Well, here goes. I've been trying to do a chapter a day, but I don't know what the weekend will be like. So here goes the next. Thanks to all of you for being so faithful. ) Your reviews are even helping me lose weight! ;-)

Chapter 14

I maintained my distance from Tavington as we rode back to camp. He should have been happy. The day's events had certainly been successful enough.

Without a word to anyone, once we arrived at the camp, Tavington made straight for his tent and closed himself up inside. Apparently, the Ghost hadn't been among those captured. I sighed, and made my way to my own tent. It had been a long, emotional day, and I just wanted to go to sleep. I didn't even care about eating anything. In fact, I didn't think my stomach could handle anything.

I changed into my jeans and flannel shirt. At that moment I needed comfort–whatever kind I could get. As I lay in my cot, huddled beneath the rough, woolen blanket, the tears slipped out of my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I'd held in the emotions after making such a scene, throwing up in front of everyone. But now, in the seclusion of my tent, I figured I could allow myself the luxury of a few tears.

A/N: Ok, this is very "unconventional," but this scene in Tavington's POV just played out in my mind, and I wrote it, and now I want to include it here. I guess I could post it as a very short one shot, but it would only make sense to those of you who are reading my story. If you'd rather not read it, skip down to the next line break for the rest of the main story. :)
Tavington dipped his quill into the ink pot and began to write. Cornwallis would want a report of the day's events as soon as possible. As his pen glided over the paper, however, the image of Miss Hanson...Laura...looking on in horror at the results of the battle, invaded his mind. He set down his quill and sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. How long had it been since he'd felt that same repulsion? Killing came so easily now. Looking into her face, hearing her plead with him to spare the lives of the captured men...watching her retch until nothing remained tocome out...

He'd seen in her face–and remembered, for the first time in years–his own lost innocence. Funny. Until she hadjumped into his life, he'd never missed it. Never even thought about it. He'd finally learned to block out the little voice in his head that kept him on this side of "monsterhood." But now...oh, now he heard that voice again. Yapping in his head. Ringing in his...conscience? So he hadn't lost it after all. Curse her!

He stood, knocking his chair to the ground with a muffled thud. Maybe General Cornwallis was right. Maybe he should just let her go. At first, he'd been convinced she would help draw out the Ghost. But as the days wore on, and he was no closer to finding his nemesis, he realized the girl could not help him. Yet, stubbornly, he held on to her. He couldn't bring himself to let her go, and his only justification for that was...the Ghost. He'd filled his mind with theories about why he felt that way. There was something comforting about having a woman in the camp. Well, at least that woman. Comforting? He'd gone mad. She drove him mad. No, there was nothing comforting about Laura Hanson.

Even as he thought about her mocking laugh, her twinkling eyes when she poked fun at him, his fingers rolled into a claw-like formation. More often than not, he wanted to strangle the girl. Then, at times she would look at him with a sweet softness in her expression...Something he was just not used to in his dreary, angry life. Could it be she–cared for him? He'd always run from that kind of emotional tie. In his line of work, he couldn't really afford it. How could he rush so fearlessly into battle when he knew someone who loved him stayed behind, hoping and praying he would return?

The inside of his tent seemed to close in on him, stifling him. He needed a little fresh air, cool breeze to help clear his head.

Pulling on his red and green coat, he stepped outside. His gaze was drawn inadvertently to the small tent beside his. A light smile played at the corner of his lips. Was she already sleeping? He stepped up to the entrance of her tent and was about to call her name softly, but sounds from inside struck his ear and tied his heart up in knots. Crying. No, more like sobbing... muffled, but unmistakably forlorn, heart-rending sobs. An overwhelming desire to rush in there and take her in his arms washed over him. But after his past mistakes, in trying to treat her like any other woman, she would never accept his comfort.

He tip-toed back, away from the tent. It would be best to let her be. Women needed to cry at times, it seemed, and maybe when he saw her again, he could try to make things up to her. If only she would let him. With a heavy sigh, he strode away.

A/N: And now...back to our regularly scheduled programing...

I must have fallen asleep in the middle of my crying, for when I finally awoke, I could see through the walls of the tent that it was daylight. My head hurt as if I had a hangover. Or so I supposed, since I'd never had a hangover. Slowly, I struggled out of the cot and staggered to the entrance. Bright sunlight stabbed into my eyes as I pulled the flap open. It looked to be close to noon.

I let the flap fall back into place, then stumbled around trying to figure out what to do next. Exhaustion pulled at my muscles, and furthered the throbbing in my head. With a groan, I slumped into the chair, and held my head in my hands, elbows on the table. If only I had some Tylenol!

After a few minutes, I stood and readied myself to face what was left of this day. As I stepped outside, Wilkinsrushed up to me, his face contorted into a concerned frown.

"Miss Hanson, are you all right? I came to check on you several times, but you never answered when I called."

I smiled up at the gentle giant. "I'm fine, thanks. I must have been very tired, for I only woke now."

Relief smoothed out the lines in his forehead and he flashed a brilliant smile."I'm glad to hear it. Are you hungry? You didn't eat anything last night, and you missed breakfast."

At the mention of food, my stomach rumbled "I think that would be nice. Thank you."

He nodded, then hastened away. Why couldn't I have fallen for him?Wilkins was everything a woman could want. Tall and handsome, a brave soldier and valiant fighter, but gentle as a stuffed teddy bear with me. I sighed. Some day, if he survived this war, he would make some woman a good husband.

I managedto swallow the food Wilkins brought while he sat and chatted with me. My thoughts were elsewhere, and I barely heard anything he said. Finally, he stopped talking and looked at me, sympathy shining in his eyes.

"You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?"

I nearly choked on the last bite of food in my mouth. "In love with who?"

"Who do you think? Tavington, of course." He sighed and shook his head. "I feel for you, Miss Hanson. I really do. He might even love you back, but he won't ever allow himself to realize that, let alone admit it."

"Well thank you for that, Mr. Freud." I snorted.

"Mr. who?"

"Never mind. Of course I'm not in love with Tavington." I laughed with exaggerated glee. "I can't stand the man. He's holding me here against my will, is as mean and obnoxious as a human being can be, and–and–Grr!" I raised my hands, tightly wound into fists, and shook them.

Wilkins threw his head back and laughed. "I'm not an expert on love, but I do believe you've got it bad." He stood, took my now empty plate, then bent and patted me on the shoulder. "I hope my girl feels that deeply for me."

"Wilkins, you big, dumb oaf. Did you not hear a word I said?"

"I heard you, all right," he called back over his shoulder as he jogged off, laughing.

The nerve! Yet, the awful, painful truth was, I believed he might even be right. My reaction at the battle scene...the disappointment when Tavington regarded me with such disdain. What did I care what he thought of me? I groaned. I cared. A lot.

Casually, I glanced about. The camp seemed rather quiet. Where was Tavington?

Wilkins strolled back to where I sat and slumped down next to me.

"So, what's going on today?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't see through the question.

"We did some drills this morning, while you were sleeping. Tavington left for the fort early this morning, with Bordon. He should be back by nightfall.Until he gets back, though, we've got the afternoon off."

"I see." I sighed like a love-sick school girl.

"My guess is that we'll be going out for our–er–night time...rounds in the next few days. But probably not tonight."

"Night time rounds? What exactly does that mean?"

He looked to the ground, clasping his big hands together. Twice he opened his mouth then shut it, and reached up and scratched the side of his head. "We–uh–Well, we go about-um- getting...information on traitors."

"That was hard for you to get out. You're obviously not too proud about how you get this...information."

He shook his head. "I suppose in war, you have to do things that just go against everything you believe and feel. And I know that some of those people might even deserve it, but–" He paused, and I thought he wasn't going to go on.

"Deserve what?" I prodded gently.

"To have their homes and everything they own burned. And sometimes, if they mouth off too much, they get a bullet in the head." He shrugged. "I suppose it's not much different from hanging criminals. At least those who only lose their homes can rebuild."

His own words obviously did not convince him. I felt sorry for him in a way. He'd chosen his side, feeling as strongly that his choice was right as, say, Benjamin Martin felt about his choice to fight against England. What a complicated mess. How precious, and at what cost our freedom had been won! Whatever the outcome of this little adventure of mine, I would never, ever take my American liberty for granted again.

Heavy silence hung between us. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but nothing intelligent came to mind.

More bits and pieces of information started to rumble about in my brain. That jump through the cloud, through time, had apparently affected my memory. But now, with the help of Wilkins' account of the night raids, I began to remember more of what I'd read. Benjamin Martin's sister-in-law had a homeburned down by Colonel Tavington. It mustn't have happened yet, for he still was not aware that Martin was the Ghost. What could I do with that information?

I jumped up, needing time alone to think. "I'm going for a little walk."

Wilkins sprung to his feet and nodded. "All right. But I have to go with you." He gave a sheepish grin. "Colonel's orders."

I stared up at him as an idea formed.

"What?" He frowned. "You don't really think I want to babysit you all day, do you?"

"Wilkins, where exactly does your girl live?"

His forehead creased, deepening his frown. "Why?"

"Because I want to know. How long has it been since you've seen her?"

He slanted his eyes and looked at me sideways. "What is going through that head of yours?"

"I need a few things." I shrugged. "I just thought maybe we could ride into that little town where the church is. There was a general store there, wasn't there?"

Wilkins nodded, still gazing at me suspiciously. "And what does that have to do with my girl?"

I smiled sweetly. "I just thought it might be an opportunity for you to see her. If she lives near there."

The suspicion drained from his eyes, and a hopeful light filled them. "We would have to go fast, but even to have a few minutes–" He cut himself off, looking down at the ground as deep crimson flooded his cheeks.

I couldn't contain the laugh that bubbled up within me. "Looks like you've got it bad for some lucky girl." I grabbed his arm and dragged him off to where our horses were tethered. "Come on. Let's do it. If Tavington fusses, you just leave him to me."

"I must be losing my mind," Wilkins mumbled.