My dear, dear readers and reviewers, I'm sorry for not getting this up this morning. :) My "real" life got in the way. Imagine that! But here goes. It's short and sweet (well, maybe not so sweet), but I'm working on 21.

Thanks for the reviews. :) Y'all make my day, although I'm becoming addicted to checking my email now.

Disclaimers: I do not own The Patriot or any of its characters. Just enjoying messing around with this. :)

Chapter 20

When I pulled away from Tavington enough to look into his face, I frowned. "You look a little flushed." I placed my hand against his forehead.

He ignored me, taking my hand in his and holding it against his heart. "Why did you come back? After–"

"You really need to get back in bed." I pulled my hand away and urged him toward the cot. "You've had more than enough excitement for one day." For once, I found him compliant. "No more getting out of bed until the doctor says you may." I pulled the blanket up to his waist and began to tuck it tightly under the thin mattress. As I did, he twisted his fingers about my wrist, pulling me downward so that I almost fell forward onto the cot.

"You can't avoid talking to me forever."

"There is nothing to talk about." I mentally kicked myself for the softness of my voice.

"I think there is." He pleaded silently, staring deep into my eyes for a couple of seconds before he released my wrist. "Please, sit with me a little longer."

I smiled and nodded. "Just a little while. You need to rest."

"Yes, you've mentioned that a time or two." He rolled his eyes then fixed them on me once again.

"Go ahead, then. Talk if you must." My insides seemed to turn to Jell-o at his intense perusal. How could I face him when I had just given in so easily to his kiss? Certainly he had sensed all the love in my heart for him.

"Promise me you won't talk. You won't interrupt me. You won't cast aside all I have to say with some silly remark meant to avoid the real issues."

"I–"

"Just nod. I don't want you to speak."

"What if my answer is no?"

He let out a heavy sigh and ran his hands over his face. "I must be losing my mind."

I folded my hands meekly in my lap and looked down. "I'm sorry. I promise to be quiet."

He rolled onto his side, grimaced, then lay on his back again. Using up every drop of will power within me, I remained quiet.

"I was so angry with you when you burst into that church. I wanted to shoot you on the spot." He paused, closing his eyes.

My stomach churned, and the longer he lay with his eyes closed, the more I hoped he'd fallen asleep. I leaned forward, in the process creaking the chair. His eyes opened again, and he turned his head to look at me.

"I suppose you only realize what you have, when you lose it." For several seconds, he held me with his gaze. None of the contempt, arrogance, or anger that usually consumed him shown in his cool blue eyes. "But, I've been given a second chance."

Still I said nothing, and I could not look at him. He'd left me to die in a church he ordered fired. I might not be able to help what I felt for him, but I certainly could keep my head and not allow myself to trust too easily.

"Have I been given a second chance?" He propped himself up on an elbow and faced me. "Laura?"

"Please, Colonel," I whispered. "Let's keep things the way they were."

As I looked at him, the expression of deep hurt that creased his forehead and slightly squinted his eyes stabbed at my heart. If only I could believe what my eyes saw. Slowly he moved back to a lying position and looked straight up, as if the roof of the tent were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

"Don't do that." I stood, planting my fists on my hips as I glared down at him. "Don't act as if I'm not even here."

"You haven't forgiven me." A note of sadness laced his voice, but he was by no means attempting to play the victim. It was almost matter-of-fact. My defensive demeanor disintegrated. I opened my mouth to respond, but he shook his head. "No need to say anything, Miss Hanson. I don't blame you."

"Forgive you? For leaving me to die in the church you set on fire? Colonel, that was easy. I admit, I didn't think you'd do it. But I forgave you even before I knew I wasn't going to die. What I will never forgive, ever, anyone, is the manipulation of my feelings." I stepped closer to his cot. "If you care even a little for me, you will never play with my feelings."

The ghost of a smile crept across his lips and spilled into his eyes. "Understood." He closed his eyes, then, as fatigue seemed to overtake him.

"I'll leave you to rest." I bent forward and planted a kiss on his forehead, then left.

We never spoke of it again. An understanding of sorts had been established between us. He reverted to calling me Miss Hanson, and I continued to call him Colonel. It was safer that way. At least for me. Even the thinnest boundaries were helpful in my struggle to keep my head about me.

Although I still went to see him every day, I kept my visits short. I could not take any chances and risk being pulled into his arms and kissed again. Being in that most-heavenly-of-places-on-earth left me completely disconcerted and unable to think straight. That was likely his goal. Each time he would reach to touch me, even if it seemed like an innocent gesture, I would pull away as if burned. Of course he noticed, and occasionally I would catch him looking at me with longing in his eyes. The expression would vanish as soon as our gazes met, and I always pretended not to notice.

Finally he'd had enough of convalescence, and told the doctor he was returning to his own tent.

"I've got work to do. I cannot spend another single day in this cot!" He stomped about the medical tent, pulling on a shirt, his green vest, and the red and green coat. Cursing, he glanced around. "Where are my boots?"

"In your own tent," I informed him. "But if you'll just be a little patient, I'll go get them for you."

"Thanks," he grunted, and turned to a small mirror to painstakingly pull his hair back into the wrapped ponytail they all had to use.

Afraid he might pull one of his stunts again, I returned with the boots, handed them to him and rushed back out in search of my "security blanket."

It took me a few minutes, but I found Wilkins by his horse, brushing the creature down and talking gently to it.

"Hey you," I called, and smiled up at him when he looked back.

"Laura, good morning." He returned my smile then turned back to his horse. "How's the invalid today?"

"The invalid," a crisp, rather irritatedvoice spoke behind us, "is just fine."

I jumped, and turned to find Tavington switching a glare between Wilkins and me.

"Sir, good to see you up and about." Wilkins gave a stiff salute and stood practically at attention.

"Is it?" Tavington flashed the Judas smile, then turned to me once again. "Why such a hurry to leave, Miss Hanson?"

"I figured you didn't need me anymore."

"Need you?" He snorted a laugh. "I never needed you, Miss Hanson. The doctor is quite capable of taking care of wounded soldiers without your help."

"Of course that's not what I meant, silly." I laughed, and punched him lightly in the arm, but it was all a farce. His words cut to the coreof my heart, and it was all I could do to keep the lightness in my voice. "Who would have fed you all that lovely gruel if I wasn't there to do it?"

His only answer was a grunt and a withering glare before he turned his full attention to Wilkins. "Go find Bordon. I need to see you both in my tent at once."

"Yes sir," Wilkins said.

Tavington stomped off to his tent without a backward glance. I stood in place, watching his retreat.

"Don't worry," Wilkins said. "He's just working hard to cover the fact that he was jealous."

"Jealous?" I turned to my big friend and frowned. "Jealous of what?"

Wilkins laughed. "Of you and me."

"Why ever would he be jealous of you and–"

As Wilkins' eyebrows began to arch, I suddenly understood.

"Oh! You mean, he thought–" I pointed to myself, then to Wilkins.

"He's been acting really strange, glaring at me even more than usual." Helet out a low chuckle. "I think he's got it bad, too."

I sighed and shook my head. "I don't think so. He just sees me as a challenge of sorts because I didn't–" I caught myself before finishing that sentence. 18th century women, especially single women, probably didn't talk of such things with men who were not family.

"I think you're wrong, but what do I know?" He shrugged. "But now, I must go find Bordon and go see what the colonel wants."

He dropped the horse brush onto the ground and jogged away.

I was in my tent, fighting with the stays I'd worn to please Tavington, when I heard Wilkins' usual throat-clearing outside.

"What is it, Wilkins?" I called.

"Colonel Tavington wishes to speak with you." His voice sounded a little shaky.

I sighed, leaving the stays in place, and pulled the dress back on. I stepped outside and scowled up at him. "What now?"

Wilkins looked down, clasping his hands nervously. "Just go in and see what he wants, all right? And please–behave yourself."

I grinned. "I'm touched by your concern." With a lightness I didn't really feel, I padded into Tavington's tent. "You wanted to see me?"

"Ah, yes. Miss Hanson. I want you to gather your things."

"G-gather my things?"

Heaving a heavy sigh, Tavington looked at me with a half bored, half irritated expression. "Must we go through this same ritual every time I tell you to do something?"

I pushed aside my own irritation and offered a mellow smile. "I'm sorry for being difficult, but why do you want me to gather my things?"

"Because, Miss Hanson, it has become painfully obvious you won't be able to lead me to the Ghost. There is, therefore, no reason for you to continue here." He turned away and picked up a map, spread it out on his desk, then began to study it.

"No reason–what am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?" I didn't really expect him to answer those questions. I was mostly musing out loud.

Tavington looked up from his map, a sardonic lift to his eyebrows. "That, Miss Hanson, is really none of my concern. You're free to go."

I swallowed down a lump in my throat, and fought against the churning in my stomach. "Yes, sir."