Tavington woke up with a start, jerking himself to a sitting position - which would be a mistake he'd discover - and then a groan when the searing pain tore through him. Ow. Ow. And he gingerly laid back on the cot. He slowly closed his eyes and re-opened them again only to stare at he tent ceiling. All right. Let's gather our whereabouts, shall we, Colonel?

Fight with Charlotte.

She ran off I found her.

Militia found us both.

Darkness,

Woke up in this tent.

Militia dog comes to torture me, and I kill him.

Darkness once more.

Pain, then. Lots of pain.

And one arm raised and dropped over his eyes as it all flooded back to him. He even slightly remembered Charlotte when he woke up again as the doctor was wrapping him up. She'd said something...something that was in a jumble then and damn near impossible to recount now. And remembering how upset she had been that could have been everything from You're a classic bugger, Tavington to I hope you die a thousand hideous deaths and to rot in the very ninth layer of Hell since I... well you get the idea.

Neither one of them was pleasant to him, but right now nothing was pleasant as his head pounded and he fought the urge to get sick. It wasn't working well at all. Control was always something the Colonel prided himself on. Control of his troops, of his warfare, even of his own destiny. But somewhere along the line he'd lost two parts of that. And the third was inconsequential right now. He slowly sat up, his ribs wrapped tight which offered support, but nothing for the pain. That was what was driving him to distraction.

He slowly and shakily stood from the cot, toddler-stepping to the center pole in the tent which immediately one hand shot out for to grasp and fingers tightened around it to keep h him on his feet. Head dropping forward and eyes closed again and then he knew he'd died since he heard the voice of his angel.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

Tavington turned slowly and looked over his shoulder at her, a flicker of the smallest smiles. "Well if that's your responsibility then you've failed drastically, nurse." he said and didn't realize how his throat had tightened up so much that barely what came out was a broken croak. Not the commanding one he had always used.

Charly brought the bucket of water in and set it by the cot and sat herself down on the edge still watching him. "I know, that you probably don't really remember what you did last night. But I wanted to say I know I believe you were in peril from that idiot. And I'm...I'm..." her voice drifted off as her gaze dropped tot he ground and a gentle nudge at an invisible rock with her toe. "I'm glad you did it. I wouldn't have wanted to be having to see you there under that sheet instead."

Tavington sighed heavily and turned to look at her rather than over his shoulder any more since that was taking a Herculean effort to stay upright and awake. "Charlotte, I'm s-" but he stopped himself short. Was he sorry? Fir what exactly? That they were born in two separate worlds. That they were caught in the middle of this bloody war? That he knew there was no way he'd ever be happy without her and ... "Maybe you shouldn't be in here, hm? Knowing your father he's already had a fit and would just love to find us alone."

Charly waved him off. "Father knows how I feel about you, William" and she couldn't help the smirk when she saw him flinch at that thought. "I'm sorry I ran off. I was scared and didn't know what else to do. So I thought I could..." she shrugged and her gaze dropped again.

"You, scared?" and a slightly comical tilt to his head as he watched her. "I wouldn't think Charlotte Ryan Martin would be afraid of anything." And he slowly made his way back to the cot and eased down beside her. "Now correct me if I'm wrong. This is the same Charlotte that I caught trying to free her brother from a platoon of Dragoons. This is the Charlotte that stood up to a rather impressive figger of a Colonel and told him to...what was it now..." and his gaze shifted upwards as if trying to remember the exact phrase. "Ah! That was it. I believe it was 'You can kiss my American-born ass, you vile, loathsome British beast of hell before I tell you anything.' ?" And he couldn't help but chuckle when she looked up at him and pouted.

"That's not fair."

"You never said I had to be fair," he said softly, one hand lifting to brush back tendrils of soft gold that had fallen in the riot that had ensued over the last 12 hours. "Maybe it's best you go on. Family might misinterpret, you know."

Charly studied his face for the longest of moments. "I won't let them hurt you any more," She said quietly.

His smile was genuine but almost sad. He knew he'd hang in the morning. Only another 3 hours away. All they needed was a tree and a rope. And he couldn't force himself to believe they hadn't already found one and set up the grandstands for it. "Go on, love. At least one of us needs their sleep before dawn."

Charly didn't want to go. But she also knew sitting there arguing wouldn't work either. He'd always get his way. Amazing how that worked. She'd always give in no matter what he asked. A slight nod, though at his request and she leaned close and pressed a kiss to his cheek trying not to land it on any bruises. "I'll be back. I promise." she whispered. She stood and headed for the exit, her mind working once more about things. They couldn't do this to him. It was barbaric!

Before she got to the tent flap, he cleared his throat a bit and said more in that voice she knew so well, "Charly?"

She stopped (more like froze) when she heard him call her by her nickname and looked over her shoulder at him.

"I love you. Please always remember that."

That was it. That was the deciding factor that would make Charly - come hell or high water - free the Colonel under any circumstances. Even if she had to fight her own father to do it.

Captain Wilkins rode along the dark road outside of Fresh Water Plantation leading a group of 5 dragoons that surrounded a single rider on a horse. The rider was bandaged and almost falling off his horse and definitely in no shape to ride but this was all he could think of.

Since the capture of Colonel Tavington, Bordon and Wilkins had tried to brainstorm an idea to get him back none seeming to be able to work without someone getting hurt or killed. And one thing they were both sure as the devil over. They didn't want a new commander in the morning. Now, they had less than 3 hours to think of something. So Wilkins decided that this was to be over with.

He'd ridden to the farm where they were keeping Gabriel and ordered a doctor to fix the boy up as best he could. Aside from a few broken ribs and cuts and whipping welts and a possible concussion, at least he was alive. They set him on a horse and headed back to Fresh Water, Wilkins in the lead. At least if nothing else the boy was alive. He didn't even look at Gabriel, maybe out of shame or maybe out of disdain, but wither way when they got back in front of the plantation; Wilkins stood in his stirrups and shouted loud enough to hear his own voice echo in the trees. "Benjamin Martin! We have what you want! He's alive! By rules of war we demand that you release Colonel Tavington in the same sort!"

The woods were dark around the squadron and Wilkins grumbled as he got off of his horse and dropped the reins, moving towards the burnt shell of the house. Angry gaze around and then back at the small group behind him. "Leave him here!" He commanded. "If they want him then they have him. If they don't find him in time that's not our worry!"

Two of the Dragoons pushed Gabriel off of the horse, leaving his wrists tied together and the boy hit the ground with a loud thud and a groan. Wilkins walked back over to his horse and took the reins up, climbing into the saddle once more.

"But sir!" One of the Dragoons said as Wilkins turned his horse to go back to the road. "How do we know should they leave the Colonel here for us? They are quite animalistic in their ways of fighting. No honor at all."

Wilkins looked at the man and then back to the soldier. "I guess we'll have to place a guard at the road, won't we?" A kick to the horse's ribs and as it started a slow trot down the way towards the way back, the Captain ordered over his shoulder. "And you shall be the first one. Stay hidden and don't let them know you're around, soldier. They may decide to take out their wrath on you instead."

As the others hurriedly caught up to their Captain, the one lone Dragoon blinked and jerked the reins of his horse off to the side and urged the animal into the brush to hide. Well, if maybe there were a few things Wilkins was learning from the Colonel, how to be a complete bastard was a good one to start with, and the Dragoon slid off the horse, and sat down against a tree, huddling into himself for warmth. Summer was gone. Fall was approaching. And the nights were getting colder and colder.