Hi All. I am putting this up in a hurry and edited and proofed it equally as fast. I will go thru tomorrow and fix errors when I have a chance. Thanks for staying with the story for so long. I appreciate it!
JScorpio..Indianapolis, Indiana, USA
Chapter 31: Stand In Judgment
Private Rainey jumped from his chair at the same time he shushed the girl. Captain Bordon was heavily sedated and he snored softly in his bed.
"The captain needs his rest," the private replied. "I doubt I could wake him anyway, he is so full of Valerian!"
"Please! Miss Burwell is in trouble!" she cried as she moved toward the bed.
Rainey caught the girl, his hands gripping her elbows, afraid she would disturb the recuperating officer. He tried to speak some sense into the hysterical housemaid. "What about Colonel Tavington? Can't he help her?"
"No! She's in trouble with him!" Polly shrieked as she pulled the young dragoon toward the window. She pointed out the window toward the large tree where her mistress was tied. "He's having her flogged! Captain Bordon could stop it!"
"Miss, I don't know what she has done to be punished," he began, "but even the captain can't talk the colonel out of something he has his mind set to do."
The two, the maid and the private, stood quietly a moment at the window, looking amazed at the sight out on the lawn. The crowd outside seemed equally as still and tense.
In the yard where it was all unfolding, all assembled were too scared or lost in their own disbelief to even be able to move or shout another protest.
"Sergeant," Tavington began as the man stood at attention, "Six lashes, please. Two for each weapon found."
Betsy began sobbing as she tucked her chin down to her neck. "No, oh God no," she wept. "This can't be!" And then she turned her already tearstained face upwards, into the new foliage of green leaves, imagining that if the Lord could be anywhere, he would be hiding amongst the greenery. "God, please, bring Captain Bordon to my aid!"
SNAP!
Her body shook, startled at just how loud the crack of the whip was as she heard the sergeant loosening his arm up. She made the mistake of looking over her shoulder, back at the man, as he snapped the leather instrument again. The girl instantly wanted to vomit as she saw the strength this man had. The whip hit the ground with a loud thud, throwing up a small cloud of dust and severed blades of grass with it.
Miss Burwell turned her head back into the tree, the bark of it scraping her scalp and forehead. She again buried her face, tucking her head down as far as it would go. Then her hands took a stronger grip on the ropes. The young woman scrunched her eyes shut hard, squeezing hot tears out as she did. She willed herself to stay strong, chanting inside her head that it would be over quickly.
Then, she braced herself for the blows, steeling her heart as her body became rigid, hoping it would protect her somehow. She thought of stories of stoic men that didn't scream at the cut of the lash, and hoped she would not cry out either.
Next she heard the whip as it sliced sharply through the air. It cut across her middle back hard, forcing her eyes wide open and tearing a horrid scream from her throat. The blow was so strong that it moved Betsy's body sideways, or so she thought. Maybe that was her body reacting on its own, urging its own movement. Instantly her knees weakened, and all that held her up was her own body being so tightly bound against the mighty oak.
Waves of pain seemed to distort her eyesight and she was incredulous as to how much it hurt. Her face reddened and broke into an immediate sweat, as she felt her insides twist and rumble.
Then came the second lash, landing at the top of her back just under her shoulders. It was so hard it whipped her body forward, and the momentum caused it to recoil backwards. Again she screamed loudly, obvious that tears of pain were mixed into it.
The third lash landed at the juncture of her back to her hips, cutting across her waistline, where a dress would lay snugly. The girl cried out again, pleading silently for it to end. What she thought would be over fast, seemed to drag as the time stood still.
Up in the captain's room, Private Rainey himself flinched with each crack of the whip. Polly Callon, the poor little maid, had turned her back to the window and was crying into her hands. "I tried, Miss Burwell, I tried!" she blubbered.
The fourth lash seemed the hardest, and landed long from her left hip, crossing her back diagonally up to her right shoulder. Private Wells, from his stance near the tree, saw the death grip the girl had on the rope that ran between her bound hands. Her knuckles were white and strained. Her screams of pain tore unabashed from her throat. Her stomach lurched and Miss Burwell soon lost the contents of it, throwing up. The vomit ran down the tree, her face, and whatever egress points of space it could find between her body and the bark.
Another snap and the leather sliced a clear line across the middle of her back. She cried out again, as her eyes went blurry, with tears or vertigo, she wasn't sure which. Her head spun, and she gave into the dizziness.
Young Johnny Lander, the driver of the wagon for Atterson's Mercantile, watched intently, still in disbelief at sight before him. He had never seen anyone lashed before—especially not a woman; or a girl, rather. He felt sick to his stomach, and his pallor had noticeably turned green. Jake Waldron put his strong hand on the lad's arm, holding him up lest he faint at the sickening sight.
The commander's words rang in the boy's brain: to tell all of what he saw there today. And by God, he would have a harrowing tale to tell.
Mr. Hantz, close enough to the scourging tree, saw that the clean, thin read lines that had appeared on the girl's thin, white shift, were no longer defined. The blood had begun to feather into the minute channels of the fabric. The German farmhand had originally thought that the young lady's night gown might just be the one saving grace, keeping the wounds from being so bad, and affording some kind of protection to her. He realized now that all it did was shield her modesty of having to show a bare back to the crowd. It was not much of a barrier between the gibbet and the skin. He closed his eyes, knowing the girl's porcelain skin would now be marred by scars of the scourge.
The sixth flog caught some of the already broken skin, landing on parts of two fresh wounds. Betsy had been beyond crying out by this point, her voice having fled her beaten body, or caught within it. She gave in to dizziness and waves of pain and heat about her and fainted.
"That was six, sir," the sergeant called.
"Yes," Colonel Tavington agreed. "Gwynne, Wells, untie her. Take her to her chambers."
As they unbound the unconscious girl from the tree, Mr. Waldron stepped forward, close enough to touch her. "I'll take her," he said in a low, thoroughly defeated voice. Her body finally slipped free of the oak and slid down into his arms. The loyal farm overseer walked sullenly toward the house, the broken body of the girl cradled against his chest.
Polly saw the man coming toward the building and went to prepare the young lady's bed. Private Rainey came away from the window to stand at the foot of the bed. He closed his eyes and shook his head at his superior officer.
Captain Bordon had slept through Miss Burwell's punishment with nary a stir.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
Hugh Bordon opened his eyes slowly, hearing a light tapping noise as he came out of his sleep. He looked over to the desk in his room where the sound emanated from. When the blurriness dissipated, he saw young Private Rainey seated there, absently rolling dice, as if trying to discern some method to the randomness of the roll.
The dragoon adjutant cleared his throat, and tried to work his arms. He found that he was as weak as a shaky legged calf. The young private stood up and galloped around the desk to the immediate side of his commander, seeing the trouble the officer was having in shifting himself in bed.
"Let me help you, sir," he said as he reached Bordon's side. His hands gripped one of the captain's beefy biceps and steadied him as he sat up in bed.
"You know that the Devil throws dice in Hell," the redcoat officer scolded in a raspy voice.
"Beg your pardon, sir, but I have seen you gambling upon occasion," Rainey retorted as he adjusted the pillow of his leader.
"Damn. I thought that was a secret," quipped the captain as he shifted his sore body back to recline on the pillow.
"How are you feeling now, sir?"
"Tired and sickly," replied Bordon.
"Doctor Collester was in not long ago to check your wound," the private informed, "He was pleased. The swelling and discoloration have decreased immensely."
"Oh," Bordon said as he looked at the bandage on his left hand, obscuring the supposed healing from view. The captain reached for the glass of water sitting on the nightstand. After drinking it down quickly, he spoke.
"Where is Miss Burwell? She has been my constant nurse."
Rainey, who was amidst pouring some more water from the pitcher for his ailing commander, said nothing. He finished the task and spoke as he replaced the glass on the stand.
The private was troubled and wondered how to break the news to his captain. He knew the man was upset that he was unable to fulfill his duties, but he suspected that Bordon would be agitated as well in finding out about the plight of Miss Burwell. All the residents and billeted cavalrymen had seen Bordon's interest in the girl; how he protected her. And the captor and captive often spent time in company together.
"Uh, sir, she has taken to her bed," he answered cautiously.
"Is she sick? Was there an accident?" Bordon sat forward painfully, now worried for his charge.
Rainey said nothing, nearly afraid to. His silence brought irritation from Bordon.
"Private?!"
He shook his head and looked down, knowing it would pain the second in command to hear the news.
"She was punished, captain," Rainey informed. "The Colonel had her flogged."
"Flogged?!" asked Bordon, his weakened voice suddenly finding some strength. "Why?"
"Weapons were discovered in the woodshed, obviously hidden."
"That can't be," the captain refuted. "She gave up all the hidden weapons upon my request last summer. She showed me all the hiding places."
Burly Hugh Bordon was stirring in his bed, trying to get up. The private was doing his best to keep the man calm. "She would not be hiding contraband now," the captain blurted. "She knows the price!"
"Sir-"
"When did this happen?' the agitated officer interrupted.
"This morning," Rainey answered plaintively.
Bordon heaved a hefty sigh and sunk back against the pillow, looking as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. His mind whirled in circles, unsure what to think. Why wasn't I awoken and consulted? Why would Tavington do this? Is she hiding contraband? What was she planning? She trusts me and I trust her. Why would she break my confidence? She is treated well. I protect her. Why would she do this?
The officer knew what he needed to do and had to do it immediately. He carefully twisted his stiff body, pushing back the covers as he did. His legs trailed to the edge of the bed. "Help me up, Rainey," he groaned.
"You should rest, sir," the private said, trying to prevent the officer from rising.
"No. I need to be up walking a bit, anyway," Bordon disagreed, "and now is as good of time as any."
He looked down to realize he was in only his light, linen drawers. The private gripped the captain's biceps, helping him to a standing position. Bordon winced as he did.
Rainey let go of one arm, then the other, letting his commander stand there a moment to get his bearings. Hugh fought a moment of vertigo after standing for the first time in days. The redcoat officer soon steadied.
"In the bureau there," Bordon pointed, "Please get me a pair of pants."
The private complied. As Rainey fetched the trousers, Bordon turned slightly to where he stood in front of the chamber pot on the floor. The dragoon pissed into the thing, then sat back on the bed. He slowly pulled the pair of dark blue woolen breeches on over his muscular legs.
He stood again, this time by himself. Bordon caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His face looked drawn a bit, with thick stubble over his jaw. He knew he had to have lost a bit of weight. Refusing a shirt, he let Rainey drape a blanket over his shoulders, which he pulled around him to cover his bare chest.
With the private's help, he walked from his room, his bare feet padding softly on the wooden floor. The redcoat officer shuffled slowly to Miss Burwell's chambers, where he met a closed door.
Rainey blanched, knowing there may be trouble within the room However, the youjng soldier also understood that his recuperating and distraught charge needed to see and question the girl.
After the officer knocked, the private cautiously turned the knob. He was surprised to find the door unlocked. He helped the dragoon leader through the door as the man spoke.
"Miss Burwell?" asked Bordon weakly.
The two redcoats beheld the sight of the Burwell girl laying prone on her bed, softly crying into her pillow. Myriam, the pretty quadroon servant, and middle aged housemaid Pansy tended to her. The sour tang of vinegar combined with the sweet, thick smell of fresh butter permeated the air of the small room.
"Please leave!" Pansy insisted as she rose to her feet. She took a defensive stance, looking at the two redcoats invading the poor girl's only safe sanctum. "She doesn't want to see ANY of you lobsters right now!"
"I will be surprised if she has a civil word for any of you ever again after the severity of your commander!" Myriam spat with a scowl from where she sat wringing out a cloth.
"OUT! NOW!" Bordon ground out. "I am not going to hurt the young lady, you have my word. I have questions for her."
The two housemaids rose, huffing indignantly as they pressed past the two redcoats. At the door, Rainey turned to exit with them.
"No, Private," the captain requested, "Stay there. You will witness what is said here." He then motioned for the young cavalryman to shut the door, which he pushed closed quietly.
Bordon sat down in the chair next to the bed as the private leaned back against the edge of the girl's desk.
"May I examine your wounds," asked Bordon in a low voice.
"Do whatever you must," Betsy sobbed, then turned her face back into the pillow.
The captain leaned over and slowly, carefully peeled back the thin, vinegar and water laced cloth that covered the young woman's back. Betsy winced and shook when the fresh air of the room teased at the injuries, even though they were smeared with butter as a protective emollient.
"Sorry," Bordon apologized.
He looked at her back without emotion, then shut his eyes for a moment, wishing that he wasn't viewing the spectacle. The slashes, six in all, crisscrossed her back, and only two intersected, attesting to the skill of the sergeant with his whip. The long slices were red and open, but the bleeding had been arrested. The skin in between the injuries was pink and swelling, fighting back against the pain. To him, they didn't look deep—at least not as heavy handed as on some of the men and slaves' backs that he had seen in the past. Maybe the sergeant had secretly taken some pity and held back the full force of the whip, Hugh surmised inwardly. Bordon judged that the lacerations may close by themselves in a couple of days and might not even leave scars.
The officer dipped the cloth in the basin next to the bed, tinged straw colored from the vinegar, rung it out, then laid it gently back on top of the girl's back. She stifled a whimper into her pillow.
Careful not to undermine his superior officer, Captain Bordon kept his tone even and calm. Even though he disagreed with some of the rash things that Tavington did, they were on the same side, both fighting for the Crown, so he knew he must keep a united front with his commander.
His words were emotionless and cautious. "Now, missy, I'm going to ask you some questions."
She turned her head on the pillow to look at him. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut from prolonged crying. "And you will answer me truthfully. Do you understand?"
Betsy nodded her head slightly, saying nothing. She wished these men weren't here. The girl wanted nothing more than to lick her wounds in private.
"Why were you lashed?"
"Weapons were found," she sniffled. "In the corner of the woodshed."
"I thought you surrendered all hidden weapons to me last summer when we first arrived," asked Hugh.
"I did," she insisted tearfully. "I showed you all the hiding places."
Hugh shifted uncomfortably on the chair, not used to sitting after being on his back for so many days in his bed. "Miss Burwell, I am going to ask you something hard," he warned, "and you are to tell me the absolute truth, even if it threatens trouble. I promise you that I will deal fairly with those implicated."
The baleful girl shook her head again.
"Have you, or any of your servants, been stockpiling weapons again to help the rebel cause?"
"No," she wailed. "As I told you months ago, weapons were hidden around the farm and in the house in case of Indian attacks, at first, and then later, in defense against your army."
"Then why were these found?" Bordon was confounded.
"I don't know," she cried. "Maybe I forgot they were there. They were all rusted and dirty. I don't think they could have been used at all. They wouldn't have been much defense against savages and certainly wouldn't have helped the rebels."
"Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Burwell." He pushed the chair back and stood up stiffly, adjusting the blanket again about his shoulders.
"I had hoped you would intervene," she whispered sorrowfully, her eyes full of tears.
The sight of her eyes and face, young and innocent, marred with tears, and her plaintive words, revealing that she trusted him to help her, tore at his heart. What excuse could he give her that would ease her suffering?
Again, without apology and saying nothing to subvert his commander's decision and actions, he kept his actions and words minimal, and cold. "I wasn't apprised of the situation. The doctor bade me to recover."
The girl buried her face in her pillow again, weeping subdued by the material. "Private," the captain said. Young Rainey stood up straight and followed Bordon to the doorway.
The two redcoats opened the door to find servants Pansy and Myriam pacing the hallway. The two women pushed past the dragoons and noisily closed the door behind them, anxious to shut out the enemy and attend their ailing mistress. The captain blew out a sigh at the maids' over reacting.
"Rainey, do you know where the confiscated weapons ended up?" Bordon assumed they were probably locked up in the main office downstairs.
"I believe they were taken to the Colonel's quarters," the young man answered.
"Oh," Bordon replied. "Is the colonel on duty this afternoon?"
"No sir, Captain Wilkins is."
Bordon began to walk slowly down the hall, toward the large room, the former bedroom of Colonel and the late Mrs. Katy Burwell, which was now Tavington's bedchambers. "Do you know where the Colonel is?"
Luckily for Rainey, Tavington had peaked in earlier, after all the commotion, on his recuperating second in command. He had informed the private at that time that Wilkins was in command for the remainder of the day and evening. The private had seen from Bordon's window, the Colonel strolling across the green shortly afterwards, unloosening his cravat as he did. Walking in the general direction of the follower's tents, Rainey assumed that the dragoon leader was going to spend the rest of the day in the arms of his favorite whore, Minnie. "In Miss Fortner's tent, I think."
"Ah, good," Captain Bordon murmured. Rainey continued on his heels, and soon they were at the end of the hallway, outside of Tavington's chambers.
Bordon entered after knocking and receiving no answer. A wide eyed Rainey followed him into the cavalry commander's room.
"Rainey, you are my witness that I am doing nothing untoward in our leader's quarters," he said.
"Yes sir."
The dragoon second in command spotted three old and dirty weapons in the corner of the room. "Ah, this must be the contraband. And you are going to examine it with me," Hugh requested as he moved across the room.
They laid the weapons out on Colonel Tavington's neatly made bed to survey them. The items: an old musket, a sword and a pistol lay there before them, and Private Rainey let out a loud guffaw.
The younger man spoke, amused at the sight before him and trying to keep his laughter under control. "Begging your pardon, sir, but one would have to be close enough to hit someone over the head or rack up their balls for these to be of any effect!"
"I appreciate your blunt honesty," replied Bordon dryly as he picked up the pistol. He looked it over, pulled back the hammer and found it not working. The captain replaced it on the bed as he watched Rainey studying the musket and the red speckles all over the metal parts.
"What a piece of junk," Rainey blurted out as he stared down the inside of the long gun. "There must be just as much rust on the inside of the barrel as on the outside of it."
The soldier laid the musket back on the bed, then received the saber that his superior officer handed him. Knowing that he didn't have the strength yet, Bordon asked, "Please pull the sword out. I want to see its condition."
The young, strong, private made two attempts and could not pull the weapon from its scabbard. "I can't get it out; it's rusted into it!"
Bordon had seen enough. He motioned for Private Rainey to collect the weapons and place them back into the corner.
After Private Rainey escorted the ailing captain back to his room, Hugh dismissed him at the door. The young soldier had spent the better part of his day sitting with his commander, and Bordon knew Rainey could make better use of his on duty time down amongst his fellow dragoons. And Hugh was well enough to make due on his own for now. And he wanted, or rather preferred, to be alone. The redcoat officer had the keen desire to process what he had seen and heard in the last few moments, wanting to sort out the confusion.
Hugh laid his body, joints still sore and stiff from the toxin that had filled him days earlier, on his bed. Resting his head upon his arm on the pillow, he looked up thoughtfully at the ceiling.
The officer had seen things for himself. The weapons found were practically good for nothing; rusty and malfunctioning. They plainly hadn't been maintained, as if they were indeed forgotten about, as Miss Burwell surmised. Clearly Colonel Tavington must have noticed this, as well. If so, then why was he so harsh with the girl? I wouldn't have had her flogged for that...maybe confined to quarters or some freedom taken away, he whispered to himself.
Bordon was tired from being on his feet for only moments. He needed more rest. But he resolved to talk with William about this situation later, after the man returned from his tumble in the bed sheets of Miss Minnie Fortner. The dragoon leader would be in a good mood after that.
/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/
It was sunset as Hugh Bordon found himself staring at his tray of untouched food before him. The officer still wasn't fit enough to sit at the table, with his fellow officers, eat solid food, drink spirits, and make coherent conversation. The servants dutifully brought his food to his room still. He had indeed taken a few spoonfuls of soup and a bite of bread, but that was all he could manage, still having hardly any appetite.
Instead, he decided to venture out of his room, knowing he needed to gain some strength back, and make a trip downstairs. Before he did, pulled one of his white shirts over his head, not buttoning it but leaving it hanging loose. He did though, take an extra minute to brush his long, ginger hair and tie it back loosely, not bothering with the tight braid plait that he would have if he were on duty.
The captain took his time, descending the staircase slowly, trying to remind his slack leg muscles how to do it after having been in bed for a fortnight. With feet solidly on the first floor, he heard women's voices coming from the indoor kitchen, and wisely decided to avoid going the direction lest he be hailed with a round of feminine scolding for being out of bed. Instead, his bare feet padded quietly down the hallway to the left, moving his steadily toward the office. He found himself winded after the short journey, but was relieved to see fresh candlelight playing against the fading twilight from outside on the wall.
The office door was open. Bordon looked inside and found Colonel Tavington at the large desk, looking over paperwork with a bored look on his face. The captain knocked on the door frame.
The colonel looked up immediately at the sound of the knock. His eyebrows raised and a smile crossed his face. For an instant, Hugh wasn't sure if his commander was genuinely happy to see him, or just relieved to be saved from administrative tedium.
"Ah, Bordon. Tis good to see you up."
"Yes," the adjutant replied wearily.
"Shouldn't you be resting?"
"I'm feeling better," Bordon answered. "Doctor said I could start standing and walking about for short periods. As much as I could take."
"Splendid," Tavington exclaimed. While the absence of his regular second in command had been a good teaching time for Wilkins and Wentworth, that had been the only positive thing about it. To William, Bordon was a huge asset, his diplomatic skills beyond reproach and with his mastery of area intelligence, the officer could not be replaced.
"Have you time for a word, sir?"
"Certainly. Come in," said the colonel as he extended his hand, motioning toward the chair directly in front of the desk.
Hugh shut the door behind him and was relieved to sit down. The short journey down the stairs from his second floor room to the farthest and last room on the first floor had made him weak. The ailing dragoon pulled the blanket tightly about his shirt covered torso.
The colonel folded his hands together and rested them atop the papers on his desk. He looked intently at his aide-de-camp, wondering what the matter was. "What's the trouble, captain?"
He hesitated before he spoke. Speaking slowly, he began. "Um...I hear that Miss Burwell was flogged this morning."
"Yes," he answered, a bit of annoyance showing in his countenance. "I gave instructions that you weren't to be bothered with it while recovering."
"I wasn't, colonel," he reassured, "but I heard of it when I awoke. Could I inquire as to the details surrounding the situation?"
"Of course. Private Danning was stacking wood in the woodshed, and found the weapons stashed in a corner, under a small tarp."
"She surrendered the contraband to me last summer," Bordon reminded, "on her word. I believed her."
"Well obviously she lied," the colonel disagreed as he rose slowly from his seat. He took a step out from his desk and faced the wall, his back to his adjutant. "Perhaps her servants stashed them there without her knowledge, but no one came forward."
He was a bit frustrated that his ailing second in command was asking after the incident. However, William tolerated it because it would have been Bordon's duty to take care of the situation had he been upright on his feet. The leader knew that the captain had every right to be apprised of what had happened.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I questioned the girl myself just hours ago," the dragoon second in command informed. "She swears that she did not put them there, and to her knowledge, her servants are not involved in any covert rebel activity. I examined the weapons in question and found them to be rusted and in faulty order, as if they weren't maintained or forgotten about. Could it be a possibility that maybe they were indeed forgotten?"
"Captain, I understand your leaning toward diplomacy and I appreciate it. And I am always impressed that you want to keep apprised of what goes on while you are on and off duty, and sick as well—"
Bordon interrupted. "I believe her, that the weapons had been forgotten for a long while."
Tavington disagreed and defended his point. "Be that as it may, Bordon, it was contraband that was found no matter what condition it was in and whether or not it had been forgotten. It had been intentionally placed there at one time. Someone had to be punished for the deed."
"I understand, William, but did it have to be so harsh?"
The redcoat commander stopped for a moment and looked out the window. He let a moment of heavy silence go by, making Bordon shudder in his seat, wondering if he had said too much this one time.
William turned his head from the window to look at his adjutant. "Yes, Hugh, it had to be. I had to make an example of her to send a message to all the locals that aiding rebels will not be tolerated."
Saying nothing back to his superior, Bordon shook his head in acknowledgment. He wondered again if he had said too much, afraid that his honesty might just damn him. The two men had two opposite styles of leadership: Tavington tended to be severe and rash, usually not thinking about the repercussions of his actions. Bordon could be harsh as well, however, he had enough self discipline to stop and think things over as he remained calm, calculating the effect a good dose of diplomacy might have over a quick round of brutality. Hugh knew he was near the edge, and while he knew that Tavington respected him, Bordon also knew his place. He knew that a mark of insubordination against him wouldn't help his future prospects in King George's army any.
Tavington sat back down at his desk. He truly did value Hugh Bordon's opinion and service. There was no better second in command and master of intelligence as the captain, as far as Tavington was concerned. And no officer he would rather have serving beside him.
He leaned back in his chair, putting his elbow on the desk. He rested his chin in his fingers, as if thinking, and stared across the broad desk at his aide de camp. "All of us in this regiment have dealt harshly at one time or another with these rebels."
William paused a moment then asked, "It troubles you that Miss Burwell was punished?"
Bordon sighed, truly regretting the taste of physical military discipline that the young female prisoner had received. Secretly, it pained his heart that this girl, who he had undeniable growing feelings for, was hurt. Torment showed on his face. "I understand the predicament and I am sorry that I wasn't there to help with it. I would never tell you that someone should not suffer a punishment if it was deemed necessary."
With that, he paused, trying to find the best, most effective words to say. "William, it is just that...I have worked so hard to get the people around here to trust me, and I had hopes that I might be able even to turn a couple of them. Especially Miss Burwell since her father is a traitor."
"I know you have," the colonel recognized.
"I don't think she...or even her servants...will ever trust us again."
"Trust can work favorably," Colonel Tavington admitted, "but they must fear us, as well."
"Yes sir," Bordon answered, trying to sound dutiful instead of defeated. But Hugh knew that his commander understood him and his feelings that the punishment was too much for the crime. Both men knew that Bordon would have handled the situation differently. And although there were times that Bordon could be as tough on colonials as Tavington, it was usually Tavington's lack of patience and short temper that caused trouble and ruckus. That usually left a mess for Bordon to mop up with his civility.
With that Bordon excused himself and walked slowly up to his room. As he paused on the second floor landing, he looked out the window and noticed Tavington making his way towards the soldier's tents, no doubt for some cards and wagers.