On his horse, Tavington was looking at the continental through his spyglass, processing their tactics, thinking about his own strategy, when he saw him. Benjamin Martin. The Ghost. He could not do otherwise than order the charge. The dragoons rode behind him, trying to keep up with his pace.

He had followed him around the field, killing whoever was not wearing red. That is when he saw him. Their gazes locked and Tavington's vision seem to narrow around Martin. The Ghost was running toward him, holding his flag. Still on his horse, the colonel made his way to him, holding his saber in the air.

It all happened so fast, unsure of the string of event, but Tavington was flying in the air and crashing to the ground. Feeling a bit dizzy, he stood up, looking around for Martin. He spotted him, to see him take aim and shot his pistol. A sharp pain flew to Tavington's left arm, as the bullet lodge itself in his bicep. Even more anger rushed to him and the men fought with desperate energy. The Colonel seemed to have the advantage; he knocked Martin on the head and sliced his arm opened.

Grabbing a bayonet knife, still holding his sword, he resumed his attack on Martin. Both of them were great fighter, strong men who could endure a lot. Martin was showing signs of tiredness. When Tavington had the chance to see his back, he scratched the back of his leg, sending the man to his knees. Never leaving his target out of sight, Tavington hit his tomahawk and Martin's grip was not strong enough to hold it anymore. Martin was motionless, still on his knees. The Colonel would have his chance to end this.

"Kill me before this war is over, will you? It appears you are not the better man."

He took his swing, ready to cut Martin's head off when he was stopped in his motion. Martin had dug down and pierced Tavington's chest with his bayonet, impaling the british officer.

"You're right. My sons were better men," Martin said, as he punched Tavington in the face, making him fall down to the ground.

..

"Look over here! This one seemed to be alive."

He had no idea how many time passed by before he was found by British soldiers looking for survivors. Tavington could barely manage to open his eyes, too weak to move.

"Colonel, we will take you to the medical tent right now," the first man said.

"Oh, he surely looks like shite. Not sure he'll make it, look at his wound," the second one said.

He tried to speak but his voice was just a whisper. The first man bent down and put his ear near the Colonel mouth.

"Lily…" was all he managed to say before falling unconscious.

...

Meanwhile in the medical tent, men were coming and going, doctors did not know where to head since there were so many wounded. Nightfall was falling; men were still brought for care. Charlotte was absolutely exhausted, but could not gather herself to leave when so many still needed attendance.

She had not seen William yet, which she thought was a good thing. She was picturing him still rounding up his cavalry unit.

"Lady Charlotte, you cannot keep working at this pace in you condition," doctor Mackenzie told her, as she was taking a sip of water, allowing herself a small break.

"No, there is still much to be done." Her eyes kept surveying the men in the tent, looking for a coat and a face she was so familiar with.

"If I want you again tomorrow, you need a good night of sleep. You are a valuable asset here," his told was firm.

She nodded and lifted the flap of the tent open. She walked around a bit, feeling lost around all those white tents that look all the same. General O'Hara was the first to see her. He guided her toward the generals' tents, where no celebrations were hold. General Cornwallis held his arms out and grabbed his daughter's shoulders.

"Charlie, you need to get cleaned out."

"Father, have you seen William? I… I…" her voice was just a whisper.

Tears rushed to her eyes. Exhaustion and her pregnancy led her to be more emotional now that she was not focus of her medical task.

"I have not, I am sorry. I saw a bunch of dragoons came back. But, you need to rest. I'll arrange a transport to the Fort as soon as possible."

"No, I need to see him. I will wait for him here. If I need to, I will walk all over the battlefield and look myself at every man there."

She sat down, as she could barely remain standing. A plate of food was brought to her and she nibbled. She could use a break for sure, but now that her mind was preoccupied by her husband, she was worry as she had never been before.

…

The next morning, Charlotte woke up in the colonel's tent. She had no real memories of how she got there. She felt nauseous, threw up once again. She washed her face with water, hoping it would wake her up.

She made her way to the medical tent and saw Doctor Mackenzie outside, by the fire. His face darkened with worries as he saw her coming toward him.

"Lady Charlotte, Colonel Tavington was brought in last night."

Her eyes widened, she could not interpreted the look on his face. She could not form a sentence, even if her mouth was open.

"Alive, but badly wounded. He made it through the night, which is a good sign."

"Where is he?"

He moved his hand, showing her the way to his bed. When she saw the state of her husband, she had to hold on to the doctor's arm not to fall to the ground. He was sleeping on a small cot. His face was pale, with dark bruises. She could see all the bandages around his arms and chest. She kneeled on the side of his bed, held one of his hands.

"Please doctor, tell me your prognosis."

"As I told you, he made it through the night. But he is not out of the wood. This chest wound was made a bayonet and cut quite deeply. But he is strong. He regained consciousness some time while I was treating him and let me tell you: that man has a temper. He tried to stand up several time; 3 men had to hold him down."

A smiled was drawn across her lips. She could absolutely picture him as the doctor just describe.

"He will need a lot of rest. If he follows those orders, he should make it"

"He is not the best at following orders, but I will do my best to see it done."

The doctor left to attend to other wounded that kept arriving. Still holding his hand, she started talking to him.

"William Tavington. You better live. I need you by my side. You need to see your son."

"Or daughter."

She jumped when she heard him talk. His voice was strained, his eyes barely opened. She squeezed his hand, and tears felt down from her cheeks.