The dragoons were resting near a narrow river. Tavington did not know they would be out for this long when they left yesterday. Part of the cavalry was on the hunt for Martin. Smith, the traitor they caught had spoken after a night of torture. He gave location of hiding places for the militia and Tavington had already burned several homes. They had to camp in the forest, they were too far and he did not wanted to come back to camp before Martin was dead. He would catch him today.

Camping in the forest was no excuse not to be presentable. The colonel was shaving with the small mirror he always carried in his luggage. Bordon was watching guard. Most of the men were talking, drinking water, resting before another big day.

"To arms! To arms!" Bordon yelled.

Tavington rose instantly, dropping his mirror and blade down. He looked over the hill and saw a dozen of riders, already shooting at them. He run to his horse, grabbing his pistols. He aimed and killed one man who got down from his horse and was running on foot toward them. Next to this man, he recognised Martin's son. Gabriel's gaze was fixated on Tavington, with only one desire: to kill him.

Without any bullets in his pistols, Tavington bent down to take his sword, slicing two men open in a matter of seconds. The colonel looked up and saw Bordon affronting Gabriel, fighting with determination. He killed more men and peeked out around. When he saw no other rebels close to him, he loaded his pistol and aimed at Reverend Oliver. That man turned around and hit Bordon behind the head; Gabriel stabbed him then dropped him to the ground. Tavington hit the reverend straight in the belly the second he turned around to face him.

Tavington realised he had to reload quickly his pistol when he saw Gabriel holding on to the bayonet the reverend gave him. He then aimed at Gabriel but the blond rebel was faster. Tavington felt a vivid burn on the left side of his stomach. The pain was sharp and felt to the ground, face first. There was no way this would be his death. His thoughts went straight to his wife; he could picture her face, her smile, her hands in his. He wanted to see his son's birth, his family grow.

He heard footsteps in the grass, heavy breathing behind his back. He moved his fingers around the grass to hold on to his sword and waited. Surely, Gabriel was close to him now. If the roles had been reversed, Tavington knew he would have stab the rebel once more to make sure the man was dead. He heard Gabriel take a deep breath and he turned around on the ground, his sword in the air, stabbing the young man straight in the chest. He held his gaze before he pushed him to the ground. The colonel stood up, dragged his sword out of the man's chest when he looked around. He was the last one standing. He looked at his side to see his shirt already soaked in blood. He had to make it fast to the camp, while he still was on the adrenaline of the battle.

…

Tavington made it to the camp, but he was exhausted. A major saw him and came his rescue. Putting his arm over his shoulder, he helped the wounded man to reach the medical tent, and then yelled for a doctor immediately.

Charlotte looked up and stopped breathing when she saw William almost unconscious, barely standing up. She rushed to his side as the soldier who brought him in helped him lay down on a cot.

"William, my love! What happened?"

"Lily? Am I dreaming?"

"No, I am really here, my love."

With tears in her eyes, she torn up his shirt, soggy with his own blood. She recognized a gunshot as she had been taking care of so many in the last two days. She grabbed the pliers and approached them to his stomach.

"Don't move, this will hurt."

"What are you doin- arghhh," Tavington could not finish his sentence as she started digging in his wound to find the bullet.

"Please stop moving, you are making this difficult."

The major that brought him in held him a whisky flask. Tavington swallowed several sips. He looked at his wife, focussing on her quest for the bullet. Her hands and her dress were dripping with his blood.

"There it is!" Charlotte said proudly, holding the small piece of metal between her fingers. "Now, I need to sew this wound close. Maybe take another sip of whisky, my love."

He did not move, he just looked at her.

"Tell me, who is this woman who stand before me? How could you do such things?" he said before drinking from the flask.

He suddenly felt lightheaded; he had lost a lot of blood. He felt unconscious, his head dropping on the cot.

"Doctor!" Charlotte yelled. "What is happening to him?"

"He passed out from the pain. Now sew him up before he loses any more blood."

"You think he will be fine?"

"Probably. With rest, he should be," Mackenzie said after looking at his wound.

Fighting the tears in her eyes, she sewed as best as she could, praying God to spare her husband, for her child's sake.

/

M content in next chapter.