Hi readers, thanks for hanging in with this story. I am sorry that it takes so long to update...real life keeps my busy. I hope you enjoy this. It may have some mistakes and quality (gulp...hopefully not too bad) because I edited on the fly just to get the chapter up. Yes...I heard you all..I am updating!

I hope you all got the chance to watch AMC channel RevWar series Turn: Washington's Spies, which just ended season 2. Ratings were down. Hoping they pick up a season 3 or at least sell it to the History Channel and let them finish out the series. It may find more of an audience over there. It is a GREAT series!

Take care and enjoy.

JScorpio

Chapter 37: Bordon's Despair

Private Gwynne, who was riding next to Captain Bordon, caught sight of Private Wells coming out to meet them. Gwynne raised his hand in a silent greeting, which Wells returned with a wide smile that could be seen despite the velvet of darkness about them.

The Green Dragoons second in command gave another puzzled look around him at the crowd gathered near the house. Eyebrows furrowed, he squinted, trying to make out individuals there while trying to avert his eyes from the glare of the firebrands which glowed in harsh contrast against the softness of night.

Gordie, the young squire to the legion, was hard on the heels of Wells. He soon passed the private up as he made his way toward the horses.

Bordon and Gwynne dismounted quickly as the youth met them and took the reins of their horses. The captain was already removing his helmet as he addressed Gordie. "Would you please look at Apollo's foot? He went lame again on our patrol. I had to nurse him along the last five miles or so."

"Yes sir," the squire replied and soon began to lead the beasts toward the barns.

The redcoat officer walked beside Gwynne, who was still tugging at his own helmet. "Wells, what's the commotion," Bordon inquired.

"We caught intruders on the property at the edge of the south woods," he answered with a sly smile and slight victorious upturn of his chin. "Rebels," he elaborated.

"One would think that they wouldn't want to be within five miles of this place with us here," Gwynne piped up.

"Never underestimate your enemy," Bordon reminded as the trio walked along. "These colonials have turned out to be daring and inventive, not wanting to have anything to do with gentlemanly warfare."

The three dragoons continued on toward the back yard, Bordon removing his gloves as he walked and Wells went on describing the situation for the officer. As they made their way amongst the throng gathered, the captain silently looked around to see who was present, specifically looking for Betsy Burwell's face. He quickly assumed that the girl had stayed in her room as he knew she disliked witnessing trouble such as this.

"Captain Wilkins questioned the men," Private Wells informed. "Colonel Tavington interrogated Mr. Waldron to discern his knowledge of the affair."

"Ah, blast," swore Bordon as the three men worked their way through the crowd. Hugh let out an exasperated sigh at this news. Waldron was a hard man to sway, but a man of influence nonetheless, and Bordon had hoped to win him over—or at least his trust. And now, at the hands of his hot tempered superior Tavington, he worried for the welfare of the farm's overseer.

Bordon quickened his pace, wanting to make his way to Waldron's aid. "The colonel hasn't beaten him senseless, has he?"

"No sir," was Wells' reply.

Captain Bordon slowed up a bit now, no longer compelled to have to rescue the plantation's esteemed manager.

Hugh didn't doubt the ability of his subalterns to interrogate people in his absence, trusting them to have learned when to show fairness and leniency and when to let loose with the scare tactics. But he damned himself for not being on hand this evening when this all unfolded. He always worried about Tavington's low patience level—especially with provincials.

They finally rounded the corner of the house and came onto the back lawn near the small, formal garden. He finally saw the rebels, tied up and seated on the grass. They had a host of Brown Bess muskets trained on them by the legion's infantry. Hugh guessed the ages of the prisoners to be from 18 to 40.

Turning his head at the sound of the door opening to the back of the main house, the captain saw Tavington emerge with Mr. Waldron. The colonial man looked shaken up. Wells went on briefing the officer. "Lieutenant Wentworth is in the dining hall questioning the girl."

Bordon stopped in his tracks, causing Wells to have to sally backwards a few feet to be even with his commander. "They had a female with them?" asked Bordon, puzzled for an instant that a woman would be caught sans chaperone with a group of ruffian rebels in the middle of the night.

Then he quickly remembered his own words of warning that the colonials were a desperate lot at the moment. These colonials have turned out to be daring and inventive. He had uttered the words aloud to his companions only moments ago.

"Yes! Miss Burwell!" Wells answered. "She was trying to escape with them."

Captain Hugh Bordon felt as if a mule had just kicked him in the stomach. The man deflated from his usual tall and proud way he carried himself. His shoulders rounded and he hunched over a bit, instantly feeling sick to his stomach and trying to corral his now erratic breath. "What?" was the only word he could force out.

Bordon knew that Wells was answering him, probably repeating what he had just said even though Hugh had heard it loud and clear the first time. The private's repeated response now sounded like gibberish in Bordon's head as his own heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears.

Despite the mental shock that immediately took hold of him, a whirlwind of emotions swirled about him as disbelief tightened its chokehold on his throat. Confusion made him hope that it was some sort of mistake yet knowing by the scene around him that it wasn't. Wishing that it was some error. Anger made him furious at her for participating in the scheme. He could only curse inside himself at her brashness and youthful stupidity. He was wroth with himself as well, now questioning how he let himself come to trust her. She was a colonial, and although he was fond of her, he had known better than to put trust in a rebel.

And although no one knew of his secret affair with Betsy, he burned with embarrassment in his mind and soul. Inwardly, he felt disgraced that he was fool enough to fall for her girlish charms and bestow her with his faith.

Also, Bordon was disappointed with her actions; her choice. She left. She left ME. Why? For the moment, he seemed to forget that he was a soldier and this was all part of his duty. Something he had to deal with, and she was just another prisoner that did something stupid. He took it personally, as if she meant the offense against him.

The heartache he felt at her actions seemed to have stolen his reason and left him reeling. The officer tried to make quick sense of his own feelings. He didn't love her. Sure, his affection ran deep. He cared for her and wanted to protect her, but the pain in his soul over this?

Amidst his angst, he turned his head to see his young mistress being led down the steps of the breezeway, her wrists bound in front of her. She was being escorted by Wentworth and Private Dozier, held firmly by her arms between them.

Betsy and Hugh locked eyes. She had just spent God knows how much time being questioned again and again by the Lieutenant, who was normally a nice young man. His interrogation was intense, a mixture of Bordon's calm and diplomacy, and Tavington's scare tactics. She had been through the wringer. If there was a way to break free of the men's firm hold, she would. And to Hugh she would run, wanting him to wrap her in his arms and whisper that all would soon be well.

Miss Burwell's mouth dropped open, desperately wanting to cry out to the captain, even if it meant exposing their affair. But fear again seized her throat, and all she could do was bow her head and weep as the men dragged her between them.

Bordon's mind spun like a wheel as he stared hard at the two privates standing next to the house, holding Betsy tightly. He knew he had to find some way to help her, but found it hard to reel in his thoughts and string together any coherent ideas, let alone trying to talk.

Hugh looked about in mute astonishment as if help or some kind of answer would jump out of the throng at him. His eyes moved back over to the side watching as two of the rebels, the one that looked the oldest and one of the younger ones, were pulled up from where they were seated and moved over into the center of the green, where all could see.

In an instant, the intelligence adjutant part of his duties cleared the haze from his brain and loosened the stranglehold that bemusement had on his throat. The officer's voice returned and suddenly he rasped , "Colonel, I'd like to speak with the prisoners—"

He was swiftly cut off by Tavington. "You can see and have no doubt been briefed already as to what has occurred. You'll receive a full report by your men in the morning."

Hugh panicked inside. He knew all too well by William's actions that the commandant was chomping at the bit to pass sentence. And he feared, and rightfully so, that his superior was going to make an example out of some—or all—of the prisoners. And knowing Tavington, the dragoon second in command suspected that Betsy would not be spared when meting out the hurt. Bordon simply couldn't allow that, no matter how wrong his lover might be. He felt that she had suffered enough in the past year at their hands.

He moved up close to the legion leader and leaned in close to his ear. "Sir," Bordon spoke low, "if I could just speak with Miss Burwell to find out her level of involvement in this scheme."

"Captain," he whispered back, "she was escaping with them, plain and simple."

"It could have been a kidnapping—" the captain interjected.

"Bordon," he answered firmly, still controlling the low level of his voice, "the girl admitted to leaving with them of her own free will."

Feeling the bile come up in his throat, Bordon swallowed hard, tasting the bitterness burning all the way down his throat. Still in disbelief, the officer fought himself to keep his emotions in check and to appear united with the redcoat army. His stomach twisted and roiled as his mind screamed with the thought of Betsy leaving of her own accord.

Captain Bordon pulled himself up to standing proudly tall again, and locked his hands in a clasp behind his back. In his most official sounding voice, he spoke. "Colonel, I know I was away on assignment when all this transpired. But, as head of intelligence for the Legion, I feel compelled to speak with the prisoners. Something could have been missed."

Tavington met his request with that familiar, stone cold stare that would usually intimidate a civilian. The Green Dragoons, however, had seen that look daily from their commander and had come to use it as a gage of the man's current mood. Hugh did that now, knowing to tread carefully.

William said nothing, according his second in command the respect of listening to his request fully. He lifted his eyebrows a bit, a sign for his subaltern to continue on.

"Why not delay sentencing until tomorrow and give a full trial," Bordon cajoled. "Separate them again. Let them sleep. Question them again in the morning. Stories have a tendency to change after time has passed."

"Duly noted, Hugh," the colonel answered. "And usually, I would consider that. But not now. We are dealing with men sent by General Burwell, a man that we want and have dealings with that are sorely yielding us nothing so far. We have to send a severe message to that traitor."

Betsy, across the lawn, was just out of earshot and could hear nothing of the conversation between Tavington and her lover. But she could tell, just by Hugh's actions, that he was trying to reason with his commander without exposing his own personal feelings for her. She knew that he was protecting them both, and her heart felt relieved for it.

Tavington went on. "Fear not, Captain. You have trained your men well. They did a thorough job, I assure you, of handling this situation. I was quite impressed."

He thanked his superior in a shaky voice. Inside, Captain Bordon was still on high alert, knowing that William was going to make a show of his authority as he doled out the punishments. And although Hugh had raped a female servant to scare her into giving up information and he had been guilty of roughing up men as a tactic, he did it with the utmost discretion and usually as a last option. Bordon always thought it best to have the captive left alive and unable or unwilling to fight the rebel cause again...and maybe even weakened to the point of being turned.

Across the grass, Miss Burwell looked frantically at Mr. Waldron and Mr. Hantz, who were both being held at the business end of redcoat muskets. Then her eyes found Hugh's, and they pleaded with him to help her. The girl was downright frightened. She trembled so hard that all around her could see her shaking.

She questioned and cursed herself at the same time, unable to shake the feeling of guilt. Betsy couldn't help but think that if she had stayed, then none of this would be happening. Barely three hours ago, the girl was running free with these men in the woods south of the house. They were near the end of the property. And as the small band of five traipsed as quietly as they could through the modest forest, they came across a small glade. There, in the darkness, they had failed to see a young dragoon named Private Tilson and camp follower called Nancy, making love. The couple were so quiet and well hidden that the colonials practically tripped over them when they interrupted the intimacy. And though the cavalryman's cock was occupied plumbing the girl's cunt, he had quicker reflexes then the rebels did. He jumped up off Nancy and fired his loaded pistol into the air to alert the camp. As he moved to arrest the group, his lady friend ran away through the woods back toward the camp, screaming into the night which only woke the canvas village and brought more sleepy lobsterbacks out to investigate. The rebels made a valiant attempt to escape but were cut off and rounded up by some very annoyed redcoats.

All Betsy could do now was think about the "whys" and the "what ifs" of this situation and sob as the tears streamed from her eyes. There was no use trying to be brave. She feared for the sentence passed on all of them.

The din of the crowd faded away when all assembled saw Colonel Tavington walk to Sergeant Calvert. He was a large, burly man that Tavington had personally chosen to mete punishments out, to rebels as well as his own dragoons that got out of line. The onlookers had witnessed it before and knew the sergeant not to hesitate doling it out. They all looked on in a collective silence, watching as the colonel whispered to the man.

All Calvert had to do was nod at the privates guarding Burwell's quartet of men. The young dragoons soon spurred into action and dragged rebel Privates Matthews and Grover away from the crowd and out further onto the lawn, but still within distance for all to watch. Infantrymen in various states of dress and undress filed in to corral the people and keep them back.

The men were made to kneel, hands still bound behind their backs. They were quickly blindfolded.

All assembled there knew what was about to happen.

Betsy, still weeping, twisted within her captors' grip, as if she could get away. She wailed, "No! Don't! Colonel, Please! Mercy on them, please!"

"Quiet!" Private Dozier said low to her. It was a warning.

Tavington walked a few steps forward to address the crowd. "These men are rebels," he proclaimed, "which makes them traitors."

He continued. "They will be executed."

Miss Burwell cried aloud, lurching in futility while being held. "Please! No!" she screamed.

Sergeant Calvert tipped his head. The few privates in front of Grover and Matthews raised their muskets, bayonets already fixed on them. "Take aim," Calvert ordered. He hesitated a moment; he always liked the prisoners to have a few seconds to reflect on their impending death.

"Fire!" he yelled.

The musket fire was so very loud, hurting the ears of all gathered. The sound of the guns echoed and bounced off the outer walls of the brick house and out buildings, making it near deafening.

When the echo stopped, muffled sobs were heard along with Betsy, who was weeping loudly as she had collapsed to her knees.

The privates who had done the shooting bayoneted the bodies of the criminals. They grabbed the legs of the dead colonials and pulled them over to the side, leaving dark trails of blood in the grass, the dark of night making it look more black instead of crimson.

Lieutenant Wentworth handed Betsy off to Private Crane with a nod. Wentworth began to make his way towards the officers gathered around Colonel Tavington. William broke away from the group taking a few short steps to meet his sergeant at arms. Tavington again whispered more instructions into Calvert's ear, and the man nodded silently. Bordon knew that Tavington favored this tactic: keep the captive guessing as to what their punishment will be.

Captain Bordon studied the large bodied sergeant intently, trying to guess what the man's intentions were. He watched as the Sergeant looked over at Dozier and Crane, holding Miss Burwell between them. Hugh's heart slammed in his chest when he saw the men yanking Betsy along and out of the crowd, the girl crying and begging as they did.

Bordon had to do something fast, yet his ambition, always there inside him, prevented him from dropping all guard and revealing his affair with the girl. One wrong action would get the officer into serious trouble and kill his chances of moving up the chain of command.

The man tried to get his breath back under control. Swallowing hard, he parted the small group of officers and marched purposefully to his superior.

Tavington didn't look at Bordon, seeming to pay no mind that his adjutant had sidled up to him. Instead he kept his eye on Betsy and the two young dragoons. They had stopped in the center of the side lawn, not quite as far as to where the others had just been shot. Hugh breathed an instantaneous breath of relief between slightly parted lips. After all, they were too close to the crowd for her to be shot, and they weren't close to the scourging tree.

Betsy wanted Hugh to stop whatever was about to happen. And she could see by his actions that he had stepped up to do so. But when the men tightened their hold on her again, as if to seize her further from running, she could not help but panic.

"Please, colonel! This was no plan by me!" she beseeched through her tears. "Mercy! Please!"

"Colonel, let me deal with her!" Bordon pleaded, still vigilantly watching Betsy with the dragoons. Tavington was doing the same.

When Tavington didn't answer him, the captain spoke again. "Colonel.." But his voice trailed off as he watched what happened next. It was all so quick.

Frozen to his spot, Bordon's eyes widened in instant terror as Sergeant Calvert brought his gun down, bayonet fixed on it, and walked toward Betsy. He's going to stab her! Kill her! Was what his mind screamed.

"No, Sergeant!" was the yell that came out of Bordon's mouth when the burly man was upon Betsy, his musket raised up and pointed downward.

In a flash, Calvert drilled downward and drove the point of the bayonet into her foot, completely through it and coming out on the underside, tip buried in the dirt. He could tell. He had impaled limbs before in battle and skirmishes and had come to know how it felt...the instant it penetrated the limb then came out the other side. And then that instant of suction when the tip wanted to stay imbedded in the ground for a bit.

A bloodcurdling scream tore from Miss Burwell's throat as hot, instantly paralyzing volts of electricity shot up Betsy's left leg and swam at a soaring rate through her torso. She looked down, and through the tears of pain draining from her eyes, she could discern herself now pinned to the ground.

And even though it all happened so fast for all to see and witness, it was seen clearly. Betsy, although she could feel the torturous pain, was still in disbelief that it was her foot that was staked to the ground. And as she drowned in that first instant of agony, more was soon added to it. Calvert, being a sergeant and personally having to oversee the training of infantrymen, did just as he taught his own men to do. He gave the bayonet a twist. Point, stab, twist, was what British soldiers were taught to inflict maximum damage.

Betsy wailed again as more pain traversed her body, after an instant of thinking that no more could possibly be worse. It was. And then he pulled the point up and out. The young woman saw waves in front of her vision and knew she would faint. Her knees buckled as she was held between Privates Crane and Dozier. They held her up for a moment, then let her go at a nod to each other.

Falling those few inches to the ground was a relief as well as more pain for the girl. She curled into a fetal position for a moment, crying and groaning, eyes closed, not daring to look at her foot. After a moment she forced her eyes open and caught a glimpse of a thick stream of blood on the ground. With that she promptly rolled, still curled up, and puked into the grass.

She soon heard the familiar voices of her servants who now circled around her, the women crying and the men cursing. Their hands on her trying their best to soothe her did nothing to alleviate the pain.

Hugh Bordon, who stood by helplessly witnessing this, wanted to run to his lover and scoop her into his arms. Yet he was seeing red and wanted to hurt William however he could.

The captain fought to keep himself under control as his tortured soul screamed inside him to drop all and run to Betsy. The officer couldn't help himself, glaring at Sergeant at Arms Calvert, a man who did simply as he was ordered to do, as he walked to Tavington. The sergeant did not see the hateful, intent stare.

"She's hobbled sir," Calvert said, as if he needed to confirm what his superior just saw after having ordered it himself. "She won't be going anywhere any time soon."

"Thank you, Calvert." With that, William again nodded to his side, where four dragoons picked up Lander and Robson and began to march them out onto the green.

The words Calvert said drew fire. Oh God more killing, Bordon's mind yelled inside his own head. And though he was a seasoned officer used to delivering and seeing carnage, he could stomach no more this evening.

He exploded. "Oh Bloody Hell!" The captain stomped the few feet to Colonel Tavington's side and fixed his hand in a hard grip on the commander's arm.

"PLEASE, William! REASON!" Bordon implored through gritted teeth. "Don't kill them! Let us use them, instead!"

There was a blunt silence that hit everyone in the face. Tavington, Calvert, and the other officers stared at Captain Bordon as if he had just cursed out King George.

Bordon looked incredulously at all of them. Have they really lost their minds? Have they really lost all scruples? Did they truly just forget about the principles of captives and warfare?

The Captain soon broke the silence he had caused. "This is an opportunity to send the message to Burwell personally," he implored. "Take this time to broker another deal with him, or to remind him that he is a traitor."

"Right," answered Tavington. With that, he walked to the pair of rebels. Remembering the young one, Lander, as the delivery boy from town, he reached down, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and strongly hauled the teen to his feet.

He shook the boy as he spoke. Johnny went pale with a look of blind fear over his face.

"You and your friend there have been spared," snarled William as he gave the boy another hard shake to punctuate his mercy. Bordon hauled the other one to his feet so that he could also hear the commandant's word.

"And you are God damned lucky. You will go back to your General Burwell and relay to him ALL that you have seen here tonight. Tell him that if he tries any more foolishness, that I will not hesitate to hurt his daughter again."

The captain scowled slightly. It wasn't the message he wanted sent, but at least there would be no more executions tonight.

Tavington let go of the teenager, pushing him roughly back. Private Lander stumbled backwards and was caught in the arms of Bordon. The colonel pointed his finger menacingly into the face of the youngster. "Tell Burwell, that our offer still stands: he can trade himself for his daughter."

Lander nodded his head vigorously as Bordon cut the ropes away from his arms. Both rebels stood there, rubbing their wrists, and damned sorry that the plan had failed.

"Wilkins will give you a pass to get through our lines," he informed. "Bryson," he called out to a nearby private, "You will escort these men off the property."

The dragoon leader then turned to Bordon. He wasn't done doling out orders quite yet. "Captain, come see me in a few minutes after you have settled in and I'll apprise you fully of this incident."

"Sir," he nodded as Tavington had already turned and headed away. Hugh stood there a moment, frozen in place. That sick feeling of helplessness encapsulated him again. He closed his eyes and as his breath seemed caught. Hugh was still awestruck inside over what had unfolded so quickly. The events couldn't have taken more than five or ten minutes, he reckoned, and all he did was save two blasted rebels' lives and stand by and watch in horror at the ghastly treatment of his young mistress.

Captain Bordon stood there, lost and ashamed.

After a moment, the fog of the events had cleared and he soon found himself standing nearly alone in the back yard. Most of the crowd had dissipated. And now, his heart fell into his gut and his breath hitched as he panicked, wondering what had happened to Betsy.

Bordon found the strength to move his legs again. And when he did, he bolted a short distance across the lawn toward the main house. At the back steps of the residence, he was met by a trail of blood droplets, in the grass, then on the stepping stones, then on the stairs into the home.

Inside the house, the crimson droplets met him again, a telltale path of them on the wood floor of the hallway. He took a deep breath then dutifully followed the hapless red spots.

The dragoon second in command didn't have far to go once in there, only a couple of steps and a right, and into the servants kitchen at the back of the home.

On the long hard, solid prep table which he routinely saw the servants gathered around daily making bread and cutting fresh produce, Miss Burwell lay. The kitchen was nearly full with her servants and slaves gathered around, some still gawking in disbelief at what had happened to their mistress, some comforting her, and the closest ones were administering aid.

He pushed his way through the crowd as his heart beat drummed loudly in his ears. He saw that some of the women were already gathering hot and cold water and other supplies. And as Hugh neared his lover, the dragoon surgeon was being ushered through.

When Bordon reached Betsy's head at the end of the table, she was subdued but whimpering. Her color had turned ashen and she was shivering. The officer recognized right away that she was in shock and he feared she would die before the doctor even examined her. Someone in the crowd soon threw a blanket over her torso, calming her just a bit. Bordon tucked it in around and under her prostrate body, hoping to warm her.

Hugh was dismayed when he looked at the opposite end of the table and saw just how profusely her small foot had bled. The crimson had stained the hem of her robe as well as turning that end of the table red. A small puddle was forming just under the foot of the table. The girl had already lost so much blood in such a short time.

Both the officer and Betsy flinched when they heard the thump of the medic's case as he quickly slammed it onto a small table nearby that had been brought in and set up at the end near the girl's feet. And a few seconds later, they heard the rattle of the metal instruments within the muslin folded case which held them as it was hurriedly placed on the table. Then the most ominous sound was the cold, steel clanking of those surgical tools as the surgeon spread them out, ready to be used.

This seemed to pull Miss Burwell out of her stupor of shock for she bolted upright weakly, frightened and trying to get away from the loving hands that pinioned her. "No! No!" she wept. She knew a painful surgery was imminent.

"Easy, lass," Captain Bordon said, looking down at her with sorrowful eyes.

The girl flinched yet again when she felt hands holding her leg and her foot being twisted ever so slightly. And after the doctor looked at, he slipped a tourniquet over the foot and around her ankle, mentioning "stem the bleeding" to those immediately near him.

When the strap tightened hard about her ankle, she panicked and flailed again. All near her held her down a little more firmly as she did.

"Don't! Please, no!" cried Betsy, tears flowing from her eyes and blurring her own vision. She heard a voice, Mr. Waldron she thought. "Hold still, missy."

And now she was wailing unabashed again. She was absolutely terrified, knowing that her foot could very well be amputated if any bones were too badly damaged.

Bordon bent his large frame down and put his lips near her ears, as everyone else in the room seemed concerned elsewhere and not looking at him.

"Betsy," he whispered.

She turned her head to him and sobbed, "Don't let them cut it off." Truth be told, Bordon was nearly as scared as she was that the doctor would take her foot.

He nodded her head, unsure of what to say, not wanting to lie that he could stop an amputation if it meant saving her from infection later. Instead, he whispered words of assurance. "I will be right here. Be brave."

Feeling sick inside and temporarily forgetting his anger at her, he raised up again to spy what was going on at the other end of the table. He caught the surgeon's eye, who addressed the room, but looked squarely at Bordon.

"We need to wash out the wound," the doctor informed, "then I will have to probe inside it to assess injury."

A piece of wood covered in leather was then handed to Bordon. From his own painful past experiences, he knew exactly what to do with it, and what it meant. Again, he folded his tall frame in half and put his mouth to Betsy's ear.

"The surgeon needs to feel inside your foot for broken bones," Hugh whispered. "I'm afraid it will hurt."

The young lady cried and she shook her head "no" back and forth, pleading through her tears. The captain put the bite stick near her lips. "Bite down hard," he instructed sympathetically.

Miss Burwell opened her mouth slightly, enough for the redcoat leader to push the stick in. She closed her teeth tightly on it, giving a muffled sob. Then she felt Bordon's strong hands, the ones that were so gentle when caressing her naked body lovingly, clamp tightly down onto her shoulders.

"Forgive me," he murmured, "but I have to help hold you firm."

She nodded her head, her eyes glassed over with tears as Hugh pressed her shoulders hard, holding her still. She whimpered slightly when she felt the hot water irrigating the hole in her foot. Then she smelled the sour of the vinegar and felt the sting of it as it was poured vigorously over her wound.

"Stay as still as you can," Bordon bade her as he pushed her shoulders down against the wood, same as every other person in the room pinioning some part of her extremities to the table.

Then, the surgeon began his probing of the wound gently as he could. Betsy let out a muffled howl of pain against the wood held tightly between her teeth. His fingers moved within the hole, seeking out bones and tendon and sinew, which was agony to the young girl. And after a moment of the torture, her eyes rolled and closed, her head rolling to the side.

"Thank God! She's fainted," Captain Bordon proclaimed. "Work quickly, while she is out," he requested of the dragoon medic.

And the officer did just as he had promised his mistress, staying at her side, even after she had passed out. He looked mainly at her ashen face, hoping and praying she would not revive until afterwards. He knew the pain was too much for a young girl to bear.

The man looked up now and then to view the progress of the surgery. He looked away just as much, finding it disheartening to see the man's fingers inside her foot manipulating the bones and ligaments.

After what seemed like an eternity, the surgeon spoke. "There are no broken bones, the blade just missed them. But there is extensive damage to the tissues. It is too early for me to say if she will ever walk again without aid."

The medic stitched the wound loosely, then coated it with a plaster to help keep it closed.

Bordon himself carried the girl up to her room, accompanied by the doctor and some servants, and he placed her gently on her bed, stepping back to let the others take care of undressing her and covering her.

He left the room, so many emotions clouding his thinking. But mostly, he felt heartsick that she may lose use of that foot, or worse, may never walk again. The colonel had used her to send a message and set an example, and it had been extraordinarily cruel.

And he had promised Betsy that he would protect her. He failed, and that was the worst feeling of all.