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And as everyone knows by now, I don't own The Patriot or any of its characters.

For all of you, of course, but especially for Liz-04. You asked...

Chapter 16

I stood at the entrance to my tent, watching as the men made ready. Tavington saw me and, for a few seconds, our gazes met and held. What are you doing? I silently pleaded with my eyes. He averted his gaze first. What could that mean? That something else had caught his attention, or that his conscience was starting to bother him? Probably the former. I wasn't vain enough to believe I could have made that kind of difference, that I could have led him to feel sorry about what he was about to do, or even about taking me along to watch. I could hope, of course. But it didn't seem to matter, for what good was a conscience if one did not heed it? I turned away, unable to look at him.

A few minutes later the band of men set off. We rode hard for some time, only slowing when we came upon the dirt road leading onto the property of a large plantation. This could be none other than Charlotte Selton's plantation. My warning had come too late. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach filled me with the urge to cry. But tears were truly becoming a luxury for me. If I gave in now, Tavington would use it in some way against me. And I was sure it would be more than just a look of disdain. He'd be sure I was a friend of the family, or something stupid like that, and demand I give him some kind of information.

"Is this the one?" Tavington asked Wilkins.

"Yes sir," Wilkins answered.

Tavington kicked his horse into action, the rest of us following suit. I could just imagine what a terrifying sight we must be to those inside the house. What had happened to them? I just couldn't remember, and maybe the books never even covered it. We rode up to the house, and Tavington dismounted first.

"Wilkins, Bordon, come with me. The rest of you surround the house." He turned and looked up at me. I had not dismounted, suddenly unable to move a muscle. "Well what are you waiting for, Miss Hanson? Get down from there and come watch the fun."

His words angered me, pumping energy once again through my body. I dismounted, keeping my glare steady on his face.

"Why did you bring me along?" I demanded. "There is nothing I can do here, and you know it."

He sneered down at me then turned to a dragoon just about to go around the side of the house.

"Watch her. Tie her up if you have to, but do not under any circumstance let her get away, or try to do anything to hold us up."

"Yes sir." The soldier grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me back. I stood, helpless, and watched as Tavington marched up the steps with Bordon and a Wilkins that looked nothing like my "gentle giant" in toe.

For what seemed like hours, but was probably just minutes, they searched the house. I couldn't have pulled away from my guard if I'd wanted to. There was no fight in me at that moment. Fear–not for myself, but for those inside–made my hands tremble, and I clasped them together in a vain attempt to steady them. By the time Tavington emerged from the house, a frustrated scowl marring his otherwise handsome face, my whole body ached. Tension, of course. I felt it most strongly in my lower back.

Several dragoons had rounded up some slaves, and Tavington stood in front of them, questioning them. Without warning, he raised his pistol and aimed at a fat black man.

"No!" I screamed, but a hand clamped down over my mouth. The shot went off, and the black man yelped, grabbing at his shoulder.

Tavington cursed, glaring over at me, then reloaded his pistol. He said something to Bordon, then turned and strode toward me, his scowl deepening.

"Would you rather I shoot you?" He pointed the pistol at my head. "What are a bunch of black slaves to you?"

I struggled to get my mouth free, but only at a curt nod from Tavington did my captor release me.

"What did you do to the people inside?" I blurted.

"What do you think?" He smirked.

If he shot slaves, who had no choice in who they served, then he likely had done the same to the inhabitants of the house. My eyes filled with the tears I had fought so hard not to show. But they weren't grief. Anger like I had never felt before boiled within me. If I'd had a gun of my own, I might have been tempted to shoot the man standing before me.

"They are human beings. All of them. The colonials you hate so much. The slaves...they have feelings. They love, and they hate. They dream. They probably spend most of their time dreaming of freedom. How can you treat them as animals? Taking away someone's possessions–"

"Enough." He ground the word through half clenched teeth. "I brought you along for a reason. Oh, I know. Right now you probably think I'm just a sadistic monster, and maybe I am. But I wanted you to see what happens to people who commit treason against the crown."

"You mean, people who think differently from you!"

He grabbed me by the shoulders and got down close in my face. "This is what happens to anyone–no exception–who gets in my way." With a brief pause, probably to let his words sink in, he glared at me, his mouth closed in a taut line. Then he went on, speaking in an ominous whisper. "I will find the Ghost. Or should I say, Benjamin Martin. And when I find him, there is nothing you or anyone else can do to stop me from killing him." He searched my face, likely for a reaction.

I don't know what he saw, but I worked hard to not let my expression give anything away.

"So now you know his name. But why are you–" My gaze was drawn to the house, which was starting to catch fire as several dragoons threw their torches onto the roof and other strategic areas. I looked back to Tavington. "You are an animal. No, worse. An animal doesn't know what it's doing."

Gun shots went off in the distance, and a horse whinnied. Tavington tore away from me and stared a split second down the road. I, too, looked in the same direction, and saw a man on a bucking horse, shooting into the air. Martin. Had my warning gotten to him, then? Could the people inside have gotten out safely after all?

Tavington's mouth twisted into a leer. "To horse!" he shouted, and ran for his mount.

My guard pushed me toward Shadow. "Come along, Miss Hanson, if you don't wish to be shot as well."

With legs once again like rubber, I made as hasty a mount as possible. The other dragoons rumbled by me, following closely behind their leader. My guard only waited long enough to see that I was in the saddle and had kicked the horse into action, when he, too, bounded after them. I realized at that moment I could have made a run for it. I could have gotten away, and they would not have followed me, too caught up in pursuing the Ghost.

Decisions are funny things. There are those people who know their will so thoroughly that they barely have to think to make up their minds. Then there are others, like me, who have to think things through a while. Usually a long time. On the spot decisions are hard to make, and sometimes when the pressure is off, one realizes he or she should have chosen differently.

I had to make one of those decisions. The thoughts rattled through my mind, all within the time frame of a second. Did I try to escape, to somehow try to find a way back to my own time period? Should I go join Ben Martin and his band? What did I know of fighting? What help could I be to him? Yet, how could I stay with "The Butcher," and possibly lose my heart even further to a man determined to be a monster? My heart was the key, and I suppose I followed it.

The next few minutes passed by in a blur. Even the memory is a blur. I don't remember getting from the burning house to the point where Tavington finally gave up the chase. I came out of my "trance" when I heard Bordon's voice.

"It's no use, sir. He's gotten away again."

With a grudging pull on his reins, Tavington slowed his mount to a halt. For a few seconds he just stared into the night, as if he could somehow will the Ghost back into view. Then, without a word, he turned and motioned us back to camp.

I couldn't wait to get back to the seclusion of my tent. Maybe if I fell asleep, this night would just finally end. As I pulled aside the flap to enter my quarters, a hand closed around my upper arm.

"Not yet, Miss Hanson." Tavington growled in my ear. I gave him no fight, yet he continued to hold my arm in a painful grip as he pulled me toward his tent.

Inside, he let me go then stepped in front of me. For a few seconds neither of us spoke. We stood, as if in the middle of a high school staring contest, neither one daring to look away first.

"What do you want? I am tired and I would like to try to get some sleep." I felt a sharp pain in the palms of my hands, and realized I had balled my hands into fists so tight my nails had bitten into the soft flesh. I paid it little attention, for the pain in my heart overshadowed any physical hurt.

"Just when I think you have finally understood, you go and pull a stunt like you did today."

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"Did you think I wouldn't find out about your little trip into town? Do you think you can bat your eyelashes and twist men around your little finger?"

He stepped closer, nostrils flaring. Stepping back didn't even cross my mind. I was too angry, and determined to stand up to him no matter the consequences.

"Don't you try to make this about me." I shook my finger under his nose. "I've done nothing wrong the entire time you've held me here. And after tonight, I've begun to realize my first impression of you was correct."

"Is that so?" He gave a bored sigh, but did not take his gaze from me.

"You are a monster. The most horrid creature I've ever–how could you kill innocent people? Women and children?"

"How did you know there were children in that house?"

"An assumption. I saw a doll on the front porch."

"So you are in the habit of making assumptions, are you?" He took another step closer.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"The house was empty. No children. No women. Not even any men."

I snapped my mouth shut, feeling suddenly like a deflated balloon.

"It was rather suspicious. As if...someone tipped them off. But who could have done such a thing?" He spoke in a calm, soft voice, like a slithering serpent, inching ever closer to me. "Certainly not my innocent little captive." He reached out and ran the back of his hand down my cheek. It seemed my legs had suddenly grown roots, and held me steadfast to the spot where I stood. I could feel his warm breath on my face. "I kept asking myself. Who could have known?"

"Then you can count me out," I said, my voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. "I had no idea you were going to go burn those people out of their home tonight."

"Didn't you?" His hand moved to take a lock of my hair. He rolled it between his fingers then let it fall back into place.

"How could I have known?" I only realized I was shaking all over when my voice came out sounding much like a fat opera singer's vibratto. Undaunted, I kept up my tirade. At that moment, it was my only defense against him. "You didn't even know who the Ghost was until this evening. Everyone in the countryside knows the Butcher does just what you made me witness this evening. They were probably just smart, and were one step ahead of you."

"Yes...that's also what I keep telling myself. How could you have known. Unless..." He shook his head. "What did you want in town?"

"That is none of your business. And I wasn't able to get anything anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Why did you take me tonight? What evil possessed you that you put me in that kind of situation?"

"Why shouldn't I? You were in no danger."

I was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to hurt him. But this time, mentally pulling out his hair just wouldn't cut it. My impulses were working overtime on this particular day, it seemed, for I acted on them once again.

"You have no heart," I said, and pounded my fists against his chest. I doubt very much that it hurt him. I'd never been the type to get into fist fights, so my punches were not very strong nor expertly aimed. "You are cruel, and unkind. And I thought–"

"You thought what?" He grabbed my wrists, twisting my arms behind my back as he pulled me against him in a tight embrace. "You thought you could manipulate me? Poke fun at me, exasperate me to no end, then smile sweetly and all would be forgiven?"

"Let go of me!" I struggled against him, but his arms only tightened further.

"You thought I wouldn't have the courage to take you on a raid...to make you watch the burning of your friends' home. You thought you were going to 'tame the beast', huh? Well, you thought wrong, my dear."

"They weren't my friends. I don't know those people. Now let me go!"

"No." The Judas smile slowly spread across his mouth. "Because you really don't want me to let you go."

"Yes, I do. My skin is crawling at being this close to you!"

Without any further teasing, he pressed his mouth to mine. I continued to struggle to get away, but he held tight. His lips punished mine, forcing them open with their very ferocity.

My head began to spin. Maybe not literally, for I knew I wasn't about to pass out again. Slowly, the fire fizzled out of me. And as I grew more compliant, his kiss grew more gentle. Intoxicating. He filled my senses and it seemed I could do nothing to stop him. Not because he would not stop if I asked it, but worse...I could not bring myself to make him stop. I wanted this. Had wanted it for oh so long. I gave in, allowing the delightful sensations to wash over me. His fingers relaxed on my wrists, allowing me to free them. His arms moved about my waist, and I found mine going about his neck, pulling his head down to mine.

"Laura," He whispered against my ear and hugged me to him. "I've wanted to do that for so long." The sound of his voice, and the strength of his embrace startled me. Not the fact he'd spoken, nor the feel of his arms tightening about me. The quality of his voice...a note of urgency that wasn't moved simply by passion. A sort of pleading. A cry for help? No. I could not think this way. There was no trusting this man. He felt nothing for me that one night of passion wouldn't put an end to.

I pulled away, shaking my head. "This cannot happen."

"Why not? You wanted it too. You responded."

"Yes, yes, but no!" I turned my back to him and covered my face with my hands. "You can't do this to me." I felt his hands rest on my shoulders. For a moment, I fell back against him, relishing the feel of his chest against my back, his arms that encircled me again. The comfort of his chin resting in the crook of my neck...his breath tickling my ear. It felt right...like...

He wasn't capable of love. In my wishful thinking, I'd been wrong. His heart was a stone...cold, hard, unbreakable. A fortress built up through the years of bitterness and a loveless drive for self-perfection. Perfection, of course, in the art of war and cruelty.

I broke free of his embrace once again and turned to face him. Anger deeper than what I'd felt earlier simmered just below the surface of my emotions. I had to be careful, or I might do or say something I'd regret later.

"Now who is manipulating?" I spoke in a clear, calm voice. Control. I had to maintain control. "Don't ever do that again."

Before he could sweet-talk me into falling back into his arms, I rushed out.

Happy, Liz? grin >