Whoa! Another chapter, woot! I didn't have to do so much reworking with this one, so here you are. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter! You make my day every time!
Tavington kicked his horse into a gallop as he finally left the British camp. Cornwallis had made sure to waste plenty of Tavington's time with an unending tirade - it was nearly dark outside.
As the Colonel neared the house, he began to feel something was wrong. Upon drawing closer, he could see one of the first floor windows was smashed.
Vivienne.
Tavington leapt from his horse while the animal was still moving and ran the rest of the way to the house. He threw open the front door and dashed inside, pistol at the ready. Tavington prepared the weapon to shoot as he carefully crept about the house, searching for his wife.
He charged through the bedroom doorway, his last room to be searched, to see an empty bedroom - the bed still unmade.
Tavington swallowed, his mouth going dry as he went back outside to look for any other possible indication as to what might have occurred here during his absence. Vivienne would know not to run away, but how else might she have disappeared?
He came through the front door and stopped. Leading away from the door on his left were a few boot prints. Vivienne not not own any boots.
Tavington crouched down to examine the prints. Judging from the depth and shape, the wearer was a large and heavy man - perfectly capable of carrying Vivienne off.
As the Colonel followed the prints farther away from the house, new prints mixed with the boot prints. Hoof prints. So they had taken her.
Tavington's jaw tightened and the familiar lust for blood returned as he imagined Vivienne being carried away, screaming, by a huge man. Tavington was surprised at the way his heart felt like it was twisting as he pictured the image. Vivienne was the only person he had ever loved and he would not let her be taken from him by the same man who took his glory again and again.
The Colonel stood, not even realizing his hand had slid to his pistol. There could only be one man behind this - Benjamin Martin.
"Colonel!"
Tavington turned to see Bordon riding up to him, a look of concern on his face as he neared the house.
"Vivienne – " Bordon began.
"She's gone," Tavington replied, his face tight. "As much as I would rather ask someone else, there simply isn't the time. Gather a group of Dragoons and meet me at Martin's sister's estate."
Bordon nodded, knowing Tavington must be desperate if he called upon him for help. The captain turned his mount and rode back to camp.
Tavington walked briskly to his horse, his rational, more military mindset returned, pushing away the flaming anger. Tavington coolly wet his lips and gathered his reins in his hands. A plan formed in the mind of the Colonel as he kicked his horse into a gallop, words forming in his merciless mind. A life for a life - I know where your children live . . .
"She's coming to, sir!" Richard alerted Benjamin Martin as Vivienne began to stir, groaning softly and pressing her fingers into her stomach so hard they were white.
"Good," Benjamin nodded "Gather the men - they will want to see vengeance done to the wife of the man who burned their wives and children alive."
Richard hesitantly left the tent to fulfill his duty, feeling guilty. It wasn't this woman's fault her husband had sold his soul to the devil. But Richard had signed the document to be under the command of Benjamin Martin, and his orders were to be followed at all costs - even though the man had been acting a bit strange lately.
Vivienne's eyelids flickered, her vision fuzzy as it slowly came into focus. Oh how her head ached. Vivienne was reminded of the time she had been escaping Tavington through the forest when she fell and knocked herself unconscious . . . she smiled at the memory as she sat up, rubbing at her eyes.
When her sight was clear, the smile vanished. She was sitting in the dirt inside a tent and around her were rather rugged-looking men - all staring at her. The one in the center looked slightly familiar to Vivienne.
It was the man from that night in the woods! The man whose son Tavington killed . . . This man was staring at her most intensely of all the others. With his hair coming out of its bushy queue and his sweat-stained, dirty clothes, he looked nearly insane.
"Do you remember me, Vivienne?" The man asked, kneeling down only feet in front of her, his voice dangerously soft. She could not tell from his tone if he meant her any harm, so she nodded slowly.
"Do you remember when I told you about your husband's brutal murder of my son, Thomas?"
Again, Vivienne nodded. Martin paused before speaking again.
"Did he tell you how he killed my oldest son, Gabriel, not more than a day ago?" Benjamin's voice had become a shout by the end of his sentence. His spittle flecked Vivienne's cheeks and she shook her head no, still not completely understanding when Benjamin Martin lunged forward, holding her chin tightly in his right hand.
"You will speak to me when I am talking to you." His voice had lowered to a growl, which was much more fearsome than his raised voice. From the way he held her chin, Vivienne got the feeling this man could snap her jaw with a twitch of his hand.
"Y-yes - "
"Yes, sir."
"Yes . . . sir."
Benjamin stared into her frightened dark eyes for several seconds before releasing her at last. He stood, looking down at her.
"When you give birth to his child, what makes you so sure he won't kill it?"
Vivienne looked up at him in horror. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and that moment was too long for Benjamin Martin to wait.
"You will speak," he charged forward, his boot slamming into her belly "when I am talking to you!"
Vivienne doubled over, clutching her belly in a panic and sobbing, but was hoisted to a standing position. As she turned her face to see who had forced her to stand, a calloused hand slapped her across the cheek.
"Tavington killed far too many people to be forgiven. He killed two of my sons with a smile on his face."
"Please - " Vivienne tried to interrupt, but Martin kept on talking in a frighteningly monotone voice.
"He will come here to find you. When he sees what has become of you, he will be the one to break, to suffer, and then I shall kill him."
Richard stepped forward.
"Sir, this is absurd! You can't possibly blame - " Benjamin swirled around, silencing Richard with one look.
"Have you forgotten," he began, addressing all the doubtful-looking men now "That this woman's husband, Colonel Tavington - the Butcher - ruthlessly murdered your wives and children? Killing that bastard is only going to bring him peace. He'll never truly pay for his mistakes until he suffers as we all have suffered."
"Think of the deep, consuming pain that will cut through him when he sees his wife and unborn child murdered just as he murdered our wives and our children. We will have saved so many more from dying by killing this man and his wife."
The other men looked at each other nervously. Then Richard stepped back into the crowd, his eyes averted from Vivienne's desperately pleading glance.
Tavington pulled up his horse at the plantation of Benjamin's sister-in-law.
"Surround the house," the Colonel muttered to the Dragoons he had brought with him. Major Bordon followed Tavington through the front door and into the dining room, where Martin's other children and sister-in-law were seated for breakfast. Recognizing the man who had killed Thomas, they all stared at him in utter fear. He smiled, forgetting how much he had relished the terror of peasants.
"Good morning. You needn't look so very frightened. I'm only here for a bit of business, then I shall leave you all to your leisurely afternoon."
"I'm not frightened," came an angry little voice from behind Tavington. He turned around to see a small girl, not more than four or five years old, glaring at him. The little girl, dashed around Tavington to grasp the blonde woman's skirts, still staring at him fearlessly.
How perfect, Tavington thought. He glanced down at the girl, who was still glaring at him.
"What's your name?" He asked the girl. When only silence was his reply, he pulled out his pistol, pointing it at the blonde woman, who gasped, her hands going down to try to push her niece behind her.
"Susan, her name is Susan!" An older girl at the table blurted. Tavington looked at this girl with slight amusement.
"Thank you," he said, putting his pistol back in its holster. "Now, Susan, you are going to come with Captain Bordon and I - "
"No! I won't!" She uttered stubbornly. Tavington tilted his head slightly to the side, smiling in his condescending way at the child.
"You have no choice, girl." With that, he grabbed Susan's tiny wrists in one hand and swung her up over his shoulder. She screeched in protest and pounded at his back, kicking with all her might. The rest of the Martin children were whimpering, murmuring Susan's name.
"No worries, she shall remain alive as long as my wife does. Good day!" Tavington turned on his heel and exited out the front door, Bordon following suit. Tavington mounted his horse and plopped Susan in front of him in the saddle. She still was screaming.
"Don't be so upset - you're going to see your Daddy," he told her lightly. She squirmed in his iron grip.
"I hate my Daddy," came her voice. Tavington was caught off guard. What a delightful little girl.
"Now there is something we have in common Miss Martin," Tavington sneered, and dug his heel into his mount's side. The horse leapt forward, and, with a signal from Tavington, the other Dragoons came quickly on their horses, flanking him.
Tavington set a fast pace, wanting to cover as much ground as possible. He had no idea where Vivienne might be, or how long she had to live. He could only hope they would find the enemy camp in time . . . and at least Tavington had something to barter with when they did find the rebels - not that he intended on giving Susan up. Surely she could be useful again some day.
Susan's eyelids drooped with the exhaustion of stress and several sleepless nights crying for her long-dead mother. The little girl, for that's all she was, despite her stern attitude, sagged back against Tavington's stomach, the rocking of the horse's body lulling her to sleep.