Thanks, again, for all your wonderful comments. And a public thanks to Silvetail for correcting my spelling. Uh-hum. Reigns/reins.

As always...I don't own Patriot or any of its characters. I'm writing this for fun, and as a creative writing exercise. However, I must give credit where credit is due. One particular attitude of Colonel Tavington in this chapter–his reason for fighting–I gleaned from et-spiritus-sancti, another fanfiction writer. She put it in so touching a scene in her story that it brought tears to my eyes. And after that, I had a slightly different view of Tavington. I don't know if other fans will see it this way, but I think it gives depth to his character.

Lastly, I am treating the events in the movie, Patriot, as historical fact for the sake of the story. I realize the movie is a very fictionalized version of what really happened. But this story of mine is obviously fiction, too, and I'm taking a little "dramatic lisence." Anyway, you'll understand what I mean when you read this chapter.

So...enough rambling, right? On to the chapter. :-)

Chapter 8

Looking much like the Chessie Cat from Alice in Wonderland, Colonel Tavington led me out of the room. Away from the safety of Generals Cornwallis and O'Hara.

"I think I rather like this new turn of events," he whispered in my ear as he took hold of my elbow.

I might have turned around and run back to the lord general, confessed to something, and begged for mercy if it weren't for the tight grip Tavington had on my arm. I didn't like the smug satisfaction on his face.

"I don't know who your ghost is, and he doesn't know me, so this little scheme of yours is not going to work."

Paying my words no attention, Tavington picked up the pace so that I had to nearly run to keep up with him.

"I won't be running away anywhere so you can let go of me." I tried to yank my arm away from him, but he wound his fingers tighter.

"Don't fight me, Miss Hanson. I've had quite enough of your mouth and your rebel attitude to last me a life time."

"Poor, poor big, bad Colonel. You're such a victim." I clucked my tongue. "You could just believe me, or then pretend to, and let me go."

He chuckled. "Not a chance, my dear."

"You never know. Maybe if you let me go, I would lead you to the Ghost. I mean, that's what you think, right? That I am in cahoots with him? That way, I'll be out of your hair and maybe you'll even get your man."

"Do I have to put a gag in your mouth to keep you quiet?" He shook his head, but I caught the spark of amusement in his eyes. I wouldn't be surprised if he did try something of the sort.

"That won't be necessary." We walked a few paces in silence. His grasp on my arm loosened as I submitted to his will, but only when we were reunited with the other dragoons did he release me.

"We should head on back to camp," he said. "I don't want to spend a minute more than I need to in this place."

"What about her?" Wilkins nodded toward me.

Tavington grinned. "She's going back with us."

Wilkins' bottom jaw dropped open. "But how–"

Tavington shrugged. "General's orders."

I leaned toward Wilkins and whispered, "Your colonel thinks I'll somehow lead him to the Ghost."

"Are you able to ride back with us, Miss Hanson?" Tavington held out the reins of my horse. It was a challenge more than a question. Although my legs still ached and the last thing I wanted was to sit in the saddle for another couple of hours, I would not back down.

"I've been ordered to stay with you for awhile, haven't I?" I snatched the reins and swung up into the saddle as gracefully as I could manage with the long skirts. What a bother! My respect for women of the 1700s was growing with each moment I spent here. They might have been a little more submissive to their men than the women of my generation, but it took a strong lady to survive in this world.

As we sped out the gate of the fort, heading back to the dragoon camp, I once again pondered my fate. Tavington was up to no good, that much was sure. But just what evil was he cooking up for me?

About an hour from the fort, the colonel dropped back to ride beside me. The grin that spread across his face was no doubt the result of the shock on mine.

"I hope, Miss Hanson, I did not offend you when I called you insane. It was the only thing I could think of to get the lord general to allow you to go free."

"I'm free?"

"You're not incarcerated back at the fort, are you?"

"But I'm not exactly free, either."

"If that's how you want to think of it. Have it your way." He shrugged, and I figured he would ride on ahead. Instead, he remained at my side. I didn't know what to say, and I had to fight the urge to stare at him. "You said some interesting things back there. For once, they didn't sound like the ravings of a mad woman."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it as you like. I was merely stating a fact."

"Of course you were."

"You seemed so sure." His brow furrowed, but this time it looked more like deep thought than irritation or anger. "What makes you think you–how'd you say it? Y'all?"

"Please, Colonel." I giggled. "Stick to your own English."

He threw me an impatient gaze, then went on. "What makes you think you Americans will win the war?"

I laughed, drawing the attention of Wilkins and the other two dragoons. "That much is simple. I don't have to come from the future to figure that out."

I paused, mostly just to irritate him, and pretended to stifle more laughter. From the clenching of his jaw, I could tell my strategy had worked. But he remained quiet, I can only assume, to not give me the victory in our little war of wills.

"You see, Colonel, we are fighting for our freedom. We're fighting for ourselves, for our future and our children's futures. For the right to be who we are, not who some idiot thousands of miles across the ocean thinks we should be." He snapped his head up at my little blunder in reference to the king. I had to speak fast if I was to finish. "You fight out of duty. And duty to a king you may or may not agree with. You have no choice. You've just got to do it because he says you do. Duty to your country is noble, but it does not have the same power as fighting for your independence."

Once again silence enveloped us for several very long minutes. Finally he looked over at me, a question in his blue eyes. "Is that what you think? That I only fight out of duty to King George?"

"Isn't it? Why else would you be fighting?"

"I have put my life, not to mention my honor on the line. This land is ours as well as yours. We are stronger together. I fight to maintain the unity of our lands, for the good of both Americans and English alike." He glanced about, motioning with his hand. "This land is...a place of opportunity. Of second chances. Here a man can start over again, no matter his past, and he might even prosper. That's why I fight. To preserve what is mine by right."

No smart retort was appropriate this time. He'd opened up a sliver of his heart–maybe the only piece of it that existed–and I could not in good conscience poke fun at that. But could I believe him? He had nothing to gain from this conversation, so I chose to believe him. Being a conscious choice, I might not feel quite so stupid if it turned out I'd made another mistake.

"What? Have I managed to silence you with my words?" He laughed outright...the first I'd seen him do so with such absence of sarcasm since I'd jumped into his life.

"Maybe I have misjudged you." I spoke in a whisper, afraid of the implications of my very words.

"You may not approve of my tactics, as your fellow rebels do not. But we are at war, and it's not a game. I fight to win, Miss Hanson, and I do whatever it takes."

I turned and looked him straight on. "Then go home, because you won't win. And in turn, you may--" He was going to die. The certainty of that hit me like a punch in the stomach, taking my breath away for a brief, unpleasant moment.

"I may...?" he prodded.

"You may lose your life for a cause that is already lost for you."

It all came rushing to my mind in one big, jumbled mess. Of course all of this was familiar. I'd read about it in South Carolina history books! And I now remembered the name of the Ghost. He was a farmer named Benjamin Martin, who had a personal vendetta against Tavington for killing two of his sons. Had I been brought back in time for a purpose? I never thought of myself as anything special, but could it be that Someone had maneuvered time and put me here to save lives? The first Martin boy was already dead. Otherwise, there would be no Ghost. But there was a chance to save the second son...and...Oh my, oh my! The church! A number of Benjamin Martin's friends and his daughter-in-law had been killed when–

I suddenly had a mission. How I was going to go about it, I had no idea, but if I could keep those tragedies from happening, maybe I could even keep the Butcher himself alive. And that, I realized, was becoming ever more important to me.