Vivienne could feel her throat constricting in fear. No one here would help her - not now. She would die along with the child she carried. Vivienne swallowed some of her terror, her fingers slipping around her vulnerable stomach once more. If she must die, she would go down fighting.
The militiamen were unable to look at her, their eyes holding pools of sadness. Martin stood over Vivienne, his lips pursed in an attempt to hold in the anger blasting through his veins. Benjamin Martin had changed from a patriotic hero to a madman hell-bent on revenge.
He took a moment to remind himself how Gabriel and Thomas must be smiling down on him from heaven - urging him to avenge their deaths. This picture enveloped Benjamin's mind and he could no longer see Vivienne cowering before him. All he could see was a snarling red demon, skin slick with mucous and blood. The demon must be killed . . .
Benjamin dove to snatch up the demon by its greasy hair and held it out in front of him. He nearly retched in disgust at the squeal that escaped it's drooling mouth as it raked at his face, scratching him with needle-like claws. He shook the demon hard to make it stop clawing him. When the revolting thing let its claws fall to its scaly sides, Benjamin drew back his fist and drove it into the beast's soft stomach.
The demon fell to the floor, squawking a sound so terrible Benjamin knew he had to stop it at once. He leaped forward, landing on top of the creature. He kicked it, punched it, clawed at it with a power that seemed to come from nowhere. Finally he gripped the demon's head, drew it up, and smashed it back down onto the floor.
At last the demon lay silently, changing as it lay there. The red haze slowly drained from Benjamin's vision. Now the form of a young woman beat and bloody, lay before him, still as midnight.
Benjamin stared at the woman, as did his horrified militiamen. They might have stood paralyzed all day if it hadn't been for the small squeal of a child coming from the entrance of the tent. All eyes were drawn to the horrified face of Susan Martin. It took Benjamin a moment to recognize his daughter, and in the glance father and daughter shared in that moment, Susan saw a strange man, a man she did not know.
Susan could never love her father after witnessing what he was capable of. She ran from the tent, leaving Benjamin to stare after her in confusion.
"Susan?" He was hesitant at first, but then traces of his old self filtered through his disturbed mind and his eyes filled with realization. "Susan! Come back!" Before Benjamin could race after his daughter, the air was filled with the sounds of snorting horses and clanks of metal outside the tent.
"It's Tavington," Jack hissed. The men scrambled for weapons as the tent flaps flew open to reveal a mass of red-coated bodies.
Standing at the front of the group with mussed hair and wild eyes stood Colonel William Tavington.
The militiamen had every reason to hate Tavington, but when they saw his expression as he gazed upon Vivienne, pity for the Colonel swelled in their hearts.
His eyes were glassy as he stepped toward the woman who carried his child, the only person who had ever shown affection for him. It hit him then, of all times, that he did love this woman who lay limp as a child's doll in the dirt.
I loved her . . . and now she's been taken from me.
Tavington's long hair covered his face as his head drooped. Everyone remained stationery - they watched him as if hypnotized. When the Colonel looked up, his jaw trembled with rage and his eyes carried the fire of hell within them. The fire was aimed at Benjamin Martin, who stared back with an expressionless face.
"You took my daughter. You have taken three of my children now," Benjamin uttered in a low voice.
"You still have children left. You destroyed my only family." Tavington replied, an unpleasant smile quivering at his lips. "No more waiting - I shall kill you now." Tavington struggled not to tear this man apart.
"This woman was no better than a prostitute. She carried your demon child within her." Tavington let out an animal snarl of fury and lunged for Martin, who was ready with his tomahawk.
Tavington kicked the tomahawk away as it swung toward his stomach. Then that was it. The men were at too close a range for Tavington to draw either his sword or his pistol, so it was hand-to-hand combat in the most literal of terms. They had only been slugging away at each other for a moment when the militiamen dragged them apart.
Jack and a muscular fellow held Benjamin Martin tightly, even as he fought them. Richard stepped out from the rest, looking at Tavington with sadness in his eyes.
"Take your wife's body and leave here. There has been enough death today," Richard said.
"May I remind you, sir, that we are in midst of a bloody war! There is never too much death," Tavington spat.
"There is when we all can plainly see the unfeeling Colonel Tavington show the most anguish any of us have seen during this war." Richard sighed lightly, looking far older than his thirty-two years in that moment.
Tavington didn't move, nor did the militiamen or the Dragoons. The only sound that could be heard was Benjamin Martin's grunts as he struggled to escape his captors.
Tavington stared at Richard with eyes now void of emotion.
"I accept your proposition. Take your men and leave this place before I change my mind." Tavington's voice was calm, but the wrath on his face assured them he was not.
Richard obeyed, the militiamen leaving the tent at once to pack their things. When they were out of the tent, Tavington turned to face Captain Wilkins.
"Major Bordon is watching the girl. Take the Dragoons outside to guard the horses. Wait for me there."
Wilkins nodded, feeling more sympathy for Tavington than he ever thought he would as the Colonel turned to look at Vivienne.