Author's note: Again, I apologize for not updating sooner. The holidays were busy, and Wendy and I both were sick for about three weeks.

This chapter is a bit shorter than I like, but I was afraid if I kept it with the next chapter, that that one would run WAY TOO LONG, and you all have been patient enough to read through a couple of long ones already in this story. I am working diligently on the next chapter. Maybe I can get it posted before the holidays are over. Thanks again for reading the story.

Here you go. A bit of conversation and set up.

Chapter 9 Other Plans

The next morning after negotiations had failed with the rebel Colonel Burwell, a small detachment of dragoons rode out of camp just after breakfast. They were riding to Fort Carolina to meet with the generals regarding their thwarted plans. Captain Bordon and Colonel Tavington rode quietly along at the head of the group, both men in a dour mood. Their soldiers behind them were equally as silent, not wanting to incense their commanders more than they already were.

Hugh and William were both stinging still from their inability to obtain an important rebel officer. Both officers were so sure that Harry Burwell would crack at the sight of his young daughter, and fearing what might happen to her at the hand of the British, would willingly trade himself for her return to safer circumstances. When he didn't and wouldn't even counteroffer something else, namely a captured redcoat officer or usable intelligence, the men were stunned and angry. They had pinned their hopes on the deal, certain it would work. And now, they had no rebel leader and were stuck with a young, innocent girl, who was of no more use to them. And this morning, they found themselves hurrying along to the fort to get to their generals before the rumors did. General O'Hara, their direct commander, always wanted to hear bad news as soon as possible, feeling that was the fastest way to put out a fire.

Tavington had lain awake all night, as had Bordon, both men wondering why the deal broke, and if there was a way to salvage it. Was there a way they could further exploit Burwell's daughter to the benefit of the British cause? If not, she would be nothing but excess baggage that they would have to find some way to jettison quickly.

The captain spoke up, breaking the silence. "Do you think Colonel Tarleton is seeing more action up north than we are here," he asked of his commander, hoping to lift the somber mood that surrounded them as they traveled to the fort.

Both men were missing the company of Banastre Tarleton. His quick wit and quips, not to mention his willingness to gamble, kept them and their men in good spirits. Ban's legion, which had been up north in New Jersey and Virginia marauding and making as much a name of fear for themselves as Tavington's regiment was. Recently, some of his men had been transferred even further north, leaving Tarleton's unit down in numbers. His second in command had been working hard to recruit local loyalists into the group. And while the new recruits were in training, Banastre had taken advantage of the unit's downtime to travel south and join his brother dragoons, watching and observing them, hoping to pick up new or different methods and tactics to use with his group. He'd even done some recruiting of Southern loyalists, irritating Hugh Bordon who was trying diligently to enlist the locals into Tavington's legion. He knew that his diplomatic and professional approach to recruitment couldn't match the charm and silver tongue of Colonel Tarleton, who could woo the younger men to the north as he filled their heads with fanciful and romantic notions of cavalry life.

Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton stayed only two days after Miss Burwell's capture, having to leave as he was due back north. He had not known that Betsy had seen him raping one of the girls from town on the day she was kidnapped. Burwell's daughter had wanted badly to turn the colonel in for his actions, but she dared not do so as she was the lone rebel woman amidst a group of hard fighting British dragoons. She assumed that the brotherhood of cavalrymen would close ranks on her and call her a liar. The girl also feared retribution from Tarleton. And though frightened to be a prisoner of the British, Betsy breathed a bit easier when she saw Ban leave.

Hugh surmised that Tarleton, known for riding hard and fast, had already arrived and rejoined his unit by now. Bordon always smiled to himself when he thought of Banastre capturing rebel General Charles Lee outside a tavern in New Jersey just eight months ago. He shook his head in a bit of jealousy when he thought how Tarleton's aggressive methods, daring guile, and a bit of luck smiling down on him, made the diminutive colonel's reputation. And only months after his release from Tavington's regiment to form a second dragoon unit, Tarleton had nabbed such a significant rebel leader. Hugh snickered as he tried to picture General Lee, still in his dressing gown after having been denied the chance to change back into his uniform by Tarleton, freezing in the cold December air as he was ridden off to prison.

"Probably not," answered Tavington dryly. "I'm sure he's assigned the same daily duties as us."

"Then he must be bored stiff with the rigors of raids and routine patrols," Bordon scoffed.

"Not him," Tavington disagreed as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his gloved hand. "He always manages to keep the mundane tasks of a soldier exciting, whether it's finding some scared little virgin to deflower or making a contest of how much baggage and supplies can be stolen."

"That behavior won't last long once the generals find out," Bordon dismissed. "You know how they are about fighting and acting in a gentlemanly manner—"

"Hmph," sneered the colonel. "They order us to act as gentlemen because it looks good for them, but they don't care what we do as long as we are the victors, and as long as they don't have to hear or know about the untoward methods of obtaining it. There is bound to be mischief!"

Bordon tried not to smile at his commander's disgust over the generals. He knew that this was a sticking point with the Colonel, his frustration at being called in front of the generals a few times for "conduct unbecoming" he and his men. As long as the victories came rolling in, the generals didn't have to know how the dragoons conducted their business and could better ignore the complaints and rumors.

"What the generals don't know…..," Bordon snickered in a sing song manner, looking at William.

"Or what they choose turn a blind eye to," added Colonel Tavington, both officers laughing in hushed tones. They didn't want to risk the detachment of men riding around them to hear them poking fun at the leaders. One never knew where a snitch was in the ranks.

"It isn't as lively around here without Commander Tarleton," Bordon lamented as he took a drink of cool water from his canteen. It was still early in the morning and the Carolina summer heat was already stifling.

"Yes," agreed William. "When he is around we tend to have more money in our pockets after cards!"

"Bloody Hell! He is a poor card player, isn't he?" Bordon chuckled. "I wonder who convinced him of his 'skill' at it?"

"Probably convinced himself," the colonel answered snidely.

Tavington fanned away some bothersome gnats flitting around his face then sighed. "It's too bad that he had to leave so soon after we acquired our little prize of the Burwell girl."

"Yes," the captain agreed. "He would have enjoyed the little exchange between you and her father yesterday. No doubt he would have loved the chance to inflame things further."

"Yes. I swear that ass would do anything and is not afraid of the repercussions," William commented. "I could see him being bold enough to grab her and run his hand up her leg under her skirts just to get Burwell to charge at us!" Both commanders laughed as they pictured Banastre on the field before Colonel Burwell yesterday.

Tavington then gave the command to move off the road, following the narrow path beside a small brook they had just crossed. Just a few yards off the road they came to a small glade that hid them from view.

"Fifteen minutes rest," Bordon called. He and Tavington dismounted just as private Lawson was coming forward. The young man took the bridles of the leader's horses and led them away.

William and Hugh made their way down to the creek, each kneeling down beside it. They splashed their faces and heads with the cool water, glad for the temporary relief from the hot sun. They stood and as each took a drink from their canteens, they looked about. The detachment of men were busy making good use of the respite, some watering their horses, others splashing themselves with water, and a couple relieving themselves in the bushes nearby.

Bordon took the opportunity away from the men to speak with his leader, as he'd been unable to in camp this morning lest the girl captive hear them, or overhear one of their men speaking.

"Sir," he began discreetly, "what do you propose to do with the girl? We can't very well cart her around with us."

A slight grin crossed Tavington's face as he shook the water from his hands. Then he took a breath and turned to his adjutant.

"What do you think we should do with her?"

The captain tried his hardest to suppress a look of surprise as he hadn't expected his commander to turn the tables on him. He assumed that Tavington already had plans for the Burwell girl.

"Send her to one of the prisons," Hugh answered. "That should bring her father about."

"That is a good suggestion, Bordon," Tavington complimented. "However, I have another idea which we can discuss with the generals here shortly."

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Miss Burwell, seated atop Captain Bordon's horse with her wrists bound and a blindfold about her head, had been quiet during the whole ride. She knew better then to ask any questions. Instead she sat silently, straining desperately to hear familiar sounds, nearly making a game of trying to guess where they were.

Betsy had been roused early from bed this morning, ate in a rush, then was forced to sit at the foot of large tree under guard. As she sat there, she watched the dragoons break camp, tearing down their tents and packing their horses. When the area was bare, she was blindfolded and lifted up to horseback.

Just a couple of days before, Captain Bordon and Colonel Tavington had left camp and been gone most of the day, which wasn't unusual for the commanders. But the girl had suspected that something was up the next day when she saw the desks, chairs, tables, and other supplies, though crude and few as they were, being loaded into the two wagons that had sat parked near the edge of the camp the whole time she'd been there. She couldn't help but link the leaders' day long absence from camp with the orders to pack up and leave just the very next day.

And now they were riding under the hot Carolina summer sun, for what seemed like hours. The men about her had been quiet as usual; everything was always so secretive to her as a prisoner. Sometimes Captain Bordon would inform her of little things, but nothing of importance. And this morning, he nor any of the officers made light of where they were going.

As they rode, Betsy contemplated her fate. She thought she had been in the dragoon camp for two to three weeks; she wasn't sure having lost track of time. The girl's mind wandered in thought. Where were they traveling to? What were they going to do with her? When could she return home? Would she ever see her father again?

Amidst Miss Burwell's whirlwind of worry, she had been grateful. She was thankful that the dragoon commanders had allowed their surgeon to plaster her wounded hands and continue to administer care to her. They were healing. And she was relieved that she hadn't suffered the same fate that the blacksmith's daughter had in the village. Betsy had often found herself recalling the awful sight of that poor girl's rape by Colonel Tarleton. Harry Burwell's daughter counted herself still lucky that none of these redcoats had assaulted her, at least leaving her some kind of dignity.

But now, the careening thoughts in her head, fear colliding with thankfulness was causing Betsy a throbbing headache. That dread, combined with her desperation to discern with her ears and other senses beyond her blindfolded eyes as to where they possibly were in the Carolinas exhausted her. The girl could no longer keep her senses about her and drifted into sleep, slumping back against the muscular chest of her captor Bordon.

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Betsy Burwell roused from her light sleep as she felt the gentle swaying of the captain's horse stop. The officer gently pushed her body forward as he dismounted, leaving the girl alone on his steed. As usual, she next felt Bordon's hands strongly gripping her hands and waist, easing her down from the beast. Miss Burwell was always relieved when she felt her feet back on the ground, even though she had to lean on Captain Bordon for a moment as she regained the feeling in her legs.

Thankful that they'd stopped riding, Betsy was anxious to sit down under a tree and relax in the shade after so many hours of traveling in the hot summer sun. She assumed they had probably stopped near a creek to water the horses. Miss Burwell knew that the commanders wouldn't deny her request to go to the water's edge, escorted of course, to wash up a bit. She longed to splash her hot skin with the cold liquid and have a drink of it.

As a prisoner, she'd learned to stay quiet and wait patiently for her blindfold and bonds to be removed. This stop was no different. Miss Burwell breathed a sigh of relief as her wrists were released from the rope that bound them. And then she squinted for a few seconds when the blindfold was taken off as her eyes adjusted to the bright light.

And now, when she could see again in the sunlight, Betsy's mouth dropped open. She turned her body away from Captain Bordon, who still held her elbow tightly. And although she was still restrained, tears of relief came to her eyes when she saw her house.

"Home," she mouthed under her breath, feeling relief and safety wash over her. And as she still stood in the midst of the dragoons, she looked across the lawn to see Mr. Waldron and Mrs. Leyanova standing at the side of the house, staring back at her with confusion on their faces.

Bordon still held Miss Burwell's right bicep tightly in his large hand, and although she wanted to bolt away from the man, she summoned all her patience to wait until he would let her go. She could barely wait to put as much distance as possible between herself and her redcoat captors. And though still restrained, her eyes stayed locked on Mrs. Leyanova and Mr. Waldron, waiting for her just yards ahead. She couldn't wait to embrace them and feel the protection and safety in their presence that she had felt once before.

"Home," she whispered again as she blinked back tears, still gazing longingly at her house, and the two faithful servants standing near it. "I'm free."

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Historical note:

On the night of December 12, 1776, Colonial General Charles Lee and a dozen of his guard inexplicably stopped for the night at White's Tavern in Basking Ridge, New Jersey, some three miles from his main army. On 13 December, Lee spent the morning arguing with officers of the Connecticut Light Horse, and conversing with his staff on possible movements.

As he did, a British patrol of two dozen mounted soldiers stalked silently into the area. A twenty-two year old subaltern, Cornet Banastre Tarleton, was given command of a party of six advance guards.

At 10am as Lee ate breakfast and wrote letters, Tarleton approached the house and ordered his men to surround it and kill anyone who resisted. Inside the house, Lee and his guard fired from the windows defending themselves. The exchange of gunfire lasted about 8 minutes, according to Tarleton's memoirs. Banastre offered terms for Lee to "surrender himself, he and his attendants should be safe, but if my summons was not complied with immediately, the house should be burnt and every person without exception should be put to the sword." Lee now saw that resistance surely meant death and had to concede. And as the tavern owner, the widow White begged for her building to be spared, Lee gave himself up to capture. Still dressed in his sleeping gown, he requested that he be able to dress himself, which Tarleton denied.

Lee returned to service after he was exchanged for British General Richard Prescott.