As plumes of smoke from the Pembroke church spread higher into the sky behind them, Tavington and his dragoons thundered out of town, back down the road toward the plantation. They'd make better time in returning as there was no longer any need for stealth.
Tavington felt spent as their horses ate up the road toward home. The surging energy that had coursed through him this morning was gone, now that he'd accomplished what he set out to do. He looked forward to holding Charlotte in his arms once again and getting her safely back to the fort.
James Bordon looked over at the Colonel as they rode, noting his pensive expression. He recalled the conflicted thoughts that had gone through his own mind when they'd ridden back to the fort after he and Wilkins had executed the partisans who had assaulted Mary.
"Is everything all right, Colonel," Bordon asked, concerned.
"Yes, Bordon, I'm fine," Tavington replied wearily. "I'll just be glad to put this behind me and get on the with task of winning the war."
"Oh, I don't think you'll ever completely forget about it," Bordon said quietly. "At least I haven't forgotten what I had to do for Mary. I did what was necessary for her honour, but the memory of it will always be there to haunt me."
"Perhaps," Tavington said, his tone somewhat testy. "But I don't intend to allow my memories to ever control my actions. This is war and, sometimes, brutality must be employed." After a pause, he said sharply, "Charlotte is my main concern. I would do anything in my power to keep her safe and unharmed, even give up my own life if it were to her benefit."
Bordon sighed gustily. He could not argue with that, as his own motivations had been the same. Still, he could not help but feel a little sick at how far Tavington went to gain his revenge. He could understand killing Rollins and perhaps ravishing his sister, but to wipe out an entire town?
"I feel the same way about Mary," Bordon admitted. "She is my life."
The two officers fell silent then, each returning to their own private thoughts. Bordon did not bother to voice his misgivings to Tavington about the utter destruction of Pembroke's population, as he knew it would be a waste of breath.
Further back in the column, Corporal John Sanders was riding side by side with Marcus Tapp.
Looking over at the hard-nosed sergeant, Sanders said hesitantly, "Don't you think we should have pulled those bayonets out of the barrel before rolling it up into the church to get burned."
"Nah," Tapp said lazily. "Most of them were old and rusty with dull blades, anyway." After a beat, he added, "They were set to be thrown out with the trash - and they were." At the thought of Rollins, Tapp leaned over and hawked a wad of phlegm onto the road.
"Seems like a waste of good metal, is all," Sanders insisted. "Someone could have sharpened the blades, then we'd have had plenty of extras in case we needed them."
Tapp gave out a short bark of laughter. "Why are you so worried about it?" he demanded. "It's not as if you had to pay for the damned things yourself."
"I know," Sanders said. "But I can't stand to waste anything. I didn't have much growing up, so I try to get as much use out of things as I can now."
"I understand," Tapp said heavily. "I grew up the same way. Half the time I went to bed hungry when I was a boy."
Quickly changing the subject, he added, "Don't think another thing about it. We did our duty and did it well, so that's the end of it. As for me, I'm looking forward to bedding that rebel's wench once we get back to the plantation." Looking sideways at the other man, he said, "And I'm in such a good mood that if you ask me nicely, I might even let you have a go at her, too."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
Charlotte Tavington had spent much of the day making baby clothes with Ruth and Magnolia in the front sitting room. Dr Sibley alternately dozed and read in a chair by the fire as the women worked. Lt. Ogilvie did not venture far from her for much of the day, with the two cornets keeping a close watch from their post on the porch.
Though the work was calming and the two women kept her fairly well distracted with idle chatter about babies, Charlotte could not really relax. Her mind kept returning to William and she got up from her seat several times during the day to look out the window and to listen for the rumble of hoof beats.
"Miss Charlotte," Magnolia said, frowning, after Charlotte had gone to the window for about the 20th time that day. "You're going to wear a hole in the rug if you keep goin' back and forth like that." In a gentler tone, she continued, "I know you're worried about the Colonel, but he knows what he's about. He'll be fine and he'll be home safe and sound before you know it. You shouldn't fret so."
"I know you're right, but I can't help but worry," Charlotte said, tugging at the old powdered wig she'd taken out of mothballs to wear until her own hair grew back in. "It's just my nature to fret."
After a bit more tugging, she tore off the old wig in frustration. "I can't stand wearing that thing any more," she cried. "Wearing this itchy old wig makes me feel as if I have bugs crawling on my head. I'd rather bear the shame than wear this another moment!"
Ruth and Magnolia exchanged glances, then Ruth suggested, "Why don't we take some of this fine linen and make you a new cap that will cover your head more adequately. You still have a fair bit of hair on top of your head in front that you can let peek out and we can sew a little lamb's wool into the cap to pad it out a bit so the hair loss won't be so noticeable."
"Yes, that should work," Charlotte agreed. "And, at some point, I think I'll pay to have a better wig made in my own hair colour. No more powdered wigs for me - they always did make me sneeze."
"Your hair will grow back before you know it," Ruth said consolingly.
"I'm sure you're right," Charlotte said with a brave smile, putting a gentle hand on Ruth's arm.
Charlotte settled down somewhat after this, but still couldn't help but check the window every now and then, nonetheless.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
Benjamin Martin grew increasingly apprehensive as the day wore on and Gabriel still did not return to camp. There was no sign of Rollins, either. He tried to concentrate on the task of melting down more metal to use in the bullet mould, but his mind was not on the task.
As he ruined the third bullet that day, Reverend Oliver came over and took a seat next to him. "Are you all right, Ben?"
"It's Gabriel," he said. "He should have been back here hours ago." After a pause, he added, "Rollins should have been back by now, too."
"Gabriel likely just lost track of the time," Oliver reasoned. "He did say something about Mrs Howard serving him and Anne a special dinner after church to celebrate the reading of the banns."
"I suppose you're right," Ben said heavily. "But I don't have a good feeling about this. You would think that Rollins would at least have shown up by now."
"Billings said that Rollins was drunk when he left him," the reverend reminded him. "It will take awhile for Rollins to recover from that before he returns. I imagine he has quite the hangover."
"That's true," Martin admitted. "I still won't feel much better until Gabriel returns, however. Tavington is out there, no doubt out for blood, and I don't want him to get caught up in the middle of it"
Two hours later, Gabriel still had not returned. By this time, Ben was pacing in agitation, beside himself with worry.
Reverend Oliver had watched him for the better part of an hour, and was beginning to get concerned himself. Walking quietly over to Martin, he suggested. "Ben, why don't you and I take a ride into Pembroke to see what's going on. Likely, he's with Anne and has just lost track of the time, but we should go anyway, so you can set your mind at ease."
"Let's go," Martin said, moving to his already-saddled horse with alacrity. He'd been thinking of doing just that since he and Oliver had last talked.
Within moments, the two partisans were making their way to the winding path that led away from the swamp toward Pembroke. Martin had told the others to stay put until he and Oliver returned.
The two men did not talk much as they rode nearer to the small village, as each was monitoring their surroundings very carefully lest they run into one of Tavington's patrols.
As they reached the outskirts of Pembroke, Ben felt a sense of foreboding, weighing him down as if he'd ingested a cannonball. A faint smell of smoke combined with that of cooked meat hit them as soon as they'd cleared the woods and grew steadily stronger the closer they came to the town.
Combined with the smoke and the smell, there was an eerie silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the birds in the trees and the mournful baying of a single dog.
Spurring his horse, Ben felt a lump rising in his throat, "I don't like this," he said, tugging at his collar nervously. "Something is seriously wrong here."
Not a single person was seen as they rushed into the town at a gallop. Glancing down the length of the street, Benjamin Martin saw the still smouldering ruins of the church on the far end of town. There had been no attempt to put out the fire and though no other buildings had been damaged, he didn't see any sign of current human habitation anywhere in town. Hoof prints were evident everywhere, especially in front of the church, making it obvious to both men that the Green Dragoons had returned to Pembroke.
Looking over at the cemetery, he noted the freshly dug grave of Naomi Rollins, whose death Billings had reported when he'd returned to camp.
Turning to the reverend, Ben croaked, "Where is everyone? Did they all flee into the woods or did Tavington take them all prisoner? He couldn't have taken them all, could he?"
"No," Reverend Oliver said sorrowfully. "He didn't…" The older man pointed dumbly to the church's charred door frame to which a blackened chain and padlock were still attached.
"Oh, my God," Ben cried, quickly dismounting and running up to the still-smouldering structure. "Everyone. Tavington killed everyone. He didn't leave a single survivor."
The partisan leader poked around among the ruins in a stunned daze, not quite able to register the sweeping magnitude of Tavington's revenge.
"Gabriel," Ben moaned. "I never should have let him come into Pembroke. I knew Tavington would be out for blood, but I thought he would be looking just for Rollins."
"You don't know that Gabriel was in there," the reverend pointed out, not quite believing his own words.
"Gabriel and I saved Charlotte from Rollins, did you know that?" Ben said, shaking his head, not even hearing Oliver's words. "We saved her and then brought her safely home!"
Turning, he grabbed Oliver's arm, his eyes showing a manic gleam. "And this is how he shows his gratitude? He kills my son, along with innocent villagers."
Gulping in air in great heaving waves, Martin took a long moment to collect himself. Pulling himself together as best as he could, he continued, "I could have understood him killing Rollins. I would have wanted to do the same if I'd been in his shoes. But to kill innocent women and children, and my son who helped to stop it?"
Oliver didn't say anything, but gave him a sympathetic look, letting him get it all out of his system.
Now babbling almost incoherently, Ben pressed on. "Charlotte had to have told Tavington what Gabriel and I did to save her, wouldn't she have?" Not waiting for a response, he continued, "Surely Tavington could not possibly be that much of a monster."
Straightening up, he turned back to the older man, with his eyes now clear with purpose. "I should have let Rollins rape her. And then Billings."
"No, Ben, no," Oliver said, distressed. "You did the right thing; you know you did."
"Did I?" he challenged bitterly. "Perhaps if I'd let Rollins proceed, Gabriel would still be alive now. Maybe he and I should have followed suit and had her, too. She really does need to be taught a lesson for marrying the Butcher, you know. None of this would have happened if she'd married me like she was supposed to!"
Oliver knew that Ben was talking out of grief, but he knew it was important to distract him, so that he'd not continue down this self destructive path. "Ben, we need to get back to camp as quickly as we can and bring the men back so we can give all these people proper burials," Reverend Oliver said quietly. "We need to do this right away."
"You're right," the younger man said helplessly. "But once we're done, it's time to get back to fighting. I make you a solemn vow now - before this war is over, I intend to kill that bastard Tavington, even if it's the last thing I ever do."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
As the dragoon column finally turned up the now-familiar tree lined lane leading up to the plantation house, Tavington smiled to himself as he saw Charlotte hurry onto the porch to greet him. Lt. Ogilvie followed closely behind her, flanked by the two cornets.
He was relieved to see her up and about and safely guarded by the able young officers, looking much better than when he'd left her that morning. And as she rushed eagerly down the steps to meet him, he thought to himself that what he'd had to do in Pembroke that day was worth it, and he'd do it all over again if he had to.
Galloping ahead of the column, he met Charlotte at the bottom of the stairs, quickly sliding off his horse to take her into his arms. Cornet Jones stepped up briskly to take charge of his horse, as Tavington leaned down to capture Charlotte's lips with his own.
"Oh, Will!" she breathed, as the rest of the dragoons thundered past them on the way back to their encampment. "I'm so glad you're home! I was worried about you all day!"
"Everything's fine, love," he murmured in her ear as they made their way up the steps into the house. "If you're up to it, we'll head back to the fort tomorrow."
"Oh, yes!" she cried, still clutching on to his arm. "The sooner, the better. In fact, Ruth already has our baggage ready to go."
"Your wish is my command," he said, giving her an indulgent smile. "In fact, the sooner I have you back safe at the fort, the happier I'll be."
After telling Ogilvie to inform the men that they'd be heading back to the fort in the morning, Tavington took Charlotte upstairs where they could speak in private. He'd made a decision, one that would be better shared in the privacy of their bedroom.
He took her to a pair of chairs by the bedroom fireplace as soon as he'd shut the door behind them, so she'd know he really wanted to talk, rather than proceed directly to bed sport. That would occur later, if she were amenable, but for now, Tavington needed to share the decision that had occupied most of his thoughts on the ride back from Pembroke.
"Sit down, love," he began. "On the way back home today, it occurred to me that I needed to make a decision about something that affects us both. I came to that decision and I wanted you to know as quickly as possible."
"What is it, William?" Charlotte asked in bewilderment. She waited patiently for him to reply as he settled himself into the chair next to her.
Taking both her hands in his own, he began, "Since we've been married, I've been thinking of where we'll live after the war. As you would imagine, much of that depends on the eventual outcome of the war."
"Of course," Charlotte replied. "Go on."
"In light of recent events, I've come to the realization that no matter the outcome of the war, we cannot live here at the plantation," he told her. "There would be too many unpleasant memories of what happened and I'd imagine we'd never be accepted as part of the community." Looking intently at his wife, he concluded, "I've decided to sell the plantation."
Charlotte remained silent for a long moment, attempting to take it all in. The property had been in her family for decades and it would be hard to give it up. But as she considered her husband's words, she knew he was right.
"Perhaps it would be for the best, William," she said hesitantly. "Though I dearly love my home here, it would never be the same after what has happened. My family is gone now, so perhaps it is time for us to move on as well."
"I'm glad you agree," Tavington said, obviously relieved. He'd be selling the place no matter how she felt about it, but it would be much easier with her being in accord with him. "I also considered the fact that if the war should go against us, we'd not get any money for the place, as it would end up being confiscated. It's better to sell now while we can still turn a fair profit on it."
"That's true," she agreed. "It would be a sad thing to wait too long and see it taken away from us." Thinking for a moment, she added, "We might be able to find a buyer in Charlestown, I think."
"That's what I thought," he replied. "I'm sure you know plenty of people there with sufficient funds to buy it."
"That I do," she smiled. "And I've had plenty of offers over the years as well."
"I'm glad that's settled, then," he said, smiling. "When we get back to the fort, we'll get started on finding a buyer." Taking her hand and leading her to the bed, he said, "Now then, shall we have a bit more of a…personal…reunion, hmm?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
As Marcus Tapp rode back to the enlisted men's tent encampment, he found the rebel wench he'd picked up sitting in front of his tent darning a pair of his stockings. Tapp sighed impatiently as he slowly dismounted his black gelding and then tied the animal to a nearby tree.
He already regretted bringing the young woman along with him, wishing he'd just rogered her and left her where he'd found her. As he turned to walk the short distance to his tent, he decided that he'd turn her loose to fend for herself once they got to the fort. After all, he'd done what he'd promised - to take her away from that dreary backwoods cabin - and he figured he didn't owe her any more than that.
But for now, she was here and she was willing, and he had an itch that needed scratching. Smiling down at the hopeful woman, he murmured, "Waitin' for me, huh? Why don't you come into the tent, Rebecca, and take care of me."
"Rachel," she said in a low voice. "My name is Rachel."
"Whatever," Tapp said, shrugging dismissively, sitting down on his cot to remove his boots.
As he quickly stripped off his uniform, he instructed her, "Take off your clothes so I can watch."
After she complied, he pulled her down onto the cot, rolling her underneath him. Very soon, the only sounds that could be heard inside the tent were the sighs and groans of their mutual pleasure.
About a half hour later, a sharp knock sounded on Tapp's tent pole. "Sergeant Tapp! Colonel Tavington wants to see you right away at the main house," a voice called from outside the tent.
Easing up from the cot, Tapp quickly dressed, leaving Rachel to sleep. Within minutes, he was loping up to the main house. As he entered the foyer of the plantation house, Lt. Ogilvie gestured to a door on the right and said, "Go into the library. The Colonel is waiting for you."
"You wished to see me, sir?" Marcus Tapp asked as he entered the room and found Tavington sitting behind a desk, clad in a banyan over his shirt and breeches.
"Yes, Sergeant," Tavington said briskly. "I could have waited until we returned to the fort to tell you this, but I'm thinking you'd want to know now."
"Sir?" Tapp asked.
Tavington stood and came out from behind the desk. "Sergeant Marcus Tapp, I hereby inform you that you've been promoted to the rank of Sergeant Major." Extending his hand to the taller man to shake, Tavington added, "Congratulations, Tapp. I'd made this decision a few days ago, but with what has been going on in the last two days, I hadn't the chance to tell you yet."
"Thank you, sir," Tapp replied, as he shook the colonel's hand.
"I'll make it all official once we return to the fort,' Tavington said. "We'll leave at first light tomorrow."