Marion smirked to herself. Men were so predictable. Even murderous ones. "The horse," she said, turning her head so she could see the incredulous look on his face. "What's her name?" she repeated, this time as if he was a peasant or a simpleton.

"Oh," was all he said, looking down for a moment. His tensed body relaxed and he felt his face fall into a small smile. Marion thought he reminded her of a vampire more than anything else. "Isolde," he said after a moment.

Marion cocked her head, brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to respond, but shut it quickly as Tavington spurred his horse into a canter. Not one to be outdone, he followed him, catching up with him as they rode through the wooden gates of Fort Carolina, towards what could mean winning the war against the colonel, and winning her freedom.