Vivienne collapsed into her tent, chest heaving from the run back to camp. Her head spun in disbelief, trying desperately to see that this was all a lie, that Tavington was lovable, was not a cruel monster who would kill a fifteen year old boy. But try as she might to believe Tavington was good, her mind only offered her the image of Benjamin Martin's hard face, his voice thick with concealed anguish over the murder of his son -
The tent flaps were swept apart and, instead of Tavington standing in the opening, Colonel Bordon stood before her.
"Miss, are you all right?" he asked, stepping forward to put his hand upon her shoulder. She tensed at his touch, swiveling her body toward him, their eyes meeting.
Bordon found himself pitying the girl, with her eyes full of betrayal and her lush lower lip quivering in such a way . . . Bordon sat beside her, swallowing the desire to crush her to him and make love to her beautiful, trembling form.
"I - I didn't know he killed, killed an innocent boy . . . " Vivienne said at last, her words hoarse with disbelief. Bordon nodded, not knowing how to reply. Vivienne's shoulders hunched forward and she turned her face from him once more.
Acting on impulse, Bordon turned her face toward his with one hand, and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. At first her mouth was frozen in surprise, but she soon began to respond, allowing his tongue to ease the salt of tears off her lips.
When at last Bordon pulled away, Vivienne was staring at him, looking upon him as if for the first time. Just as Bordon was about to kiss her once more, the tent flaps swung open. Tavington stood in the entrance, breathing heavily. Vivienne's hands trembled, her pupils dilating in fear.
Tavington seemed to not notice how close his aide-de-camp was sitting to Vivienne, but he wanted her alone nonetheless.
"Get out," Tavington growled at Bordon, who obeyed without a word, his eyes meeting Vivienne's one last time before he exited the tent.
"Vivienne, listen to me - " Tavington crouched beside her and she immediately scooted backwards. He came after her and she only pushed herself further away from him. Annoyed, he lunged forward, taking one of her wrists in each hand as he knelt over her, trapping her with his body. She looked up at him, still breathing hard.
Vivienne's ancient paranoia of being raped came back with all its former strength and she couldn't keep from trembling as she gazed up into his lustful stare. It seemed chasing her down and trapping her like this had aroused him. Tavington had triumphed in catching his prey and would now go in for the kill . . .
As his lips descended on her neck, a small cry tore from her throat. It was not a cry of utmost pleasure, but of desperate fear. Tavington pulled away from her at once, shock blatant on his face as he sat up, away from her trembling form, all thoughts of making love forgotten. She looked at him, her face beginning to crumple with tears of heartbreak.
"You - you really, t-truly killed a boy for pleasure?" she stammered, wrought with woe.
"Now listen it - listen!" He took her by the shoulders and shook her. His eyes, like glaciers, bore into hers. "I will tell you everything if you keep quiet." When she didn't make a sound, he continued. "Yes, I killed a fifteen year old boy, and at the time I had no regrets, but now, I. . . " he trailed off, looking away from Vivienne. He still didn't regret killing the impudent boy, but guilt, rusty and foreign to him, bubbled to to surface of his conscience at betraying her, at making her cry so wretchedly.
"Please, get out," she said, not looking at him.
"Do you want to know the real reason I didn't rape you your first night here?" Tavington snapped desperately. Vivienne stared at him, thrown off guard.
"That man who talked to you moments ago has been tormenting me for weeks. I cannot find him, I cannot capture him, I cannot kill him - and I have been humiliated to my face and behind my back for each of those failures!"
Tavington was shouting now, Vivienne trapped in his furious eyes.
"Ever since I joined this army, I could attain everything I set out to do - I was the reason we were winning this war! But then I made the mistake of killing that stupid, stupid boy, and his father has become the reason my country is losing men, supplies, honor and the whole damn war!"
Tavington swallowed, trying to calm himself.
"Then I saw you - the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes upon. Kidnapping you was so easy - something I wasn't used to anymore. You were at my mercy and I could have raped you that same night. But why spend all the glory on one evening? I thought, If I were to wait to have her, to manipulate her into trusting me, a far better night would be in store for me. It was a challenge I knew I could easily accomplish - and if I ever tired of the game, I could have you whenever it pleased me and still win. When I learned of our stay at the governor's plantation, I planned to have you there, but when I found you in that room, tortured by those miserable bastards . . ."
He looked away from her frozen stare, prepared to finish his soliloquy.
"For the first time in my life, I started to feel guilty. As you came to trust me, I couldn't bring myself to rape you no matter how many opportunities I had. I lost my own game, but this time it didn't feel like a failure."
Vivienne's breath came in ragged gasps and she scooted away from him.
"Get out!" She glared furiously at him through her tears until he reluctantly left her tent. The moment the flaps swung closed, Vivienne's hands came to her face as she fell back against her blankets, weeping.