Thanks, as always, for all the reviews. Y'all are just great. So here goes the next. :)

Disclaimers: I don't own The Patriot or any of its characters. Wish I did, then maybe I could do something with this story. (grin)

Chapter 19

I paced back and forth in front of the surgeon's tent. What I'd read about medicine at this time period did not inspire much confidence. Many surgeons were butchers, hacking off limbs, doing a poor job at disinfecting wounds...if they even knew to disinfect. In Tavington's case, it wasn't a limb. He'd taken a bullet in his gut, and I feared even more for his life.

Wilkins sat at a distance, watching the tent as well. I think all the dragoons were nervous, for the camp was hushed.

I'd force-fed myself a little food, knowing my body needed the nourishment. But my stomach was so in knots I thought it might just come back out.

"Hanson, would you care to sit a bit?" Bordon stepped in my way for a second. "You're making me nervous with your constant pacing."

Was that a note of friendliness in the snob's voice?

"I'm sorry. I can't. Not until–"

Just then the tent flap opened, and out stepped the doctor. My heart seemed to skip a beat. I wanted to deluge the doctor with questions, but my tongue seemed glued to the roof of my mouth.

"Well, Doc?" Wilkins rushed over, his face creased in worry.

"He's very weak. Lost a considerable amount of blood,but I think he'll pull through."

I blew out a sigh of relief. "Can he have any visitors?"

The doctor gave me a hard stare. "You?"

I nodded. "Yes. I want to see him."

"At the moment, he is sleeping. He shouldn't be angered, and I'm afraid your very presence will have the man agitated and nervous."

"Come, now, Doc. You can't mean that." Wilkins growled. "She's probably the only reason he's still alive."

A gross exaggeration, of course, but my heart warmed at Wilkins' attempt to defend me.

"Very well. Maybe later. But for now, let him rest."

I went back to my own tent and grabbed a clean shirt and one of the underskirts. I needed a bath, and nothing would have felt better at that moment than a long, hot soak in a tub. With a sigh, I headed out and down to the stream. The icy water would have to do.

As I dipped beneath the surface of the water, the current seemed to wash away more than the dirt and grime on my body. A little of my anxiety washed away as well. Maybe there was hope yet. He'd called the cease-fire when he saw me. He'd even called me by my first name...as if...

I shook my head, getting an earful of water in the process. I couldn't think this way. Too much had happened for me to pin my hopes on such feeble demonstrations of...of what? Nothing truly indicative of love.

I resigned myself to the fact that a man like Tavington would never truly love, at least not a woman like me. I would have to be satisfied with my own feelings, do what I could for him, and leave it at that. After all, was that not the measure of true love? That it could love and do for the object of one's affections, even when there was no love returned? If he made it through the Battle of Cowpens, I would stick around until the end of the war, but then I'd be free of this silly, self-imposed obligation. Free...to do what? To go where?

I finished my bathing, dressed, and headed back to the camp. Almost as soon as I emerged from the woods, Bordon rushed toward me.

"Good, you've returned. Colonel Tavington is calling for you."

"For me?"

Bordon nodded, then pointed in the direction of the tent. "You know the colonel. He's not a very patient man, so you might want to hurry. And remember, he's not to be agitated." The ghost of a grin played at the corners of the captain's mouth.

"What is it you find so humorous?" I asked with a humph.

"Was I laughing?"

"You're trying hard not to."

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "It's nothing, really. I've just never seen him quite so-er-agitated by a woman."

We had arrived at the medical tent, and I stood at the entrance, suddenly unable to move another step. I was about to face him for the first time since the church. The first time for real, for those minutes when I'd held his hand and begged him to hang on did not count. He would likely be back to his ornery old self. Or maybe worse, since now he'd be extra grouchy for having to deal with a painful battle wound.

"Are you going to stand here all day?" Bordon snapped. "Go on, then."

I swallowed hard, then lifted my legs which felt made of lead, and stepped inside.

Tavington lay on a cot with a blanket pulled up to his waist. His face looked almost...peaceful. I'd never seen such a look on his face. Before I could stop myself, I reached for one of his hands, lying so still at his side. I raised it to my lips just as he opened his eyes.

"Miss Hanson, shame on you." He croaked, and a weak smile spread his lips.

"Shame on me for what?" I whispered.

"For trying to take advantage of me when I'm...indisposed."

I laughed despite myself. "Don't flatter yourself."

He closed his eyes again, and at first I thought he'd drifted back to sleep. I was about to lay his hand back down and slip out, but as I tried to release it, his fingers tightened ever so lightly around mine.

"Don't go." Again he opened his eyes and fixed them on me.

"You need to rest, so you can recover. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you're well enough to spar words with me again."

He gurgled what was meant to be a chuckle, then grimaced. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts."

"You deserve to hurt. But we'll talk about that later. Concentrate on getting well, ok?"

"I-I'm going to get better."

"Of course you are. The doctor said–"

"No." Again he closed his eyes. Every word was obviously an effort. I remained silent, waiting...He seemed to want to say something more.

I gazed over his face, then using my free hand, ran my fingers through his hair. "Take your time," I whispered. "I'll be right here."

He nodded, and his hand relaxed in mine. "I'm sorry."

What was the hearing equivalent to a hallucination? I wondered. At least the voice I heard came from a real person, but I did not believe I had heard what my mind registered. Exhaustion, no doubt, was making me hear odd things. Colonel Tavington, The Butcher...he had not just said the words, I'm sorry.

"Did you hear me?" he croaked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Oh, uh, what exactly did you say?" I bent my head closer to his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Laura. I've never been more–"

"Hush." I placed my hand over his mouth. "That's the morphine is talking, now. You just give in to that delightful fuzziness in your brain and sleep."

And when you wake and are back to your normal, cocky self, we'll talk.

I stood there a few more minutes, holding his hand, until his breathing deepened and he began to snore lightly. As gently as possible, I peeled his hand from mine, and stepped outside.

"Well?" Wilkins bounded up to me.

"Well what?" I yawned, suddenly feeling all the effects of lack of sleep.

"Is he all right?"

I shook my head, and turned to my tent.

"No?" Wilkins bounded after me. "What do you mean, no?"

"Something is dreadfully wrong." I glanced up at Wilkins and noticed his face pale. "Oh, don't worry. He'll recover."

"Then what do you mean?"

I sighed. "He said he was sorry." I shrugged, then ducked into my tent before Wilkins could question me further.

I was right. Days later, when Tavington began to recover his strength, he became more unbearable than before. At least he gave his captains a hard time. I tried to stay away, claiming doctor's orders, but every day, he asked for me. And, obediently, I went.

For the first three days, the doctor filled him with morphine, keeping him sedated. I wasn't sure if the doc did it for Tavington's sake, or for his own. During those days, I spent a lot of time in the tent, by his side. Mostly I sat by his bed, in a chair the doctor grudgingly allowed to be put there, and held his hand while he slept.

He did not repeat his apology. Not verbally, but I saw it in his eyes every time he looked at me. As the days passed, and he was weaned off the morphine, I did my best to remain cheerful but distant. I talked about the weather, how his pallor looked better, asked him questions about how he felt. And every time he tried to be serious, I would crack a joke or say something glib. I think this frustrated him, but surprisingly, he didn't complain. Rather, he'd let out a loud, dramatic sigh and pucker his lips into the cutest little pout, which was always my cue to leave.

It was during one such exchange that I noticed his strength had begun to return. I was trying to feed him a little gruel, but he was being stubborn and refusing to eat.

"Miss Hanson, have you tasted that?" He growled.

"Oh come on. It's not that bad." I smiled sweetly and pushed the spoon closer to his mouth. "You need to eat something. It'll help you to heal."

"Very well. If you insist. But I can do this myself." He glared at me then grabbed the spoon from my hand.

"I can see you're well on the road to recovery." I turned my back only long enough to pull my chair closer to the bed. As I straightened, I felt an arm go about my waist, and another about my neck, pulling me backward. "What are you–" A spoon full of gruel was stuffed into my open mouth.

"Have a little something to eat, my dear." That silky voice, so close to my ear, sent a tremor through me. I reached up and took the spoon, still hanging from my mouth, then swallowed.

"That was delicious. But you need to eat it yourself." I worked hard to keep my voice from trembling, but I wasn't exactly successful. I peeled Tavington's arms from about me, then turned to face him. He was sitting up on the cot, grinning at me. "That was a very naughty thing to do." I pointed at him with the spoon.

"Admit it. You loved it." He arched an eyebrow, daring me to contradict him.

"You should not be pulling stunts like that in your condition. You could tear open that wound all over again." I shook my head as if scolding a naughty schoolboy.

"I can't seem to get you to be serious, so I figured that was the best way to get your attention." All the playfulness vanished from his face. Slowly, he pushed himself off of the cot.

"You shouldn't do that. The doctor will have my head if–"

"He'll only have your head if I allow it." Tavington was now standing. He took a wobbly step toward me. I could see I had the advantage, for he was still in a weakened condition.

"You'd better get back in bed." I rushed forward as he stumbled, and instantly found his arms about me, pulling me to him. "What are you doing? Colonel–"

"William. Say it." He took my face in his hands and lifted it so I was looking up at him.

"This is insanity, William. You need your rest. You're not Superman, you know."

"It is so endearing when you talk such nonsense." He dipped his head, and only when his lips closed over mine, did he release my face, wrapping his arms about me again. I didn't fight him. There was a measure of security in the fact he was still wounded, and the fact that the doctor or even one of the captains could walk in at any minute. What harm could one little kiss do? I moved my arms about him, yet carefully to not hurt him. "That's much better," he whispered against my ear. His arms tightened about me and he found my lips once again. He kissed me with an urgency that frightened me. Yet I could not pull away.

"Colonel Tavington!" boomed the doctor behind us.

My eyes flew open and I tried to pull away, but Tavington held on tightly.

"What is it, Doctor?" Tavington snapped without taking his gaze from me.

"You're in no condition for this kind of behavior."

"Am I not?" Only then did he release me.

I turned to face the doctor, who, by the scowl on his face, wanted to strangle me.

"And you, Miss Hanson." He pointed his thick finger at me. "I thought I told you he was not to be agitated."

"Oh, come now, Doctor. I'm not in the least agitated." Tavington grabbed my hand, pulling me to his side, a half grin on his lips clearly meant to irritate the doctor. "Miss Hanson was actually being quite...comforting."

"Indeed." The doctor threw us both an angry glare, then mumbling to himself, walked back outside.

"Now, where were we?" Tavington grinned fully and pulled me toward him again.

"Don't you think you should rest, now?" I tried to push his arms away, but he would not be deterred.

"I think you are trying to run from me...again."

"Why would I try such a silly thing?" I forced a laugh. "You can't do anything to me in your weakened condition."

He yanked me forward and tightened his grip about my waist. "You talk too much, woman."

Then once again, he claimed my lips.