When He Noticed Me

A/N: Might be a small story, idk. I just finished watching the Patriot for the eighteenth time and that Colonel Tavington is delicious.

Chapter One: When He Noticed Me

I didn't think he would spend a dime on a woman like me, nor did I think that a man in his echelon would ever stop by a colonial tavern like the Boar's Head to search for company. Had he been anyone else, searching to recruit for the King's Army, he'd have been flogged by the drunken patrons—men who had the bitter hatred for taxation without representation, whom had participated in the French and Indian War, tar and feathered tax collectors. That sort.

If he didn't come searching for a friend, he came to recruit—though, it didn't seem like he'd fancy any militia in his own band of merry men. And although his superior, Lord Cornwallis, had the lowest opinion of militia, at least Colonel Tavington could understand the ambition and passion on the back of enlisting in a war that was fought on both sides.

The Butcher. Aristocratic, strong, dark, and handsome. He was a powerful horseman on the best mount of the entire troop—decorated, imperious. No temper, just hard, cold authority. His men, to boot, were all hardened veterans—some were British, but the lesser few were Tories, colonials who favored the British side of the war.

I noticed him sometimes, taking deliberate steps into the Boar's Head where he'd have his own drink—he'd prefer to sit inside, if not just to silently patronize the leering glares from the other patrons. They wouldn't touch him; no one in the right head space would try it, not while he and his Green Dragoons were armed to the teeth.

"You're staring." The Colonel's voice, crisp and taught like a belt drawn hard with a loud clap. He closed the door firmly by the strength of his arm, shutting it on his way out of the Boar's Head.

My breath caught in my throat, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

I feathered my thin petticoats, made to walk away from him, stepping lightly on the drying grass underneath my bare feet; but he uttered a small noise of disapproval:

"Awfully dangerous, turning your back on a stranger at night," said the Colonel. "You ought to stay more alert. Not everyone is gentlemanly as I."

A gentleman. Infamous for his brutal tactics on the battlefield, I wondered how that word rolled off his tongue without so much as a stutter. He must have believed it himself, or else he wouldn't have said it backed with sincerity. He gave me the proper amount of uneasiness with my back turned—

His voice made it clear to me that perhaps I couldn't walk away, so I slowly turned on my heel, and I struggled to meet his hardened gaze. The man had the most piercing, blue eyes that I had ever seen—haughty good looks, clean shaven, cheek bones chiseled by angels. His lips looked soft. I feared him, of course, no more or less than the rest of the colony feared him—but he showed no immediate aggression, and I almost wished he had so I would know precisely where someone like me balanced on his scale of life and death.

"What is your name?" said the Colonel curiously, taking a booted step toward me, the spurs on his heel chimed against the grass. He palmed a pair of black leather gloves in his calloused hands. I had expected his hands to be smooth—like an elitist who had only ever handled money all of his life.

"I'm nobody," I said dismissively, shrugging my naked shoulders. "No need to worry about a little thing like me..."

"Do I look worried?" said the Colonel tonelessly. His facial expression was as apathetically so.

"No, Sir." I answered. I wrung my fingers together behind my back nervously; the man certainly had an imposing presence in both the way he carried himself and the considerable height difference between us. He was a tall glass of water, and I—five feet above the grassy knoll.

"Are you a Loyalist?" asked the Colonel.

"I'm nobody." I answered under his scrutiny.

"You can't be part of the British empire; that accent has a southern itch to it," said Colonel Tavington, indicating my mouth with a hand, "despite how educated you sound, for a southern belle."

"Sir, I'm a working girl; I've got no wager in this war," I said softly, unsure if either answer would have benefitted me.

"Your vote is with the highest bidder, then," said the Colonel passively. "That position must weigh heavily in that sort of crowd in the Boar's Head, a lot of traitors who would want the king's head on a pike."

"I'm paid for what I do," I responded, and I thought that it was an appropriate answer. "Not paid for what I think, Sir."

The Colonel's brow raised. Perhaps my answer intrigued him, or perhaps—and it was most likely—that I had anything to say at all. Britain established commerce with the colonies, though not everyone was pleased about it. Merchants would reluctantly exchange hands with Loyalists and British alike—though it was only within a few small words. He paid very little attention to the colonists; I had expected that he'd simply pass me by. Sheer material, looking unkempt—I assumed he would have brushed me off within a few words.

His silence made me uneasy, and his damn near unblinking gaze made me self-conscious. My mouth went dry and my palms were wet with sweat. I didn't get nervous with the common patrons—I flouted toward the men with confidence, a know-how to sway their inhibitions with a lot of booze and much more than that with flirting and an "accidental" graze toward the crotch.

I didn't know how to approach such an intimidating, rather infamous decorated officer of the Green Dragoons. And, with reassurance under his scrutiny, I wasn't sure if I wanted to. I thought that perhaps what had taken me off guard by the Colonel's presence in front of me was his shocking ability to be courteous and polite, all wrapped up in an elegant accent:

"I'd like to propose an offer," he said.

I waited for him to speak. His tone proposed a business affair. I understood the terms and conditions of my profession, the oldest profession in the book—And a part of me hoped, for dear life, that I wasn't about to become a Green Dragoons pass-around.

Although I had my fair share of traditional gang bangs, it was all consensual—rowdy, of course, but everyone left with the idea that we all had a good time, and my coin purse was full. The idea, though, of a green and red blur of angry-looking, hardened men circling me like wolves among a lamb made me wary—The men staring at me from the sidelines while their leader spoke to me in a low voice caught my peripheral vision.

The colonials would think less of me, or perhaps their opinions wouldn't change at all: I didn't have a particular John, though, if I had to choose, it would not have hurt my ego for a Colonel in the British Army to pick me out of the lot of women whom certainly had more going for them than I.

"If you are willing to hear it," he added, reading my face accurately.

"If I am willing?" I repeated, slighted by a small laugh, more out of surprise of him mentioning the courtesy of consent than perhaps his actual offer.

"Miss," he said, taking a step toward me, "I am not about to add to my reputation that I've coerced a young woman into an act—or acts—that she didn't consent to—"

"I didn't expect the cordiality," I said quickly, holding up a hand hesitantly. God Almighty, I did not just offend this man. "I just…" I glanced to the side furtively, hopefully with subtly, toward the Colonel's Captain Bordon and Major Wilkins, along with the five other officers mounted on their steeds, holding the reins as if to hold back something else.

"Eyes on me, love," said Colonel Tavington calmly. The lull in his voice was captivating.

"You want my company?" I said softly, and I shrugged my shoulders in an effort to be charming. "Never been with an officer before. Where?" I expected him to turn me up against the Boar's Head's exterior wall, out in the open for all to see; however, Colonel Tavington's face broke into a small, bemused smirk. He looked exceptionally charming when the smirk met his eyes.

"In my own quarters," said the Colonel, and he then indicated the Boar's Head sarcastically, "As surprising as it might be to the people that you may or may not represent, I actually do not sleep with women in seedy taverns. Another reason for Britain to remain in charge of the colonies—The women are treated differently."

"Don't suppose you go around burning their homes to the ground," I heard the words come out of my mouth before I could stop myself.

His brow raised, more intrigued rather than offended, but I—

He approached me, and although thus far he had shown only courtesy, I stepped away from him.

"I didn't…" I almost apologized, however I would have been lying if I had said that the Colonel going home to home in the States and killing innocent civilians didn't rile me. Colonel Tavington and all his haughtiness, attractive accent, looking at me like that as if he had found a southern belle—In the back of my mind, this was the same man that had brutalized surrendering troops and killed men, women, children…

"You're afraid of me, aren't you?" the Colonel said quietly.

"Yes," I answered honestly. Why lie?

"And yet," he said with a smile, "You've slipped out an insolent comment like that. Are you sure you are riding the fence, or are you afraid to say that, if you were a man, you'd join George Washington the moment the opportunity struck?"

"I have no opinion," I repeated adamantly, "about the war."

"A whore's opinion is still an opinion," the Colonel returned.

"Is it?" A breathless laugh escaped my throat. "Your reputation proceeds you. I know what you're capable of." I paused, and gesticulated toward his men whom continued to watch us. "I know that they would obey any command you give them; I know that every time you walk into the Boar's Head, the colonials glare at you and do nothing. And what is stopping you from cutting me down if I say that I'm a Patriot's whore?"

As he took another step toward me, I felt the breath in my lungs hitch. A commanding presence that deserved attention. He was dangerous. Though, in the back of my mind, I wondered what part of him carried over into the bedroom. Would he be gentle? Would he be rough? What sort of dark secrets did he have hiding underneath the cold exterior of his Green Dragoons uniform?

"I've noticed you," said the Colonel lightly, coming to stand within a foot of me. "You've noticed me, and I know that look on a woman's face. All the attitude that you can muster, but when I enter the Boar's Head, you can't take your eyes…" He drew a hand up to my jaw, and his thumb prodded my bottom lip as if he had mulling around the idea of kissing it, "…off me."

The idea of him leaning forward and hovering his mouth just an inch from mine—I had my lip between my teeth.

I felt heat on my face, flushed to the pit of my stomach. It felt wrong that my body betrayed my previous statement, as I knew he had done great things—terrible—but great things. A fleshed out juggernaut in the heat of battle, speckled with blood on his face and splattered with it on the collar of his uniform, cold authority replaced with a blood lust—

"Mm-hm," his voice rolled the noise of confirmation. "What's your name, Darling?"

"Cosette," I whispered.


He led me to his horse, a proper steed—well-behaved and well-trained, that mount: a loyal pet to serve his master until either one could not serve the other.

"May I pet him?" I asked, gazing longingly at the soft patch of fuzz along the horse's face.

Tavington gave his permission wordlessly with a hand. I patted the horse's cheek; it uttered a low response. Soft. Briefly forgetting present company, I leaned my face toward the mount's face, "Hello, you're a big guy, aren't you? You're awfully soft. I like you already."

"Hop up, Darling," the Colonel said, patting the saddle. He'd whisk me away from the tavern to his quarters, British occupation. It was possibly more charming than the commoner's outhouse…

I uttered a small noise, and realized quickly that I was mildly afraid of horseback riding. The animal was so tall, so huge and imposing, and those hooves—he'd trample me if I made the wrong move. I glanced uncertainly into the big, brown eyes of the beast and turned to face Colonel Tavington, a different sort of beast—but just as imposing…

"I…'ve only been on a horse twice in my life, Sir," I said nervously. "Contrary to the belief, not all southerners know how to ride a beast."

"Then this will be your third, won't it? Grab the horn, put your foot in the stirrup," he indicated both parts of the saddle to me, and I glanced at the horse tepidly, wondering if I was asking his permission to mount him. "And pull yourself up."

"I can't reach it," I said quietly, showing the Colonel just how little reach I had from the saddle by the extension of my arm.

"You are a small little thing, aren't you? Hold out your arms, Cosette."

"Hold my arms up—? Whoa!"

Colonel Tavington suddenly grabbed my waist by the strength of his hands and hoisted me off the ground; I slipped my bare foot into stirrup, feeling panicky, and found the saddle's raised horn, half-tempted to kiss the fucking thing when I realized how far off the ground I was. I was trembling.

"I don't like this," I muttered, shaking my head. The horse's head bowed, as if he had been insulted, and he began to teeter totter, making the saddle rock uncomfortably. A fearful whimper escaped my lips—I'm going to fall off this thing, break a bone—

Tavington grabbed his mount's reins and side-stepped to pass his hand along its cheek, uttering words that I couldn't comprehend, but he spoke so tenderly in a voice that I had never heard him use before—not with anyone that I had ever seen him interact with. The Colonel, brazen and cold, seemed to appreciate his own animals and possessions above anyone or anything else. It was absurdly comforting, for I believed that perhaps I might be one of those possessions. His soothing worked, for the horse held steady. He looked up at me, wordlessly assuming that I was more relaxed. I was, but I didn't sit up or move, afraid that his horse would reconsider his master's words.

"Hold steady," said the Colonel. He placed his foot in the stirrup and effortlessly, masterfully, hopped onto the horse behind me. "Sit up."

"I'm fine right here," I murmured, aware that my back side was exposed to him, lying halfway across the horse's mane, clinging to the saddle's horn as if it were my life line.

Tavington leaned forward, and I could feel the cold metal buttons of his jacket against the flesh of my spine; and his breath was upon my neck, and I felt his hands reach around me to grasp the mount's reins.

"Do as I say." Although his voice was quiet, his words were a loud command.

I slowly sat up, though my knuckles were white from clutching the horn. No, I did not like horseback riding. As I straightened, Tavington leaned back, and one of his arms pulled me close to him, latching around my waist securely. Had I wanted to jump down, I wasn't strong enough to fight his arm.

"Good girl," I heard him say against the shell of my ear. A trail of goosebumps scattered, rose the hairs on my arms. I felt his lips brush against my ear lobe, lashing a flushing heat across every erogenous zone over my body, "You do as you're told, do you understand?"

I bit my lip with a nod as a response. It was not ordinary in my work to be seduced, rather I was usually the one performing the art of seduction. A man like that to have such an effect on me was new, yet it was disturbing to me at the same time. And even when the mount began to trot toward the Camden plantation, away from the Bradford Crossroads, I didn't feel uncomfortable as the horse burst into a full-blown gallop—behind us followed a herd of twenty Green Dragoon Calvary, following their commander to the British encampment.