For weeks, Annabelle remained under the steady surveillance of her new commanders. Firing at a close range terrified her and it showed in her face every time she was ordered to participate in an ambush. Benjamin, with some persuasion from his son, quickly decided that her lightness of stride and stealth with a rifle while hunting made her a better fit for attacking from afar. The harsh truth was that she couldn't bear looking the redcoats in the eye when she fired at them. Therefore, the role of a hunter, pursuing a target from afar was more her style and Benjamin Martin jumped on the opportunity to teach her everything that he knew.

"Some of our men are down below as well." He told her as they watched the orderly red line of soldiers marching through a far off cottonfield. "So- aim small, miss small. That's what I always tell my boys."

She nodded as they crouched low behind a rocky ledge. The first few men that she shot at before being reassigned had not been mortally wounded. In other words, she still had yet to kill another human being. Carrying out this act from a distance did not exactly alleviate the gravity of the moment. She cocked the weapon and took her aim, imagining her target to be nothing more than the green apple she'd shot in the schoolyard.

"Now, Arden. Now!"

His voice had no more effect on her than the breeze on her face. The gun fired. As the bullet journeyed to its mark, the world seemed to stand still. The man below was not an apple or a mark on the training course. He was flesh and blood, just like her sisters had been. She knew no more about him than she knew of Tavington. Hell, they could have been the best of friends or even brothers for all she knew. Her heart sunk low as he fell to the ground with Annabelle's metal bullet in his breast.

"You're a natural." He handed her a newly loaded rifle. "I'll take the back, you take the front."

One by one, they fell and the rest of the militia disappeared into the forest without a trace.

The encouragement was intoxicating. Annabelle was both surprised and disappointed in herself to learn just how heavily the opinion of another person could weigh on her. In a short period of time, she grew more and more eager to impress Benjamin and Gabriel. The act of shooting and killing gave her a strange feeling of empowerment while victory gave her a sense of validation. Thus, she stumbled upon another insight into the character of Colonel Tavington.

Despite her newfound interest in shooting, Annabelle found herself anticipating the day's ride more than anything else. She would spend only enough time at the old Spanish mission to sleep, eat her small ration of food, bathe and complete her laundry but only as privacy allowed. The rest of her time was spent with her little black spitfire of a horse who she addressed, fittingly so, as "Rascal".

Although she was beginning to find her place amongst the men, Rascal made it difficult to ride anywhere with Annabelle. He made a game out of everything and was almost entirely unresponsive to any of the nonverbal commands that Annabelle was limited to. Rascal simply wouldn't settle for being second or third in any line; he either had to lead or walk alone. If at any time, he noticed another horse's rump in his face, he would bite down hard, sending the poor rider flying through the air and into the nearby brush. This gained a few laughs at first but it quickly became a concern, as you can imagine.

Rascal wasn't a completely rotten apple. Annabelle had never seen a better sprinter; even after all the years that she'd spent on the Whitley's horse farm. She was confident that the two of them would give any of the Green Dragoons a run for the money. When the day came to test that theory, however, things panned out a little bit differently…

It was just another ambush. Annabelle watched from afar, waiting for her signal to fire. She was out of the way, hiding behind a craggy ledge with two other mounted soldiers. Benjamin spoke his part to the line of redcoats and, as was usually the case, they refused to stand down and the firing began. She was so engrossed in the technicalities of "fire, aim, reload, repeat" that she didn't hear of the incoming danger until the last possible second.

"Arden," said the man to her left, "we have to get out of here!" When she didn't heed, he tried again. "Dammit, are you deaf, too?"

She completed her shot and looked up just long enough to see that a new energy had taken over all parties.

"We'll head for the bridge Arden, you're welcome to join us."

Annabelle stayed her ground and continued to fire with nobody watching her back. It was challenging to make her mark with all of the commotion, but she did not feel ready to retreat. Then, the earth itself seemed to shake. The thunderous sound of a hundred hooves clashing and clattering against the ground filled her ears. The Green Dragoons had arrived to counter their attack.

They moved into the forest like a mighty, red wave and crashed into the combat zone. Annabelle reached into her saddlebag for more ammunition, her location had not yet been compromised and she could still fire there for a while longer. Her hand continued to search for the ammunition, but all that she could feel was the little leather-bound notebook that had gone untouched for months. She moved the pages around with her fingertips. It felt as though the remainder of the little metal bullets had embedded themselves in the binding.

"No…" She held her breath. The Dragoons dispersed throughout the forest. A handful were riding her way. She could see the bridge that her partners escaped to earlier in the corner of her eye, but she didn't want to endanger them. She abandoned her hunt for ammunition and snapped the reins, tearing out in front of the line of Dragoons. Rascal moved with just enough speed to push her far ahead of them. They fired as they rode, sending their shots whirring dangerously close to the corners of her face. She headed for a clearing in the forest and made way for the field that rested on the other side.

"We surrender!" Came several voices from the field.

As Annabelle moved into the open, she saw a cluster of her own men, surrounded by the mounted redcoats. As they turned to see who was behind them, she extended her firearm and dropped it in the tall grass. Her hands quivered as they rose in the air. After receiving a tiny nod, she coaxed Rascal into the circle.

"You understand the rules of surrender, yes?" Asked a young redcoat, his forehead creasing slightly from underneath his powdered wig and cap.

"Will Arden is a mute." Explained Reverend Oliver, one of the captured men.

Annabelle shook her head; her face was washed with terror. She had no idea what was about to happen. The redcoats worked quickly, relieving their new prisoners of any arms or ammunition that they carried, binding their hands behind their backs and searching their saddlebags and bodies for anything that could be used as a weapon. Annabelle held her breath as the same young soldier who had questioned her before shook the bullets out from within the pages of Tavington's notebook. He looked up and saw that her eyes were locked on the notebook and her face was as white as a sheet. He dropped his eyes to the notebook where Tavington's coat of arms was in plain sight…

Author's Note: I apologize for the small lag in my updates. This chapter was meant to be longer to compensate, but I try to end my chapters with a cliffhanger and this stopping place made the most sense to me. You can expect the next chapter tomorrow and as always, thank you for showing interest in my work!