Chapter 23: Innocent And Intoxicated

Hugh folded the last letter, ink now dry, and tucked it into an envelope. He had retired to his room after supper, spending the evening writing letters home to his family members. Bordon pushed the envelope into a packet containing all the other correspondence to England, readying the bunch to send out with the post in the morning.

The captain leaned back in his chair and stretched. He pushed himself away from the desk and stood up, stamping his legs which had stiffened with two hours of being seated. Reaching into his waistcoat, he checked his pocket watch to find that it was just after eleven. He knew he needed to get to bed and get some kind of decent sleep for tomorrow, which would be a day of interviewing possible candidates for the battalion.

The officer then walked to the window, closing it a bit further to inhibit some of the cool night air from entering. Bordon gazed outside, surveying the quiet bunch of tents and outbuildings on the back lawn. A faint round of laughter and then some shouting grabbed his attention. Hugh's eyebrows knit together in question, wondering where the noise was coming from. It is not coming from the camp for the tents are dark and there are no campfires, he thought.

His superior's instructions, uttered to him as they departed the dining table, echoed in his head. "I'm spending the evening at Minnie's tent. You're in charge. Don't bother me unless it is dire!"

Hugh knew there would be wrath if William Tavington was disturbed while in the arms of his favorite whore of the moment.

Captain Bordon heaved a sullen sigh, knowing he'd best check on what the source of the noise was lest it disturb the colonel. He checked himself quickly in the mirror. His cravat had been discarded hours ago and lay lifeless on the footstool, which left his collar open at the neck. His cinnamon colored hair was out of its cue, long and wavy on his shoulders. There he stood before the looking glass in black breeches, boots, shirt and green waistcoat only, no jacket and stock and technically out of uniform, but dressed enough to investigate a sound.

Once back on the first floor of the house, he could hear the ruckus clearly now and see the light and shadows coming into the house falling into the hallway where he walked. He knew there must be some activity going on in the assembly room.

As the dragoon adjutant crossed the breezeway, he saw a dozen, maybe a bit less he estimated, of the youngest members of the cavalry. The room was bright with light and the stench of alcohol was apparent. Captain Bordon stepped up slightly and entered the room.

Although the use of liquor was evident, the group of celebrants had immediately noticed their second in command standing in the doorway. There was the scraping and thumping of chairs on the wooden floor and the tinkling of bottles and glasses being returned to the table or knocked about as the men scrambled to their feet to properly salute their superior. They sloppily and drunkenly tried to snap to attention. Some of them muffled laughter as they assisted the others to stand. One young lad had fallen on the floor as he attempted to get to his feet and had to be helped up. Bordon saw that more than one of the youthful revelers were swaying as they stood at attention. He suppressed a snicker as he noticed one of the young men obviously passed out on a stool in the corner, leaning back against the wall, and another with his head down on the table.

"Captain," the soldiers mumbled in subdued voices as they nodded their heads in acknowledgment.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he replied warmly. "As you were."

There was a collective and audible sigh of relief as the men collapsed back into their chairs.

"Good Lord, lads, have you turned the Burwell assembly hall into a tavern?" the captain asked as he looked about at all the bottles and glasses laying about in crazy array on the table, and spilling over onto the floor.

"No," one of them replied. "We're celebrating."

"Aye! It's Wellsie's birthday!"

"Happy birthday, Private Wells," Bordon said with a smile, amused at how soused they all were.

"We're also having a drinking contest," Private Rainey slurred.

Hugh nodded his head, amusement on his face. "Yes, I can tell by the smell. I'll wager that you bloody well cleaned out the wine cellar."

"Oh, no sir. We left one bottle," another one stammered.

"It is all her fault," another soldier shouted drunkenly, pointing to the end of the table nearest the fireplace.

And there sat Betsy Burwell, her head down on the table, arm resting just above. The girl lifted her head and looked at Captain Bordon, raising her hand in acknowledgement of being accused.

Hugh's eyes widened in alarm. The officer was upset that the young lady was inebriated within a group of equally as drunken soldiers, which wasn't a good combination and highly improper. He was glad that he had stumbled into the gathering when he had and thankful that, so far, nothing untoward had happened to the girl.

"She told us that she could drink us all under the table," the private accused, "and we couldn't let that challenge go unanswered."

The officer took a breath and calmed himself down. "Apparently. So who is winning?"

"Not Higgy," one answered, pointing to the corner where Private Higgins was slumped and out cold on the stool.

"I can see that," Bordon chuckled. "Who lost?"

"Miss Burwell. She was first out! Lasses don't tolerate spirits well!" The soldiers all laughed.

"Gwynnie is winning!"

With that, Private Gwynne stood up and took a bow, all his friends at the table raising a glass or bottle to him. As he went to sit, swaying as he did, the soldier missed his chair and fell to the floor, and the room erupted into fits of drunken laughter.

Captain Bordon chuckled at the spectacle, then assumed the role of leader again. "If you keep on with this ruckus, you'll wake the house and bring the colonel as well," the dragoon commander advised as he strolled around the table.

"Nah!He's too busy strumming down at the follower's tent," one of the privates interjected.

"Yes. I'm sure he's in the arms of his favorite trollop about now," Bordon agreed.

"Aye. He gives her his sugar stick and she takes his money!"

Everyone laughed at the lewd remark. "Minnie! Minnie! " they sang, her reputation preceding her.

"If you disrupt his activity with her, he will surely be upset," Bordon warned, good naturedly. "And we all know how short his temper runs these days."

The second in command looked about at the bottles, the drunken privates, and Miss Burwell in the midst of all this and sighed heavily.

"And how many of you lads are on duty in the morning?," asked the officer. A half dozen of the soldiers raised their hands.

"Well, men, you've not got many hours to sleep and sober up, so I suggest you declare a winner now and get to bed," Bordon instructed.

"Yes sir," the group slurred. Again was the sound of chairs scraping and thumping on the wooden floor as the men got up.

"Can someone make sure that Higgins gets to his tent," the captain asked as he slowly made his way to where Miss Burwell sat. "That is, if any of you can walk."

He smiled in approval as Privates Blankenship and Rainey picked Higgins up and carried him from the room.

As the last of the dragoon privates dispersed, Bordon sighed and shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the prisoner. "Good God," he murmured to himself, "what drove you to do this?"

Drawing near to Betsy, he put his hands on Miss Burwell's shoulders and leaned down to her ear. "I'm going to help you into the house, missy."

"Thank you," she slurred, raising her head from the table. Looking around, her vision blurred, she didn't see the men, not knowing they'd left the hall. "I told them I could drink them under the table," she slurred drunkenly. "I showed them, didn't I?" A cockeyed smile crossed her face, thinking she had accomplished some great feat.

"You certainly did," Bordon agreed in jest, rolling his eyes. He went along with her silliness; no use reasoning with someone so thoroughly pickled.

The officer gently grasped her arms and helped her out of the chair. "Can you walk," he asked as he helped steady her on her feet.

"Yes! I learned to a long time ago," she snickered. The girl took two steps then promptly stumbled. Hugh was close enough still to catch her by the arm and prevent her crashing onto the wooden floor.

"Yes, yes," he answered with a roll of his eyes as he helped up back up to stand. "Put your arm around my shoulders." Betsy complied, a silly grin on her face as she did. The officer put his other arm around her waist to support her as he eased her gingerly from the room.

After stepping onto the breezeway, a sudden cold wind blew through, catching Betsy straight in the face. And though it was cool, Miss Burwell felt a rush of heat upon her, beads of sweat quickly breaking out on her face. Then her stomach roiled.

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"I am going to puke," she said in a shaky voice.

"Miss Burwell," he said, tightening his hold on her and quickening his pace. "Ladies vomit. Lads puke."

"Whatever the proper term," she choked, "it is coming up now!"

Hugh rushed her down the breezeway steps and dropped her softly into the grass a few feet from the stairs. Betsy gagged and threw up for what seemed like minutes, then dissipated into dry heaves. Afterward, the young lady sat back and wiped her mouth with her hand, surprised that she still felt the euphoria of drunkenness.

"Do you feel better, lass?" the dragoon second in command asked.

"No," answered the girl, trembling now with a sudden chill.

Bordon snickered quietly. "I didn't think you would." Again he helped the girl up and walked her to the well nearby. He eased her down to the ground, sitting her back against it.

"Don't go anywhere," advised the captain.

"Yes, sir," she giggled.

Dropping the bucket into the water with a splash, the captain drew it back up full a moment later. He filled the ladle with the cold liquid and handed it down to the girl. Her hand shook a bit as she took a gulp into her mouth. She swished it about in her mouth then spit it out, trying to rid the taste of vomit. After that, she took a couple of sips, the water cooling her inside as she swallowed.

Handing the ladle back to the officer, she then gripped the edge of the well and pulled herself up to stand. "I have to go back to the game and make good on my threat to drink them under the table," she slurred, making no sense.

"That opportunity has passed. The party broke up," Bordon informed.

"Shame. I was winning," Betsy said.

"No. You lost."

"That's only because it was my first time," Miss Burwell defended. "I will surely win next time."

"No, I don't think you are ever going to drink again," Hugh predicted. "I will ask you tomorrow in the midst of your alcohol induced headache, and surely you will tell me that you are tea total."

As the dragoon commander helped the Burwell girl toward the house, she pulled a flask from her pocket and took a quick drink of it. Bordon, surprised to see it, grabbed it out of the youth's hand. He immediately pulled it out of her reach, holding it out away from his body at his own arm's length. Betsy reached for it, squirming to get it back.

"Give that back! Its mine!," she pleaded. "I won it fair and square!"

Still holding the container from her reach, the officer proclaimed, " I do not think that you need any more to drink!"

The girl lurched, determined to get the flask back. With her body stretched as far as it would go reaching for the container, she immediately lost her balance and fell forward into the grass. All Hugh could do was shake his head and sigh.

Betsy Burwell pushed herself over from her stomach onto her back. Panting from the drunken effort, she threw her right arm up over her face, shielding her eyes, and spoke. "The lads gave it to me. It's my consolation prize."

Again another time, the captain helped the girl to her feet. He held onto her elbow, seeing her reeling and bobbing, unable to stand straight.

Indeed Miss Burwell had a sudden feeling of something rushing to her head. And then she felt dizzy and sick again. "My head is spinning," she commented. "Being drunk isn't as fun as you men make it out to be."

"That is often true," agreed the captain. "Can you walk, lassie?"

"Sure," she answered. Betsy took a step away from the officer. As soon as she did, she tripped yet again.

"Here," Hugh said as he bent downward. He secured his arm around her back and hooked his other under her legs. "Let's make this easier on both of us." The cavalryman picked the juiced youth up and carried her into the house.

A couple of moments later, Captain Bordon had made it upstairs with the girl. He entered her bedroom, where he put her on her bed. He had no intention of undressing the girl down to her shift for sleep nor calling for one of the female servants to do it. Rather, he thought it fine to leave her on top of the covers in her clothes.

The officer retrieved the quilt from the footboard and shook it out. As he spread it over Miss Burwell, she spoke. "You shouldn't be in my room," she admonished, a crooked smile on her face.

"I agree," he cajoled, spreading the coverlet over the soused girl. "But if I would not have carried you in here, you would not make it on your own."

Betsy giggled at his comment. Reclining back on the pillows, she took a deep breath, trying to collect herself as if making a speech in which she wanted no mistakes. "Captain," she began, willing herself to have a serious tone, "the day that you made an advance on me—"

"It was improper and I did apologize," he interrupted. He saw no need for there to be any more discussion on the subject, especially with a novice drinker who was making no sense in most of her speech so far.

"Yes, but, afterwards I couldn't stop thinking about it," the girl declared carefully. He could not either, but that was his secret never to reveal to anyone.

Hugh decided to let her go on. From his years of experience with drunken men, he knew that many of them needed to have their say, sloshed as they were, and would not shut up until they said whatever they had to, no matter how little sense it may make.

"I then decided that I wanted you to kiss me," the girl slurred dreamily. "I stayed awake longer that evening hoping that you would steal into my room."

"Miss Burwell, that is not you talking," he informed, "that is the alcohol speaking for you."

"You could do it now," Betsy teased.

"Do what?"

"Kiss me," she replied. "Kiss me goodnight."

"No," answered the officer squarely. Captain Bordon stood up, ready to leave for the solace of his own bed.

"Why not?"

"Because you're drunk," he stated, "You're betrothed to another man, and because kissing can lead to other things."

"Yes. I know. I did read Fanny Hill." The youth then laughed. She quickly stopped herself, and looked about the room as if someone might be listening. Then Betsy acted secretively, as if it was something she needed to keep to herself.

"I warned you not to read that rubbish," he scolded. "That filth has corrupted your innocent mind—"

"And educated me!" the girl giggled and hissed. Miss Burwell then sat up, pouting. "I have never even kissed my own fiancé."

Bordon thought it odd, but not too much so. Many couples were made to wait for any physical contact until their wedding night.

"I've never had a kiss from any man," she lamented.

The officer could tell that she would not drop her request, and knew that she would need her sleep tonight. He relented.

The man bent his thick frame downwards, and placed a light kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest," he murmured.

As he stood to leave, Miss Burwell grabbed his forearm. She gave him a worried, drunken look of panic.

Alarmed, Hugh sat back down on the side of her bed. "What is it?"

"I want more of a kiss than that," she entreated, her voice low, her eyes beseeching. She put her hand on his cheek, her thumb caressing across his lips.

The captain was taken aback at her actions, so bold for a young girl, even one so absolutely looped, at that. He gulped, not knowing for an instant what to do.

The officer soon gathered his wits, remembering that she was plowed and that she didn't know what she was doing or saying, and would never remember it in the morning. He grasped her hand gently in his and took it from his face, putting it on the bedspread. "You're a pretty little lass."

"Just one kiss good night," she whispered. The girl looked helpless to him, as if she needed the kiss badly.

Hugh leaned forward and kissed her lips softly; virtuously. Her eyes were closed, he observed.

The officer lingered there, his lips still close to hers. The man kissed her again gently, his lips coaxing hers apart slightly. With self discipline, he stopped himself, daring not to venture further, unwilling to break the chasteness of the moment. She was not his to kiss, he reminded himself.

As he pulled back from her, Bordon was reeling inside. It felt so good to kiss a girl—an innocent one—again. He didn't make a habit of kissing prostitutes nor letting them do so to him. Not since his wife, Sarah, had he kissed a lady or had even the most remote longing to do so.

"Another kiss would do," she murmured, giving permission in her drunkenness.

"No", he refused in a whisper.

Betsy Burwell said nothing as she laid down on her back, settling under the blanket. The two of them held each other's gaze, as if under some hypnotic spell. The young woman brought her hands up and threaded her fingers into his russet locks, framing his face between her small hands.

Captain Bordon felt his control crumbling away quickly. He was so close to something; too close. The officer was conflicted. Ten years older than her, the man had wanted only to protect her, yet now he wanted to violate her virginity. She was so young and enticing and he couldn't understand what had come over him and what he felt.

Unable to take it any longer, his resolve broke. The officer, half sitting still, lowered his trunk onto her, slipping his arms around her, gripping her shoulders. Betsy quickly slid her arms around his neck, holding him close.

They kissed again. She was brave, opening her mouth a bit to him, letting him taste her. His tongue explored within cautiously, not wanting to scare her. He tasted the whiskey that lingered on her tongue as he mapped the wetness with his own.

After a moment of this torture, he pushed himself up, still half sitting, his arms locked straight with her caged within them. The officer looked nearly helpless, a slave to the opportunity, as he stared down at her.

Looking into her eyes, he murmured in defeat. "Do you have any idea what I could do to you right now?"

"I would let you," she answered, innocent and intoxicated.

Bordon suddenly regained some of his strength of character back, but from where it came, he had no idea. He hung onto it, though, tightly while he still had his wits about him. "Nonsense. You need to sleep this off."

Feeling heavy eyelids which she did not fight, Betsy pulled the quilt up to her chin. The girl let sleep overtake her instantly, no more words or protestations to the captain of the Green Dragoons.

Hugh Bordon tramped lightly from her room. Back across the hall and feeling somewhat safe from temptation, he closed and locked the door behind him. He felt confident—and relieved—that Miss Burwell would remember none of this tomorrow.

However, he soon felt that familiar lover's ache nagging in his groin. Putting a hand to the front of his breeches, his manhood was semi rigid. He sighed in his own frustration that he was thinking of her again.

"Christ!" he swore as he doffed his shirt and vest. "She is just a little chit of a girl, no more. Not a woman. Inexperienced," he muttered to himself.

He took off his boots and stockings then shed his britches. Wearing nothing more than his thin, linen underdrawers, now with a slight bulge in the front of them, he laid down in his own bed, hoping sleep would come soon to him.

The shared kiss, and the knowledge that it was Miss Burwell's first, and his philandering, crazy thoughts had only served to stiffen his cock even more now. He sighed, knowing he couldn't sleep with an erection. The captain needed to relieve himself, soon, and badly.

Bordon closed his eyes and let loose a deep sigh as his head sank into the pillow. He pushed the sheet down to his thighs. Moving his hand up, he reached across the top of his chest, his fingers blindly surveying the slice wound received in the skirmish a few weeks back. Though it was still fresh and pink with new skin, it was no longer tender to the touch.

Then his fingers moved down his chest, gliding to his left breast, where they stopped at his nipple. They hesitated there, recalling Miss Burwell's hands and fingers on him, his injured chest, as her hand glanced over his nipple when she stitched his injury. A gasp escaped from his lips as he remembered her touch then, causing his nipple to stiffen as it was now just at the thought.

The officer's hand slid down over his belly and moved lazily under the drawstring waistband of his loose drawers. He lifted his head to see the outline of his semi rigid cock straining against the thin material. Hugh let his head rest again on the pillow and a quiet groan of relief passed his lips as he grasped his stiffness with his hand. Bordon made a tight fist around his prick, then stroked himself slowly from root to tip, sighing loudly again at the feeling.

Captain Bordon imagined his rock hard manhood fitting snugly inside Miss Burwell's youthfully tight membranes, slick and ready for him. After only a few seconds of languid, relaxed fisting of his hardness, he melted into an illicit fantasy.

The captain's mind floated seamlessly, soon finding himself in Miss Burwell's bed. The girl was beneath him clad only in her shift. Hugh pushed the skirt of the garment up to her waist as he balanced himself on his knees on the outsides of her slender legs. Then he gently parted her legs with his knees, easing his body in between them.

She gazed up at him, worry in her soft, brown eyes. "Will it hurt?" she asked quietly.

"But for a moment," he answered, then wisped his lips over the skin of her neck.

He shivered when he felt her breath on the shell of his ear as her lips teased tentatively at it. Hugh took her head gently in his hands and turned her face to look up at him. Then his lips claimed hers, slowly, coaxing her mouth open. Bordon cautiously slid his tongue into her warm mouth, gently tasting the sweet virtue of it, for no man had kissed her before.

The officer then eased his body down on hers, cradling snugly his pelvis within her narrow hips, taking a moment to center himself there. After aligning the tip of his erection near her opening, he whispered, "Lie still for a moment."

The girl complied as she looked up fearfully at him. The captain then slid himself into her tight, virgin moistness slowly, an inch at a time. He watched her reaction closely.

The girl closed her eyes, holding her breath in an instinctive reaction to his invasion. Her face contorted as he pushed in further. "Oh….Oh," she whimpered in obvious surprise and discomfort.

"Shhhh," he soothed as he kissed her jaw. Hugh stilled himself now, resting inside her wet innocence, giving her a moment to adjust to his girth. God knew he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the sensation of rutting hard in and out of her virgin depth.

"You've stretched me so," she sobbed. "It hurts." As he looked down her, her brown eyes silently pleaded with him to remove himself, begging to try again some other day.

A tear slid quietly down her cheek, which he wiped away with his thumb. "You will feel better in a moment," he calmed. She turned her head to the side and buried her tear laden eyes in his strong shoulder.

After a minute of patience that he'd fought hard to hold onto, he pulled his yard out slightly, then pushed back in, making Miss Burwell wince. Her fingertips whitened as they dug hard into his back.

"I have to break your shield before we can go on," he murmured. She sniffled and nodded her head.

"Hold still, love," he advised as he drew back and poked harder and more deeply within her. The second jab finally broke her hymen, the tearing of it making her yelp. The girl struggled below him, clearly showing that she'd had enough of the deflowering process. His muscular body held her down firmly, providing no escape. In futility, she sobbed again.

The captain took her chin gently and moved her head up, her face to his. "You now cry the tears of a woman," he comforted, reminding her of the whole purpose of their coupling. She smiled weakly up at him through her tears and the burning sensation emanating in her core.

Then she kissed him gratefully as she pulled his body against hers again. Bordon began a rhythmic thrusting. Those moves, coupled with his own feelings of conquering her virtue had already brought him near to the edge. Though he wanted badly to come, he fought it as again he wanted to be the first again: the man to give her that first orgasm.

Hugh groaned as he felt the girl twist and shift her hips below him, trying to take him more deeply, his cock wrapped in the tight, wet satin of her. And then he felt her breathing become uneven, and she gasped. And then she began to moan as she rocked her hips in time with his. As he opened his eyes to gaze at her, he noticed that a look of desperation veiled her face, as if she was searching for something; longing for something.

"Don't stop," she whispered is abandon, coaxing him on. "This is Heaven."

And after a few more strokes, he saw her eyes widen and sparkle, her mouth rounding as she cried aloud. "Oh Hugh! Oh My God! The bliss!"

The captain closed his eyes, lost in his own lust as he felt her body tense and quake below him, her womanhood tightening about his prick. Her arms encircled and gripped his body, hanging on as if she might fall away.

She looked up at him, crying tears of joy and relief as she gasped and spasmed with her first orgasm. And then he came in an instant, the warm rush in his hips and loins as he pumped his seed into the virgin.

Then Captain Bordon opened his eyes to his dark room, alone in his bed, looking up at his ceiling, having just had his superb and ideal fantasy encounter with Miss Burwell. Only then did his realize that his own hand was still moving on his firmness. And after his perfect imaginings of bedding the virgin girl in his charge, the need to come overtook and possessed him.

He tightened his fist and moved it frantically up and down the length of the shaft. His prick twitched in his palm as he came, groaning and grunting all the while through gritted teeth, hoping no one had heard his personal ecstasy.

After coming down from the high of pleasure, he caught his breath, and lumbered out of bed. His legs shook and twitched, still weak from impassioned spasms, as he made his way through the dark stillness of his room. At his shaving dresser, he washed the ejaculate off his belly and drawers, then from his hand.

He moved back through the dark to his bed where he reclined comfortably in the afterglow of bodily satiation. "God damned Clark," he thought to himself. "Lucky to spoil that prim little lass."

He then rolled onto his side, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.