William washed quickly and returned to his tent momentarily to see Molly when she woke.
"Please, don't go," she said mournfully, looking him up and down in his uniform. "Not now…"
Tavington looked away and rummaged in his trunk, pulling out Katherine's ring.
"Take this; pawn it if you need to."
"I could never. That was your mother's."
"Then wear it," the colonel insisted, pressing it into her palm.
Molly took the gold ring, sliding it on her left ring finger.
"It fits." she spoke, looking up at him with a small smile.
The corners of Tavington's mouth turned slightly upward as he caressed the side of her face. He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Molly's belly. The camp follower sighed contentedly and held him to her.
"William…"
Col. Tavington sat up, giving her a deep but gentle kiss; hoof-beats sounded outside of the tent and he pulled away.
"I have to go…"
Tavington and his men rode in formation to where they were to be posted at Cowpens. As they waited, he surveyed the battlefield. Though the Dragoons hid in the shelter of the trees, the battlefield was open with rolling hills, and there a ruin and an old rotten fence running through the middle of it. It was an apt place for battle.
Slowly, lines of men collected, both British and Colonial. Tavington and his men waited amongst the trees with eager apprehension, waiting for a signal from Lord General Cornwallis. Asmodeus chortled, chewing his bit, pushing to go forward, but his master held him back.
William scanned the battlefield with a spyglass, surprised to see militia gathering at the center of the Colonial lines, and quickly spotted his quarry, Benjamin Martin as he tried to right his scattering ranks. His gaze grew excited and bloodthirsty and he all but forgot Cornwallis' order to wait for his command before launching a charge.
"Prepare charge!" he ordered his captain, James Wilkins.
"Sir, we haven't been given that order-"
"CHARGE!" Tavington yelled, pointing his saber ahead of him.
"Charge!" Cried Wilkins reluctantly.
Tavington led his men off at a gallop through the lines of men, his eyes on Benjamin Martin.
Martin yelled for a retreat down a hill and Tavington followed, galloping Asmodeus right toward another hidden barrage of Colonial soldiers, poised to shoot.
Stunned, Tavington wheeled Asmodeus around in tight circles, raising his saber in the air.
"Hold charge! Hold charge!"
Tavington's men continued to ride toward the armed line of Colonials. William himself was busy fending off soldiers on both sides of him, losing his helmet as he slashed left and right, digging brutally into his foes, while Asmodeus cried out in fury. Up ahead, he spotted Benjamin Martin waving the flag of the colonies, rallying faltering rebel troops. Rage flared in his eyes and he urged Asmodeus on.
Cantering amongst the bloody foray, the colonel spotted his target and turned Asmodeus toward Martin and charged, saber up, ready to strike. However, he miscalculated Martin's actions and just as he was about to bear down on him, the militia colonel thrust the end of an American flag deep into Asmodeus' chest. The stallion gave a loud, pitiful cry, pitching forward on his front legs, crashing face-first into the ground while Tavington was vaulted out of the saddle.
William grunted, rolling on the ground, but managed to stand, saber still in hand, looking around, disoriented and vulnerable. Before he could right himself, Martin had pointed a pistol at him and fired.
Tavington gave a strained cry as the bullet found its way to his left arm, spraying blood. Glancing momentarily at the wound, he gave Martin a murderous stare and thrust himself into a deadly duel, driving his saber at the militiaman.
Martin brandished his tomahawk as the colonel started on the offensive, aiming a series of slashes that Martin managed to block, sending Tavington to the defense, blocking several bows before he pulled back and punched the man in the face and raked him with his saber.
Realizing that one weapon wasn't enough, William quickly picked up a bayonet lying on the ground and flourished it threateningly at Martin. The two dueled fiercely again and Martin headbutted the colonel, dazing him, and sliced his shoulder with a knife. Tavington recovered, slashing Martin in the back and the calves, sending the man to the ground. Before he could act any more, Col. Tavington thrust directly at Martin's tomahawk, knocking it out of his hands, but Martin thought quickly, picking up a musket to defend himself. It was no match, however, for the Dragoon colonel, who managed another slice across Martin's back; he wailed in pain.
William, sensing a coming victory, retreated a few steps, circling his prey, his wolfish eyes glinting in the sunlight, hair disheveled.
"Kill me before the war is over will you?" the colonel mocked, swallowing back blood in his mouth as he readied to strike the wounded Martin. "It appears that you are not the better man…"
Tavington came for Martin with his saber up, the eagerness mounting. Yet just as he bore down on the man, preparing to decapitate him, Martin ducked, thrusting the bayonet of the musket into the colonel's stomach.
William choked, grabbing his stomach, a look of surprise upon his face as Martin turned to face him, holding his shoulder up.
"You're right," he said, pulling the bayonet out of Tavington's stomach and pointing it at his throat; "my sons were better men…"
With a growl, Martin thrust the bayonet through Tavington's throat. Tavington's eyes widened and turned white. He was finished. The militia colonel pulled the bayonet from his throat and dropped it to the ground, leaning the musket against him and leaving William to die at the end of its barrel.