He left his horse with the groom that held the reins when he dismounted once the Dragoons were back at the fort. A short snap of an order at the young man and Tavington headed into the building then up the stairs to his room. He opened his room door and walked in, a gentle kick with his foot at it behind him to close it and he stood there for a moment, staring at the all-too-inviting bed. He was tired and knew this would be a long night ahead, but still he had to check in on Charlotte.

Charly.

Pause.

"No. That would never do." He mumbled to himself quietly, as he untied the cravat and let his shirt hang open. Charlotte is going to have to just get used to the fact that he was going to call her her proper name. Silly nonsense. Why would a girl want to be called a boy's name anyway?

A sigh, which turned into a yawn, as he slipped off his jacket, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door, and then moved over to the bed. He sat down on the edge of his bed for a moment, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

It's your job. It's what you do. He finally stood up and stretched and walked over to the door between his and Charlotte's rooms. A soft knock and a quiet, "Charlotte. Are you all right?"

There was the gentle click of the latch and the door opened a few inches. She stood in the opening of the door, dressed in that nightshirt he had given to her the first night at the Fort to use since she hadn't had any clothes when they'd caught her, big blue eyes looking up at him under the veil of blonde bangs and a smi—huh?

She pushed the door open all the way and grabbed his arm, dragging him into her room and sitting him down on the bench at the foot of her bed. She bent over him, fingers gently tracing down from his temple along his jaw line. "What the hell happened? What did they do to you? I swear, William, I'm going to have a talk with my father about this and you can rest assured he will not hear the end of –"

He was confused when she grabbed him and sat him down, and then at her sudden tirade. But when he felt her fingers trace against his left temple and down the side of his face, it hit him. The musket ball. Where he'd gotten hit. And he had to laugh quietly as she ranted and raged, then watching her as she stomped (yes, the girl stomped. Quite well, actua—AHEM) and that same smirk as she gathered a wet cloth from the basin and came back over, pressing the cloth against his – OW! – ear.

"Charlotte Ryan! That hurts!" he yelped and jerked back from the wet cloth and the sting.

She frowned and grabbed his chin with fingers of one hand while she gently pressed and dabbed the cloth against his ear and wiped the blood from the side of his face. "I swear you men are such babies sometimes." She grumbled softly. But now she was decidedly more careful with her pressing and cleaning of the Colonel. "Next time I should go with you." She'd meant it as a joke – no. she didn't. And he knew it when he reached up to take her wrist and pull her hand away, pale blue eyes staring into her blues.

"No. You won't." he said flat and decisively. This was the voice that there was no argument to and no begging for.

Charly watched him for the longest time and when his grip began to tighten on her arm, she whimpered softly and wrenched away slowly, but her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong? It was a joke."

He let her go willingly and a heavy sigh as he looked down at the floor and shook his head. "I'm sorry, love. It's just that….it's too bloody dangerous out there." A pause. "F-For….for you. Of course." And he looked up at her, that smile back and a lean close to press a kiss to her forehead. "And I would rather risk my own life than put yours in jeopardy."

Charly stared at him for the longest moment and another gentle swipe of the cloth again to make sure all of the blood on him was gone. "Or is it because of the fact that people call you The Butcher…and you really don't want to prove them right?" And a slow blink up at him.

Tavington locked his gaze onto hers and forced a small smile. "Those days are all behind, sweetheart. Yes I've done things that weren't….nice. But it seems that I've found a reason to…." And his voice drifted off. Unable to finish the lie…or unwilling.

Charly studied him for the longest moment and a small smile and a nod as she leaned up to brush her lips against his and a whispered, "That's good. I don't like the fact that everyone around here talks about you behind your back and I can't fight them. Makes me feel…..impotent."

Tavington had to laugh at that one and the slightest shake of his head as he returned the lip brush and even tossed in an Eskimo kiss or two. "Now that, Miss Martin, I find very….very….hard to believe."

Charly pulled back just a bit. She knew he was hiding something. And one way or another she was going to find out what.