The dawn stretched over the horizon, lighting the world with roses. As peaceful and quiet as it was around Vivienne, a raging war of emotions was taking place in her mind.

Murdering someone - no less, a child - was no small thing that could be overlooked. If Tavington had the nerve to kill a child, what would stop him from killing her?

And to add to her confusion was the confession that contained the information she had been aching to hear ever since Tavington first captured her. Vivienne felt he had told her the truth, but his last words still left her mystified.

"I lost my own game, but this time it didn't feel like a failure . . ."

What did he mean by that? Was he trying to say how much he had come to care for her? But now how could she trust him? He betrayed her trust by keeping the boy's murder from her.

Vivienne bit her lip in frustration as her mind returned to that sensitive issue, firing question after question at her. Could she still love him? Could she look into that face and not see a murderer? His hands, the hands that caressed her so lovingly were the same hands that held the gun, pulled the trigger on that innocent boy. . . Vivienne felt a rush of hard anger.

There was no reason she should waste her time debating whether or not Tavington deserved her love - he obviously didn't. And then what of Colonel Bordon? There was something soft and tender in his eyes that Vivienne had needed to see. Deciding to deal with one thing at a time and resolve the Bordon issue later, Vivienne stood up, determined to get some answers to these harrowing questions of Tavington's true intentions. She would find out how black his heart was.

Tavington got about as much sleep as Vivienne did - none. Though he told himself repeatedly there would be other women, he couldn't get over the feeling that he had lost something very dear to him.

He told his cavalry to begin the patrol without him and returned to his tent, too plagued by confusion and exhaustion to even stand upright. He lifted the tent flaps with some difficulty and nearly jumped when he saw Vivienne sitting on his cot, glaring at him with eyes like hot coals.

The first thing Vivienne noticed was the dark circles under Tavington's eyes, comparable to her own. Good, he didn't sleep either . . .

"We need to talk about this," she said brusquely. He nodded faintly as he whipped off his red coat, too tired to resist.

As he sat down next to her compliantly, Vivienne forced herself to loosen up a bit. She had to treat him humanely if she wanted truthful answers.

"Why did you kill him?" she asked, her voice soft.

"He attacked one of my soldiers," Tavington replied.

When Vivienne only raised an eyebrow, he took a great breath to tell the whole story.

"The boy's older brother was serving in the American army. My soldiers captured him and we were going to hang him as an example to the other loyalists. We caught the soldier at his own home, with his family gathered before us. As my men moved to take away the enemy soldier, this boy dashed out, and I shot him."

Tavington forced himself to meet Vivienne's gaze. Her expression was unreadable. She expected more. Tavington continued,

"As I think back on it now, I find I am not as. . . nonchalant about it as I was at the time."

Tavington leaned forward, slowly taking Vivienne's hands in his. He felt strange, behaving like he cared, but it seemed something beyond the reach of his fatigued mind was acting for him. Perhaps the hate that had brewed in him since his father's untimely death was running low.

"Vivienne, you must see that I am capable of change. I'm not as I was when I killed the boy. It . . . isn't something I would do again. And I promise you won't ever have to fear for your safety around me."

His eyes pierced her faltering resolve and she fell into him, sobbing. She wept because she was overwhelmed, she wept because she was exhausted, and she wept because some part of her had hope for him yet. His arms closed around her and he held her firmly.

Love had always seemed so frivolous, something to scoff at. But now, like a tentative child, Tavington reached for it, gingerly grasping this ideal of love with trembling fingers.

Tavington rested his cheek on her head, gently cupping the back of her neck, stroking her hair with his thumb. Vivienne's wracking sobs had sucked up the little energy she had left, and now she slept. Tavington lay back on the cot with Vivienne asleep on his chest. He was lost before his head touched the pillow.

"Ahem. . . "

The lovers woke at the sound of a throat being cleared above them. Tavington was the first to realize General Cornwallis' looming presence in the tent. Tavington lightly pushed Vivienne off of him before she was even awake.

"Mmmm, not yet - " Vivienne stopped mid sentence as she sleepily looked up to meet the Lord General's angry gaze. Sleep was suddenly the last thing on her mind as she sat up quickly, smoothing her hair in an attempt to look polished. Cornwallis' eyes blazed with fire, but his voice, remarkably, was calm.

"I think you had better have that wedding tomorrow," he said stiffly. Vivienne protested.

"But my parents - "

" - Will have to celebrate with you another time," Cornwallis interrupted "There shall be no bargaining on this one. Tomorrow afternoon then."

Vivienne gaped soundlessly as Cornwallis glared daggers at Tavington before leaving. Vivienne straightened her dress, smoothing her hair again.

"Did we really appear to be all that indecent? We're fully clothed," Vivienne mused.

"Cornwallis would jump at even the tiniest opportunity to get this wedding out of the way," Tavington replied, standing to stretch. "Oh God, I can't feel my arm," he muttered.

Vivienne smiled faintly. Her head had been resting comfortably on his shoulder for over an hour. Tavington put his red coat back on, buttoning it swiftly.

"So, I suppose we shall be married tomorrow," Vivienne said, breaking the silence.

She felt reassured when a small surge of excitement tingled through her. Tavington nodded, straightening his coat. He was missing his cravat. . . he looked to the cot where his cravat lay near Vivienne's arm.

Following his gaze, she picked it up and strode over to him. Instead of depositing it into his waiting hands, she put it around his neck and knotted it expertly. She paused after she had finished, then, gently leaned forward and kissed his neck, right below his ear. Her eyes flicked up to meet his as she pulled away.

"I'll be a wonderful wife," she whispered, shooting him a half smile as she exited the tent, hips swinging.

Her touch had rekindled Tavington's lust, dormant from the previous strain on their relationship. His slow smile beneath half-lidded eyes would have alerted anyone to what he was thinking –

I shall make tomorrow night the best of my life. . .