Hi readers! Thanks again for being patient. I want to be more timely with updating this story but family and job and other real life stuff keeps me from writing as often as I want. Again, please accept my apology on that. Take care and enjoy!
Chapter 21: Ruse and Persuasion
Mrs. Leyanova stepped away from the well, carrying a pitcher of fresh water and clean basin for the formal dining room. The matronly Russian house servant was tired as were all the household staff. They had been nursing the ailing Miss Burwell, who was in bed severely ill with a recurrence of Malaria. The former resident of the land of the Czars who had served so many years as head housekeeper for the Burwells had assigned each of the housemaids different times to sit with the young mistress. That had left a hole in the staff whose duties had to be absorbed by the other workers.
As the weary woman shuffled slowly along the walkway, she lifted her head to look out across the green as she made mental notes in her mind of what chores remained to be done. A smile spread across her face when she saw the familiar sight of Atterson's Mercantile wagon coming up the driveway. The housekeeper couldn't remember what they had ordered, or even that a delivery had been scheduled. Nevertheless, Mrs. Leyanova was relieved to see it knowing that any delivery at this time of war, no matter what goods the vehicle bore, was a very good thing.
She quickened her step on the sidewalk between the outbuildings, hoping to complete the chore then run to meet the delivery. Leyanova slowed her pace a bit when she saw Mr. Waldron and Mr. Hantz racing up to greet the wagon as it rolled to a stop. She could depend on them to supervise while she finished this task.
As she continued on toward the dining hall, she looked at the teamsters oddly, as three of them dismounted the vehicle. The servant thought that strange, for usually only one driver came to make the delivery, occasionally two. The woman wondered what was so large that it took three men to help with unloading the goods.
Then one of the men turned to look at her. His sandy colored hair was down and long, under his hat which was pulled down low, but she recognized him right away. Mrs. Leyanova stopped dead in her tracks when that certain teamster winked at her. That deliveryman gave her a slight, gentle smile when he realized he'd been recognized. And she knew that face and warm grin, which was as familiar to her as the skin on the back of her own hand.
CRASH!
All eyes turned to the noise. Hantz and Waldron along with the deliverymen looked up from where they stood at the delivery wagon. The crash also got the attention of two dragoon privates who stood nearby in the shade of a tree.
Mrs. Leyanova, in shock, had dropped the water pitcher, which broke upon the sidewalk into large, thick pieces. The water spread onto the path and surrounding grass, but most of the cold liquid ended up on the housekeeper's skirt.
She stood, glued to her spot at the sight of the plantation master himself, Harry Burwell. The woman was stunned to see him there with and hardly recognized him in the dressed in the shabby clothes of a laborer.
Karl Hantz and Jake Waldron looked over to the side and noticed the two British privates watching Mrs. Leyanova curiously. Nervous now, they knew they had to keep control of the situation.
"I'll see to her," Mr. Hantz murmured, excusing himself. He trotted casually across the grass to where the housekeeper stood catatonically on the walkway.
Jake Waldron continued around to the back of the wagon where young Joe Thompson, deliveryman for the mercantile, was already putting the tailgate down. The farmhand looked nonchalantly to the side at the two British soldiers that had been under a nearby tree. The crash of the porcelain had only drawn their attention momentarily, and they had already resumed their conversation.
Waldron spoke in a hushed tone to his fellow rebels behind the wagon. "Any trouble?" he whispered to Colonel Burwell.
"No," answered Harry as he helped to unload a burlap sack. "Got right through."
Thompson kept unloading while the trio of men spoke. "How the Hell?" asked Jake.
"Thanks to this man," Burwell replied. "This is Colonel Ben Martin of the South Carolina Militia. Knows every road, path, plantation….and just about everyone."
Harry went on to explain the undercover trip home. He had left his regulars under his officers to make a quick journey with a militia detachment to the village. They purchased sundries themselves for the farm and had them delivered, giving them an excuse to sneak onto the plantation as teamsters with the wagon.
Burwell needed to assess the situation at home himself, no one knowing his land better than he. He could then see the best way to mount some kind of rescue of his daughter or possibly try to capture the farm back if he could get the manpower. Colonel Burwell hoped that out of uniform and hair down, that he could sneak past the large portrait of himself , in uniform, that hung in the parlor, without being recognized by the lobsters.
As the quartet of men spoke quietly and unloaded he delivery vehicle, Mr. Hantz comforted a confused Mrs. Leyanova.
"You must be more careful, woman," the farmhand scolded loudly as he squatted down near the woman to help her clean up. As he handed her the broken pieces which she collected into her apron, he whispered to her.
"Not a word to the others," he instructed, his eyes moving discreetly the direction of the wagon.
She looked nonchalantly up, then back down at the sidewalk. The woman, still in shock, nodded mutely. The housekeeper was happy to see her employer, but knew she would have to be wary and ready to move in case the colonel caused some action today.
As the two servants rose, he continued advising her in hushed tones. "You are to go about your chores as usual," he instructed. "If the master is caught, you know what the lobsters will do to him."
"Yes," she squeaked, barely able to get the word out.
"Tell no one that you've seen him."
She curtsied then dashed off toward the out kitchen. With that, Hantz strolled into the house, up the stairs and to Miss Burwell's room, where he found young Polly tending her. He shooed the girl out, telling her he would watch Betsy for a few minutes while he attended to a quick repair of the floor in her room—a lie which worked for him as the moment. The man then ran back downstairs and picked up a large crate, nodding for Harry to help him carry it into the house.
As they moved the box indoors, the men spoke quietly. "Most of the dragoons are gone temporarily. They left for a few days leaving just enough men behind to guard the place. We've got the house to ourselves at least for a few moments."
"Good," Harry said. "Ben is going to walk around outside a bit with Jake, and try to come up with some kind of plan."
They soon found themselves outside of his daughter's room. Harry had been informed that she was in the throes of a malarial fever. The man was anxious to see her.
Once in the room, he approached her bed quietly and leaned down, kissing her cheek. He could feel that she was burning up with fever. Then he knelt down next to the bed and took Betsy's hand.
"Missy," he whispered. "It's papa."
The girl rolled her head back and forth on the pillow and began to moan. "She's been in and out of her delirium," Karl advised.
"Betsy, my dear," murmured Harry, "You must be strong. Hold tight and fight to stay alive."
"Papa. Papa," she mumbled her voice barely audible.
"Yes, I'm here, sweetheart," Colonel Burwell answered. "I am trying to find a way to get you away from the British."
"Papa, please," she breathed weakly, barely opening her eyes to look at him.
His other hand reached to stroke her damp hair, hoping to soothe the girl. "I think of you and worry about you in this situation every day," Harry spoke, not sure if any of his words were getting through to the girl in her haze of fever. A twinge of pain gripped his heart as he wished he could spirit her away with them now. He could see that his daughter was too sick to be moved.
Just then, Mr. Hantz, who had been at the window, came away from it. He'd been watching for a sign from Waldron. He received it as Jake and Ben Martin approached the delivery vehicle. The militia colonel and farmhand hadn't wasted any time getting quickly around the outbuildings and back lawn.
"You have to go now, Colonel," Mr. Hantz declared.
Harry Burwell nodded as he rose. He leaned over again, and spoke as he put his lips to her forehead. "I have to leave now. Take care, Betsy. I love you." He kissed her hot skin then the top of her head.
"Father, Father," the girl whimpered weakly as the men left her room.
After the door shut, she sniffled a bit as a tear ran down her face. "Please take me with you," she beseeched in a tearful whisper. And then she fainted.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
Benjamin Martin and Harry Burwell had managed to slip onto and out of the farm without even the lift of a dragoon eyebrow. The visit remained a secret; so discreet that none of the redcoat sentries left behind at the plantation detected anything. The legion officers, out on a mission through the Carolina countryside, remained none the wiser of the brief, covert visit by colonial traitors. It would remain a secret thanks to the camaraderie of the tight lipped rebel intelligence network.
Tavington and the green dragoons remained away from their billet at the Burwell residence for a few more days after the nearly invisible visit from two certain rebel officers. The legion continued to storm through the Carolina countryside, striking terror into hearts the locals. The dragoons paid visits to villages and farms, scaring the residents and warning them about taking up arms against their king.
Tonight their trek brought them to a plantation they had visited not so long ago. They thundered up the tree lined lane toward the large house, torches lighting their way, determined to obtain intelligence and root out rebels.
The house was that of Mrs. Charlotte Putnam Selton. The widow had missed the dragoons weeks ago during their first visit, having been away at the time. However she was in residence this evening.
Mrs. Selton and her servants had been readying to retire to bed for the night when the sound of dozens of hooves on the driveway roused them. They gathered at the large door that led out to the second floor balcony, remaining inside the house lest they be seen. The small group peered through the glass, staring apprehensively at the sight before them.
"Those are the same men that were here last time," informed Matthew the butler.
"Dragoons?" asked Charlotte, holding back the curtain as she gazed out into the darkness, a frown on her pretty face.
"Yes, M'am," he confirmed.
"They do like their night raids, don't they," she commented sarcastically to herself under her breath. Matthew turned quickly and headed down the stairs, knowing the men would demand to come into the house.
Charlotte remained behind upstairs, watching as the torch lights drew nearer the house. The noise of the cavalry brought Mrs. Selton's maid, Martha Durant, to the window. The blonde plantation mistress looked over at the servant and observed the girl staring transfixed out the window, a look of disbelief on her face. The maid was visibly trembling.
"Martha, have you had your menses since their last visit?"
"Yes," she squeaked, now wringing the material of her robe nervously in her fingers.
"Thank God," Charlotte murmured.
Both ladies watched pensively as the men reined their horses to a stop in front of the house. They were close enough now that their figures and faces were now softly illuminated by the torches they carried.
"The officer that assaulted you," Charlotte inquired in a hushed voice, "do you see him with them tonight?"
"Yes," Martha gulped, tearing up. She would never forget that man. The shaken servant pointed to Captain Bordon, no mistaking his stocky, foreboding figure even in the low light.
"Hide yourself up here," Mrs. Selton advised. "Keep quiet." The maid nodded, and padded quietly out of the room to find a hiding place. Mrs. Selton swallowed hard and headed downstairs as she heard Matthew opening the door.
The cavalry officers entered, removing their helmets and gloves as they did. "I'm Colonel Tavington, His Majesty's Green Dragoons," he introduced himself, the sheer tone of his voice making the servants in the parlor painfully aware of his supreme authority. "Is Mrs. Selton at home?"
"I'm Charlotte Selton," a voice called from the stairwell. William looked up to see a slender, stunning, blonde beauty of a woman ascending the stairs, in a fancy, frilly housecoat. He was surprised to see such a young widow, even though the colonies were full of them. But she was striking.
Both sets of blue eyes locked on one another for a moment. Charlotte's breath caught in her throat. She had not been able to see the men's faces clearly in the torchlight of the yard. The lady had prepared herself to see some scar faced wretch; a grizzled hulk of a monster. Instead her eyes beheld an officer in the prime of life; tall, regal, and uncannily handsome. The woman felt a twitch of heat between her legs and a knot in her stomach.
Her late husband, John Selton, had died 4 years ago. She had her mind and heart set on her brother-in-law, Benjamin Martin, husband of her late sister. That man, though he had declared his feelings for her, insisted that they remain chaste. And at present, he seemed to have no mind for her at all, being absolutely absorbed with war. Charlotte hadn't had a man in her bed in so many months, and she found herself lost in lewd thoughts about this enemy officer that stood before her now.
The widow's eyes moved to Captain Bordon. She was able to see him clearly now, and could see that the ginger haired officer was as dashing as his commander. Then she remembered that the captain had raped her maid. That thought snapped her back to reality for all these redcoat soldiers now in her house, reminding her that they were indeed enemies with a reputation for terror.
Charlotte and her staff watched the men cautiously, saying nothing. They kept a stealthy eye on the Colonel as he stepped backwards and leaned his slim figure out the door. "Search the outbuildings and fields quickly!" he yelled to the men outside.
The widow Selton shivered slightly when she heard this. She also found herself chafing under the hard, accusing stare of second in command Bordon.
When Tavington stepped back in, he spoke to two dragoon privates that were standing in the room keeping watch over the servants gathered there. "Search the house." The two burly dragoons moved out of the room quickly, one heading up the stairs, the other disappearing down the hall.
Charlotte, already nervous, didn't want her home invaded and searched, but knew there was nothing she could do about it.
"I've nothing to hide," she protested feebly. "I have only enough supplies and foodstuffs to run this farm and feed the few here."
"We'll see," the colonel answered, clipped and stern.
"It is well known that you have entertained rebels here," Bordon spoke up, not letting the woman escape short.
"And just as many loyalists," she countered.
"So you have," the captain replied, a suspicious lift of his eyebrows. The look made Charlotte want to squirm.
"I don't have gatherings here anymore with the war on," she said, her left hand moving nervously up her right forearm as she looked away.
"What do you know of Benjamin Martin," Tavington asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," she replied nonchalantly.
Tavington exchanged a tired look with Captain Bordon. The two officers heard lies and denials from everyone they interrogated, and though they were used to it, they could never seem to combat the frustration they felt from it.
"He is your late sister's husband," Hugh said directly in a tone that implied that it would be to her benefit not to enter into this game with them.
"True," answered the widow.
"He has stayed here, has he not?" asked William.
"Yes. He's family." She nervously shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
"He is also the leader of the militia," the cavalry commander asserted.
"I know nothing of that," she countered.
"You don't, hmmm?" Tavington continued to interrogate.
"No. I haven't seen or heard from him in months," the pretty widow shot back.
The colonel took a threatening step toward the woman. "You're lying," he accused.
Charlotte looked up at the cavalryman, who towered over her. She took a breath and summoned some courage. "I'm not, sir," Mrs. Selton bravely defended. "You don't frighten me like you did my maid."
"Ah, yes," Tavington said, with a sinister smiling curling across his lips, "You reported my adjutant's actions to the generals."
"He forced himself on her!" she asserted, her voice cresting in anger.
"The captain was merely containing an uncooperative person," the colonel corrected, whitewashing the severity of his aide-de-camp's actions. "The men have orders to impose sanctions on rebellious colonists as they see fit."
"She was innocent!"
"Not so much as you think," he shot back. "Perhaps she will learn to cooperate in the future."
Just then, the group assembled in the parlor heard the heavy booted steps of a dragoon coming down the stairs. "Sir," the private's voice called from the stairwell, "I found this one hiding upstairs."
The man had the maid, Martha Durant, firmly in his grasp. The girl looked up and immediately locked eyes with Captain Bordon.
Fearing not only another attack, but the man himself, she began to struggle. "No! Oh No!" she cried, trying to pull away from the soldier holding her.
Bordon kept a poker face as he stared at the girl. Tavington immediately knew something had scared the girl and voiced aloud his guess.
"Is that her, captain?"
"Yes," confirmed Bordon.
A sly, faked look of surprise moved over Tavington's face. "It doesn't seem to me that she learned any lessons from your last visit, Bordon. Perhaps you should deal with her again."
The second in command took the cue, knowing exactly what his superior wanted. With that, he stepped forward, reached out and took Miss Durant's arm in a hard hold. He jerked her roughly as he herded the girl toward the dining room, where the assault had happened. That was no accident on Hugh's part. Leading the servant back to where the painful event had occurred would serve to heighten the fear and intimidation factors.
"Oh, God, no! Please! No!" Martha screamed, struggling to get away from him.
Tavington followed behind the couple, with Mrs. Selton hard on his heels, protesting in a panic at the treatment of her maid.
"No! You can't!"
The colonel then drew the pocket doors closed, isolating Bordon and his captive. He turned quickly to find the blonde widow right behind him.
"Please don't hurt her again," she begged, taking a step back away from the dragoon leader.
He looked down at her and spoke. "Well, if she cooperates, then she won't be harmed."
Inside the dining room, Bordon released the Durant girl and cast a hard look at her. She backed away from the man, cowering against the wall, just as she had before. The two could hear the muffled voices of the officer and the matron as they continued their verbal sparring.
The captain arched an eyebrow as he gazed at the frightened maid. "So, must I persuade you again to help?"
She nodded. "Good girl," Hugh answered, obviously pleased.
"What do you want?" Miss Durant asked fearfully.
"More information," the officer replied. "The names of the rebels who frequented this farm."
Scared still, and without hesitation, she answered, careful to keep her voice low enough so as not to be heard through the door. "Gabriel Martin," she uttered. "He is Benjamin Martin's son, and the mistress' nephew."
"Go on," Captain Bordon urged. "What do you know of him?"
"He is a corporal in the army," she began, cringing as she spoke. "I think he serves with his father."
"Do you recognize the name of 'Colonel Burwell' ?" He needed to lead the girl a bit to pull some more information out of her.
"Yes. I think that is Corporal Martin's superior."
"Good. You're doing well," he commended, hoping to keep answers flowing from her with a little bit of positive affirmation. "Anything else you may remember about him?"
"He courts a girl that lives in Pembroke," she replied. "I don't know her name, but I think her father may be a shopkeeper there."
Hugh Bordon was quiet for a moment, ruminating over the information the girl had spilled. He committed her words to memory to put it in a report later when he could look at a map and get his bearings as to where Pembroke was located.
Martha remained quiet and afraid, watching the officer cautiously. The maid felt badly exposing the family of her employer to the enemy, but she made the decision quickly when she saw Bordon's face again that she was not going to be raped by him a second time.
"My thanks, Miss Durant," Bordon said in a gentlemanly voice. Then he led her to the door.
"You may join the others," he permitted as he opened the doors. The girl slipped past him and went to take a seat on the divan.
Charlotte had heard no struggle and no cries from the room. Whatever happened must have been to the dragoon's liking, she thought. Mrs. Selton was relieved and happy that her maid hadn't been harmed.
William Tavington continued his questioning of the plantation's mistress and her staff. "Where would I find Colonel Martin's children?"
"I don't know where they are staying," Charlotte lied convincingly. "There are other family members besides myself."
The colonel frowned in displeasure. He moved to a table in the foyer and ran his fingertips over an expensive porcelain vase, then he turned back to face the group in the parlor.
"You've been aiding the rebels with the resources of your plantation," he accused, shooting a cold, hard stare at Mrs. Selton.
"That is rumor and conjecture," she defended.
"Be that as it may," the cavalry leader admonished, "I don't like what I hear about your farm and your activities here."
"It's lies!" Mrs. Selton shouted, her body rigid stiff, her hands clenched into defensive fists at her sides.
"Nevertheless, I intend to put a stop to your treasonous functions," he proclaimed. The colonel then turned and walked toward the door.
"Seize any useable supplies," he ordered, "Commandeer the horses and any livestock easily conveyed."
"Aye sir," the private said as he rushed out the door.
William gave a nod to his aide-de-camp. Bordon, knowing so well what his commander wanted, spun on his heel and opened the door.
"Put the house to torch," yelled the captain at the soldiers assembled out in front on the green. "Burn the barns and outbuildings."
A collective gasp came from the small group of the Selton's servants in the parlor, the men rising defensively to their feet. Charlotte rushed forward in a panic. "No! Please don't!"
Colonel Tavington ignored her and issued a warning. "Let it be known that if you aid the rebels, you will lose your homestead!"
Charlotte's mind whirled in fright. She had to do something fast. Feeling her heart beating in her throat, she swallowed back and spoke.
"Colonel, stop!" she yelled.
He gave her an irritated look, as if he had been disturbed while reading his favorite book. Then he narrowed his ice blue eyes at her.
"I haven't been honest," she confessed in a slow, measured voice. "I do know something. There are some documents hidden in my room."
Tavington stood quietly for an instant, eyeing the woman cautiously. He was pleased inwardly, not showing it. Again, threatening destruction of personal property had worked, coaxing cooperation.
"Bordon," he said over his shoulder while still keeping the woman in a suspicious gaze, "have the men hold their positions at ease until I command. Keep these people under guard."
"Mrs. Selton," he said with a sly smile, extending his arm in front of him motioning to her to lead the way.
She bowed her head slightly, then led the cavalryman toward the stairway. She started up the steps with Tavington behind her. He hesitated on the first step and turned back to his adjutant, who had his pistol trained on the trembling group of servants seated in the room.
"If I don't return or if they make a move, you are to kill them," Tavington advised ominously.
After a moment, the pair found themselves on the second floor of the white, columned mansion. The pretty young widow closed the door behind them once they entered her bedchamber.
"Well?!" the tall dragoon exclaimed in an impatient voice.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, hoping not to lose her nerve. She swallowed and spoke. "I lied," she began. "I do not have any documents for you. I just wanted to converse with you in private."
"Woman, you are wasting my time!" he swore irately as he pulled his sword and pointed it at the widow.
"I was wondering if we could come to some kind of agreement," she blurted, "in order for you to leave my farm be."
"What did you have in mind," William asked, trying to contain his frustration with the widow.
"Perhaps my solemn pledge that I will be loyal to the King," she offered.
"Pledges are broken every day," he sneered.
"Then perhaps I could entice you some other way," she said, slinking toward the dragoon, a smoky look of seduction on her countenance. The woman stopped a few feet from him, and took her robe off slowly, extending her right arm to let it fall onto the floor. Then with both hands she untied the drawstring at the top of her night gown and pushed it down her body to where it fell to the floor in a wisp.
William liked what she was offering as he admired her body. He cocked his head to the side, drawing his lips into a tight line. "That may suffice," he answered lasciviously.
Charlotte was elated inside for her own success of killing two birds with one stone. Bedding this officer—this handsome officer—she thought, could save her homestead from fire and slake the flame of womanly need burning within her own body.
The widow silently closed the distance between her and the dragoon commander, standing now bold and naked next to him though mindful of the sabre he still held. She reached forward and slid the flat of her right hand up the front of his left thigh, the leather of his breeches warmed from the skin it covered. Her hand then moved to his groin, where she massaged his manhood, which hardened quickly with her touch.
Tavington took her chin in his free hand and tilted her head up to look at him. "You're quite beautiful, Mrs. Selton. I wonder if you can do anything else with that mouth of yours other than challenge authority, hmm?"
The woman blinked her eyes slowly and demurely, saying nothing, then sank down to her knees. Charlotte would let her actions answer the officer's question. The lady undid the placket of his pants and pulled his erection free of the garment with nimble fingers.
Before she could seduce him further, he raised his sword to his side in a defensive stance. She saw the action from the corner of her eye, making her shiver and shrink protectively lower. The colonel brought the blade of it down next to Mrs. Selton's neck, resting it there.
"If you try anything other than seducing me," he warned, "then I will take your head off with this sword."
Charlotte nodded then began gliding her fingers over his hardness. When she heard a low gasp escape the colonel's lips, she closed her palm around his shaft and began to fist the length of it.
The colonel kept his tight hold of his sword, keeping it near the woman's head even though her teasing hand was making his own head swim.
Pleased that the dragoon leader was enjoying her actions, she then took his cock into her mouth. The woman swirled her tongue over the head, teasing around it, then down the length of ridge on the underside. William groaned again as he watched the woman. She felt him throb and twitch as her mouth moved on him.
Tavington closed his eyes, lavishing in the woman's wet and teasing mouth on his stiffness. Her lips and tongue seemed to slide easily over the sensitive organ, slipping in and out, up and down from root to tip. His breath became ragged and his right arm, the one holding the sword, relaxed and eased as his side. After another moment of her mouth softly sucking him, he pulled himself out before he got too close.
"My, you rebel women are hungry, aren't you," he asked in a teasing voice, looking down at the woman. Charlotte, still on her knees in front of him, said nothing, simply licking her lips.
"And just how badly do you want to keep your house?" his brow furrowed, wondering just how far the widow might go.
Mrs. Selton rose gracefully from the floor, turned, and glided across the room. She bent herself forward over a small table, giving the officer a delightful view of her bare ass and more than ready quim.
"I'm all yours, colonel," she purred. "Put your cock inside me."
"Patience, woman," he growled as he strode across the floor toward her. "You shall have it."
Once behind her, he pushed his breeches down a little further. He hesitated a moment, letting his hand caress the curves of her soft bottom. William smiled when he heard her sigh.
The officer positioned his erection behind her at her entrance, pushing himself in only an inch or so, enough to tease the lady. She reacted, shifting her hips a bit, moving back against him, wanting to bring his stiffness into her aching moistness.
"Anxious are you?" asked the colonel as he gazed at her naked body. With that, he shoved his hardened manhood unceremoniously into her.
"Oomph," she gasped at the sudden invasion. Charlotte hadn't had a man for so long, and his girth stretched her a bit, causing an instant of discomfort. But a look of ecstasy soon crossed her face at once again feeling the fullness of having a man between her legs again; inside her again.
"You should hold on," he whispered as he grasped her hips tightly. "I intend to fuck you quite hard."
With that, she reached her arms across the little table, grabbing the other side of it. He made good on his promise, thrusting so hard into her that the small table rocked forward on its legs, tipping a bit.
"Yes! OH YES!" she cried out in pleasure at feeling him rock into her.
William closed his eyes for a moment as he drilled himself into her. For a young widow of some experience, he was pleased with how firm and moist she was. The wet, sticky sounds of their actions brought them both closer to the edge.
"You…have….been….missing…a…man, haven't you,?" the colonel asked, his hammering into her and his panting punctuating his words.
"God, yes!" she whimpered. "It has been so long. Oh please, don't stop!"
When he could feel his cock starting to twitch within her, and her wetness squeezing him back, he stopped, pulling himself out of her sweetness. Mrs. Selton spun about, leaning back on the table, giving him a disappointed and deprived look.
She watched him as he stepped over to the richly decorated chaise lounge of red and gold. He urged his trousers down farther on his thighs, totally freeing his hardened cock. The colonel seated himself near the end of the lounger, looking lasciviously at the beautiful widow.
"Come here," he commanded.
Charlotte Selton pushed herself up from the table and padded softly over to the chaise. She stood between the officer's spread legs and cooed when his hands began to knead her supple breasts.
"Ride me," said Tavington.
The young woman put her knees on the chaise on the outside of both of his legs. She positioned herself over his prick, then sank down slowly on it, emitting a satisfied groan as she did.
"Oh, mmmm", she moaned as she closed her eyes, loving the feeling of being astride a virile man again.
Her mouth found the officer's, finally receiving a slow, deep kiss from him. She had wanted to feel his lips on hers, and she languished in that kiss, moving her tongue with his in a slow dance.
When they parted, she massaged her breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers, teasing them into hard little buds. The woman then took her breasts, aching and heavy, in her hands, offering them to the officer.
Colonel Tavington dipped his head and caught one of the hardened, pink tips in his mouth. As he rolled it with his tongue and sucked it hard, Charlotte began to propel herself up and down on him.
"Oh, yes," she cried out again in wanton lust.
William's hands caressed her thighs, then settled on her hips, holding her securely on his lap. He closed his eyes as she pushed and swayed on his lap, up and down on his firm erection, feeling that familiar warmth building in his loins.
"Oh, you're good at this, my dear," he murmured.
The woman continued, moving herself on his stiffened cock, urging them both on to orgasms. They soon came together, grunting and sighing in satisfaction.
Mrs. Selton left his lap while still panting in exhaustion. The widow felt dizzy and was barely able to walk, and ached between her legs and hips. She was happy and satisfied, her womanly desires calmed, and hoping her actions might save her plantation.
She reached for her robe and pulled it around her modestly, only now hiding her body. The colonel pulled his breeches up, straightening his rumpled uniform.
Tavington reached for his sword and scabbard which had been discarded to the floor. He spoke as he secured them back onto his body.
"Well, you've earned a reprieve for your farm," he announced. "I shall let it remain intact, for now. But if I hear of your involvement in anything suspicious, then I will have my men burn it to the ground."
"Thank you," she said, her eyes glassy with the drugged after effects of sexual satisfaction. "You have my word that I will be good." She smiled lewdly with her pledge.
"I will be back, Charlotte," he said, his eyes locked in a lustful stare with hers.
"I look forward to it, William," she said with lusty smile.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
The green dragoons returned two days later, galloping triumphantly back onto the Burwell plantation. The colonel and the captain had found it a very fruitful trip, having gained a myriad of information and oaths of loyalty from scared colonists.
This afternoon, Captain Bordon sat with the ailing Miss Burwell, who was still recovering from her malarial relapse. Upon his return he was greeted with good news: that the girl's fever had just broken and that she would survive this bout. He had offered to Mrs. Leyanova to sit with the girl, allowing the freeing up of one of her servants for other chores. It was no trouble to him: he was making notes in his field and personal diaries as he sat at the young lady's bedside.
"Papa! No! Don't go," the Burwell girl whimpered suddenly. "Take me with you."
Hugh Bordon looked up from his note making, gazing at the young lady. Her eyes were closed, her head rolling from side to side on her pillow.
The captain was confused momentarily. Her fever had broken, so he knew that she couldn't be delirious.
"Miss Burwell," he whispered as he studied her.
"Father, the redcoats!" she cried, her voice breaking as she did. "Don't leave me! I'm afraid!" Her eyes still closed, she lifted her arm limply, as if reaching for her father.
Captain Bordon caught her small hand up in his, tucking it securely into his fingers. He stretched his own arm out to touch her forehead with his fingertips. Her fever had not returned.
Hugh noticed tears trailing from her eyes at the side of her head, moving down into her mussed up hair. He realized that she was having a nightmare. The officer gently took hold of both her shoulders and shook her lightly.
"Papa! Father! Please!" she continued to cry and thrash.
"Wake up, missy," the cavalry adjutant urged quietly.
Her body jerked hard, then she sat up suddenly. The girl looked about, her eyes glazed over with the disorientation of just waking.
"Easy….easy," Bordon said. "You were dreaming."
As the fog of illness and nightmares departed the ailing girl's head, she looked about her room in confusion. Betsy couldn't understand why the officer was at her bedside.
"Begging your pardon, sir," she began in a timid voice as she sank back into her pillows, "why are you in my room?"
"Do you recall nothing of the last few days?" asked the officer, his face and eyes drawn up in concern.
"No."
"You took ill with fever," answered Bordon, "Nearly a fortnight. Your servants said that this was the worst spell you have ever had. You were near death."
Miss Burwell's eyes widened in amazement. Feeling a bit cold, she pulled the covers up to her chin.
"My father," she began in a lost voice, "I remember. He was here."
"No. That was your dream."
"I know he was here," she wailed, becoming agitated and trying to sit up again. "I saw him."
The captain urged her back down, knowing it best that she recline. "Easy, missy. Rest back."
"I'm sure that you didn't see him," the captain asserted. "Your fever was so high. You were delirious for days."
Relaxing again onto her pillow, she tried to wade her way through the mental confusion. Betsy had been sure that her father was there, so close she could touch him. Now, she wasn't so certain anymore. Her heart sank, thinking that she had dreamed his visit.
After a moment of quiet, the captain sat back in his chair. He addressed the recovering girl again. "Why didn't you tell me that you carried Malaria?"
"Why would that be of interest to His Majesty?" Betsy simply asked.
"It's not," replied Bordon. "But I was alarmed to see you in the possession of an ague that nearly killed you. I've told you that I have a care for my captives."
With that, the dragoon second in command gathered his diary and pencil. "Rest now," he said as he got up from the chair. "I'll tell Mrs. Leyanova that you're awake."
Betsy nodded as she settled beneath the coverlet. She watched the officer as he walked to the door.
"Captain," she called weakly.
"Yes?" Hugh Bordon stopped at the door, turning back to look at the girl.
"I know that you think I have been lying all the while about my betrothal to Major Clark," she said. "But I haven't been. I truly knew nothing of it until I was made to read father's letter aloud the night you captured me. Father never told me."
Captain Bordon closed the door and moved to the foot of her bed. "I know that now," he admitted. "I thought you lied initially, but I've realized in the last few weeks that you didn't know of it."
"How?" she asked.
"Intelligence is only one of my duties," he answered with a smile. "It's part of my job to ascertain truth from falsehood."
The officer turned to walk to the door, then stopped. He looked back at the girl. "Why did you want me to know that?"
"I want you to trust me," she said shyly.
"Should I trust you?"
"Yes," answered Miss Burwell.
"Why?" the captain pressed her.
"Because I've earned it," she replied, with a hopeful smile.
The officer frowned at her, making it understood that his trust wasn't instilled so easily.
The girl amended her answer, speaking timidly, unsure of herself now. "Because I don't want the colonel to hurt me again."
She paused, then added, "Or any redcoat."
"Keep out of trouble and you won't be hurt," he advised in a brotherly sounding voice. Bordon then strode to the door. As he opened it, he turned back once again to speak to Miss Burwell.
"Do you trust me?" he inquired as an afterthought.
"Yes," she replied.
"Good. I must have earned it," he quipped. Captain Bordon whirled fast on his heel and disappeared into the hallway just as quickly.