3. Bravado

"My nod is as false as my smile. I'm… not brave. I don't know how to be brave. I'm scared all the time. Could someone tell me how to do it? There is a secret to it, something other people know and I don't. There are secrets to everything, and no one has told them to me."

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I won't lie. He was an attractive sort of man—this Colonel I'd been instructed to trust so blindly and totally (my father suggested this as if it were such an easy, negotiable thing to give, my trust, my insubstantial trust) with my life and the life of my father.

It was rather a pity about his personality, though, which had all the range of a puddle, and oscillated between dignified apathy and supreme agitation, both of which I had already experienced quite thoroughly in the span of the thirty odd minutes we had been in each other's company.

I have never been much of a horse rider, much to my father's chagrin. Once it became an established fact that I was never going to be the refined debutante and charming hostess that my mother had been, he had handed me over to my brother, who was the consummate sportsman—a skilled huntsman and rider, in the hopes that if I could not be a lady, I might at least be well rounded. Poor Nicholas, he did his best, but ten minutes into my first encounter with a horse, I was thrown, screeching like a banshee into a creek that ran the breadth of our estate. After that disaster, he took pity on me, and whenever father insisted I practice riding, Nicholas usually allowed me to hide out under a tree with a book and an apple, which was much more preferable to me.

Horses have always struck me as terrifying—the idea of riding on something with that much willpower and self-awareness has always seemed to be a bit dodgy to me, and the current beast I was riding was no exception. The color of gunmetal, with large, intelligent eyes and a haughty expression, it had taken all my courage and the loss of my dignity to mount the animal without crying in sheer panic. "Not quite as accomplished a rider as your late brother, Miss Braddock?" Queried the Colonel lightly, plainly enjoying himself. I flushed at the jibe and clung to my reins for dear life, swaying precariously in the saddle as the horse took a sharp turn. "Not quite." I replied through clenched teeth. Privately, I felt that if the Colonel or my brother were forced to ride sidesaddle, wearing a dress, they would not have such an easy time of it either.

"Middleton Place isn't far, Miss. Only a few hours ride from the camp." Bordon supplied cheerfully as he rode past, and I forced a smile in return, fighting down the urge to slap the helpfulness right off his face. Colonel Tavington, obviously irritated with my awkward, slow canter, urged his own horse onwards, leaving me to lag behind on my own accord. Honestly, wasn't he supposed to be protecting me? What was I to do if a Continental leapt out of the bushes at me? Fall off my horse in a panic? Oh, that would teach those dreadful Colonists, I'm sure.

I stared moodily after my 'protector' for a moment, and felt something that, in my previous haze of confusion and panic I had somehow missed, click into place in my mind. I dug my heels into the horse's sides the way I had seen the Colonel do, but instead of breaking into an easy trot, the wretched animal took off at full tilt, and I caught another glimpse of amusement on the Colonel's face as I went flying past him. Bored with his run, the horse came to an abrupt and sudden stop, and it was only by the grace of God, who, I imagine, thought I had suffered enough humiliation for one day, that I managed to hang on and forgo being pitched, head first, into a tree.

I cleared my throat, righted myself, and glanced back at the Colonel, as if this had been my full intention all along, and waited until he was beside me before I timidly kicked my horse into motion again. We continued through the woods silently for a few minutes before I summoned the courage to speak.

"You're Will aren't you?" Tavington's eyes flicked sideways at me briefly, before turning to insure that none of his subordinates had heard me refer to him thusly. "My first name is William, madam." He conceded slowly, obviously wondering where this was going. I smiled at his response, momentarily distracted from trying to disengage my horse from the plant he had paused to munch on. Honestly. Stupid animal.

"It's just that I've heard my father talk about you. I didn't realize before—you're the man he trained to take over for him as commander of the Green Dragoons. He…he regards you very highly, Colonel." At these last words, some emotion beyond apathy and agitation crossed his face. It, naturally, lasted only briefly (I was learning fast that the Colonel was not exactly what you might call a sentimental man) but it was still nice to see the capacity of some feeling in this bear of a man.

"Your father is a very great man, Miss Braddock. It was…an honor to serve him." His words were clipped and civil, but I could tell the mention of my father's praise meant quite a lot to him. Silence descended over us again, broken only by my muffled protestations when my horse started lazily chasing his own tail. After I had somehow managed to point him back in the desired direction, the Colonel spoke to me again.

"Miss Braddock, I need for you to tell me exactly what happened when you and your father were captured."

Run, Sadie.

I blinked and forced myself to think back three weeks—had it really only been three weeks? It felt as if we had arrived in this godforsaken place an eternity ago. "My father received a summons from Lord Cornwallis two months ago, requesting my father's help here in North Carolina--" Was it my imagination, or did this news seem to agitate the Colonel? Nonplussed, I continued. "—originally, I was against it—my father isn't as young as he once was, Colonel, and his heart has been grieving him as of late, and of course I was not too keen on the idea of abandoning my life—" Hah, my life. Now that is a laugh—truth be told, I simply hated the idea of travel. After Nicholas died, I came to hate the idea of change, period. Tavington cleared his throat, indicating that the humanistic details of my story could be edited out.

"—er, anyway. We arrived at the port in Charlestown three weeks ago, and were met by Lord Cornwallis' personal soldiers, who were to accompany my father and myself, as well as our servants, to the General's estate at Middleton." And they had been a snobby lot, if I remembered correctly. Obsequious little toads they were, fawning over my father, rude to the servants, and indifferent to me. Tavington nodded, looking bored.

"We had only been on the road a few hours—we were in a field, a cotton field, and it was blisteringly hot—right around midday—when these…men just appeared before us." I paused for effect, and glanced over at Tavington, who looked thoroughly unimpressed. "These men that just appeared before you," He drawled, making me blush again, "were they militia?" I shook my head, and he looked slightly disappointed. "No—they were Continental regulars, but there were only a handful of them, and they looked very ragged. My father seemed to think they were a rogue band of deserters that had split from the rest of the army." Damned deserters. Not like your brother, not like my brave boy—dying for his country. Poor father. Everything reminded him of Nicholas these days.

"They--" My voice shook here and Tavington watched me, rather impatiently, waiting for me to continue. "—it all happened so quickly. They shot the soldiers." It was the first time I had ever seen men die with my own two eyes, and no matter what I did, when I lay down to sleep at night, it was always that scene that re-played, over and over, in my mind.

"And your servants?" Tavington asked dispassionately. I shut my eyes briefly, and when I spoke, my voice was hushed from the painful memories. "The shot them as well." My nursemaid that had been with us since mother died, father's manservant—seven people, seven human beings that I cared for and that had taken care of me, and that knew me better than my own father—dead. Gone. And I had been unable to help them. He nodded again, and I realized that I hated this man—he cared not at all for what I had been through—he just wanted details to supply the Lord General with.

"They burned our wagon, captured my father and I, and blindfolded us both. We walked for many hours—and they took us to a…I believe it was an abandoned fort of some kind." I could see him mentally checking the number of abandoned forts in our vicinity, and I thought of something my father had said, years ago, when Tavington had replaced him in the Dragoons; Whip smart man, that Will. Never met anyone brighter than him—not an ounce of compassion in him. Makes for a good commander. A good commander, maybe, but a pitiable human being.

"Did they…do any harm to your person while you were in captivity?" He asked delicately, and I felt my cheeks flame. "Just to my dignity, sir." I replied stiffly, certain that this man, of all people, was the last person to whom I would divulge the truth.

"And your father?"

I bit my lip. "They treated him…very poorly, I'm afraid, Colonel. He was rather…uh, vocal in his displeasure of their treatment towards me. I believe one of his legs is badly injured, but they refused to let me try and tend to his wound." I turned my face away so that he would not see the tears starting in my eyes.

When I looked back at him, he was staring straight ahead, his jaw set in such a manner that I had already learned indicated anger. "How was it you escaped, Miss Braddock?" He asked after a few minutes. I looked down at my hands and the deep scratches that gouged into my palms. Careful reminders of where I had come from. As if I could ever forget. I took a deep breath. "My father had been planning this since our capture, sir—I think he intended to go himself, originally, before his leg was injured. We were kept in separate rooms, and only allowed to see each other for a few minutes every day—and I was guarded less heavily than my father was. Last night, my father caused some sort of distraction that took the guards away from my room, and I broke a window and climbed down the wall." Fell down the wall would have been a more accurate description, but I didn't think Tavington needed to know that. I held out my hands to corroborate my story, which he merely glanced at, unmoved, before he continued his questioning.

"And you just…started running?" I nodded, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I did, sir. My father told me that the British troops were most likely stationed North---so I just started running in that general direction until I happened upon two of our soldiers." Story done, I waited for some type of reaction and received none. I was beginning to recognize this as a pattern.

"Colonel Tavington, my father is a very important man." He glanced at me, eyebrows quirked. "I am aware of this, madam." He had a rather incredible talent for making me feel completely daft every time I opened my mouth. "I just…was curious as to why his ransom has not been paid. Whatever the price, surely it isn't too high? We have money of our own that could--" He cut me off impatiently.

"Miss Braddock, do you know what your father's ransom is?" I shook my head, and he smiled grimly, shaking his head. "They will return your father to us—unharmed—only if General Cornwallis agrees to surrender." I gaped at him in disbelief. "But…that's lunacy! They can't really expect that he would agree to those terms."

Tavington nodded. "No, they do not expect him to agree. Miss Braddock, they are looking for an excuse to execute your father." His blunt words clubbed at my already frayed senses, and my stomach turned over on itself. Had I eaten anything in the past day, I most likely would have been sick, right then and there. "But…why would they want to do such a thing?" I asked faintly. Tavington shrugged. "Any number of reasons, really. As you yourself pointed out, Miss Braddock, your father is a very important man. A public execution of such a high ranking officer, not to mention a man held in such high esteem by his troops, would be quite a blow to the morale of the army."

I digested this slowly, staring ahead stonily for a moment. "But you're going to get him back, aren't you?" I demanded, a slight note of hysteria in my voice. Tavington pursed his lips. "I will…certainly do my best. Thus far, I have not had a single failure in my military career, Miss Braddock." His assurance alleviated the grip of the iron fist on my heart ever so slightly, and I nodded.

"I thank you, Colonel." I said, with all the sincerity I could muster. He may have been a cruel man, but I would sing his praises from now until Doomsday if he returned my father to me alive.

Having said everything necessary, we lapsed into silence for the remainder of the ride, and did not speak again until Middleton Place—beautiful, blessed civility—loomed before us. "I may have neglected to mention, Miss Braddock…the Lord General was so…ecstatic when he received word of your safety, he has ordered for a ball to be held in your honor. Tonight." My face must have betrayed my sheer horror at this idea, for the Colonel smirked and cast a disdainful eye over my ruined dress and tangled hair.

"You might want to think about finding a different outfit to wear." With that, he spurred his horse into a gallop across the bountiful green landscape that this country was so famous for, towards Middleton Place, which I already knew would be chock-full of rich, beautiful people, who expected me, the daughter of Edmond Braddock, the war hero, the philosopher, to be just as interesting and fabulous as he was. My captivity with the American's was over, and now I entered a new kind of captivity—one that has plagued my steps since childhood. Only now, I would not be chained by ropes, or guarded by Colonists with muskets. My chains would be garish dresses (the bigger and more extravagant, the better), and my guard is my own foolish tongue—which never manages to say the right thing at the right time.

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A/N: All right…so I know not a whole lot actually happened in this chapter, but I felt that it was necessary in terms of character development. Sadie and Tavington have a lot to learn from each other—one can only hope that they can stop being stubborn long enough to do some actual learning. )

Disclaimer: Blah dee blah, I don't own any of the hot little Brits.

Tavington: I've been requested to ask that you all review. Or else I will stab you. With my sword. Did I mention that I have a sword?

Authoress: You also have a poofy hat.

Tavington: …are you insulting The Hat, madam?

Authoress: Of course not! I love your cute little poofy hat.

Tavington: I hate you.

But Tavvy's right---review, kiddies, review! There's a Tavington hug in it for everyone that does…

Tavington: EXCUSE ME? I do not do hugs. I do stabbings. And...and…church burnings.