A Snake in the Grass

The British captain who'd arrived at her doorstep yesterday bore the politest of salutations from his Lord General Charles Cornwallis, her new neighbor at the top of the hill, but it was still obvious to her that his request was more of an order. Following the fall of Charles Town, Cornwallis had confiscated the Dresden mansion and was now rebuilding it into Fort Carolina. Most of his soldiers were camped around the manor in tents, but a few of his elite officers had taken notice of the few residences in the surrounding countryside, and the Macauley house was one of them.

"His lordship has heard that Gavin Macauley was a fine soldier for the King during the French and Indian War," the officer had greeted her yesterday. "He hopes that the Macauley family will welcome His Majesty's officers for a short time, perhaps a week, while the fort is under repair."

"Thank you, sir," Caroline had replied. "My father was indeed a fine soldier, and a good merchant and carpenter as well, but he passed on a few months ago."

Captain John Borden had expressed his sympathy, sincerely enough she believed, but went on to make clear that the general would still expect her to host several officers of the Green Dragoons, of which Borden was one. Caroline had then explained, with some discomfort, that her financial means had diminished since her father's death. In turn, the captain readily promised that the officers would dine at a nearby tavern, and that she would be compensated for the cost of any wine or other liquor that her guests might consume.

Then, with even more discomfort, she'd cautiously hinted at what really disturbed her most.

"Captain Borden," she had said, taking a deep breath, "I am the only one who lives in the house. I have an older sister, but she is now married and lives far away in Virginia. The man you saw outside is a servant, as is the young girl in the kitchen, and I cannot afford to pay them enough to sleep here. The boys in the carpentry workshop are apprentices, so they also leave in the evening..."

Her eyes had dropped to the floor, her voice trailing off in embarrassment.

Borden had cleared his throat and answered in a gentle, reassuring voice.

"I understand your fears, Miss Macauley. Rest assured that the officers of His Majesty's Green Dragoons are gentlemen."

The sun had already set when Caroline saw four officers of the Dragoons appear on the orange horizon and ride up the dirt road in perfect unison.

Caroline had taken care to dress well but modestly, arranging a lace kerchief around the neckline of her blue-striped dress and tucking her long dark hair into a ruffled muslin cap before tying on her new straw hat. Her father had bought it for her last year on her seventeenth birthday, a fashionable one straight from England, and he'd chosen this one with the blue satin ribbon to match her light blue eyes. Caroline had heard that many of the British officers considered the colonists unsophisticated and she wanted to prove them wrong, but she was also careful not to dress to attract unwanted attention.

The uniforms of the Dragoons, on the other hand, were designed to draw attention, and their effect was intimidation. Their tall black riding helmets elongated the height of the officers, who were already large, athletically built men. His Majesty's Green Dragoons were one of the finest fighting forces in the world, and they made a fierce impression with their shining gold buckles and high black riding boots, their green uniforms, and most of all, their long swords.

Caroline swallowed hard as they rode into the yard and came to a stop in front of the house. The young apprentices, crowded around the workshop door, watched and whispered together.

The Dragoons dismounted and removed their riding helmets and gloves. Captain Borden approached her first as she stood waiting on the steps. He was a muscular man, almost stocky, with serious, sharp features, but when he smiled at her he appeared boyish. She smiled back in relief. His familiar face set her more at ease with the others.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said to them with an elegant curtsy. "I am Caroline Macauley."

Borden bowed and kissed her hand, then turned to address the two younger men at his side.

"Lieutenants Harcourt and MacKay, Miss Macauley is the daughter of the late Gavin Macauley, who served the Crown in the last war in the colonies."

The officers both bowed and kissed her hand in turn, then allowed the apprentices to take their horses to the small stable next to the workshop. Caroline noted with satisfaction that they all seemed quite respectful -- all but the fourth officer, who seemed reluctant to leave his horse and was far more interested in the view of Fort Carolina from the yard. His apparent disinterest in meeting his hostess both amused and irritated her.

"Well, Captain Borden," she said with a smile as she recalled his words from yesterday, "at least three of the four of you are gentlemen."

Harcourt and MacKay suppressed snickers, but Borden winced and flushed until his complexion almost matched his thick reddish hair.

"Ah, Miss Macauley, I apologize for our commander," he said with a faint sigh. "Colonel Tavington is an excellent soldier, but...not a diplomat. He is, however, from a well-known aristocratic family."

Now it was Caroline's turn to blush.

"No, I should apologize to you, Captain," she said, glancing at the officer outside the barn. "I did not realize he was your commander or I would not have said what I --"

She broke off as Colonel Tavington suddenly turned and walked toward the house with a quick, confident stride, removing his helmet as he approached her. He made a slight, elegant bow.

"Good evening, my lady," he said in a low, resonant voice. "I am Colonel William Tavington, commander of the Green Dragoons."

He raised her hand and kissed it as the other officers had done, except that his broad, gloved hand lingered under hers, the leather fingertips lightly stroking her palm as he slowly released her hand.

Caroline instantly forgot her irritation with him.

The colonel was, quite simply, one of the most strikingly handsome men she had ever seen in her life. He was at least ten years her senior, tall and perfectly proportioned, with a strong nose and jaw and a thin mouth that curved into a rather seductive smile. His eyes, an unusually light shade of hazel, remained fixed on hers even as he kissed her hand. The appreciative look she saw in them soothed her injured pride, but he let them linger on her mouth and at the neckline of her dress too long for politeness before looking up into her eyes again.

Borden coughed.

"Ah, sir, this is Miss Caroline Macauley."

She'd forgotten to introduce herself and felt her neck start to flush.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Macauley," Colonel Tavington said smoothly. His smile broadened into a smirk, as if he could read her thoughts and found them amusing. She looked away and turned abruptly to step through the open doorway of the house.

"Gentlemen, follow me."

Caroline avoided meeting the colonel's eyes again as she led them into the house, untied her hat and set it down on a small table. She chose his room first, partly out of proper respect and partly to excuse herself from his unnerving presence more quickly.

The other three waited in the small parlor as Tavington looked around the room that had been her father's. She poured fresh water from a pitcher into the bedside basin as he removed his black leather riding gloves and set them on the table, then walked behind her to take off his uniform jacket and belt and hang them on the coat stand.

"Do let me know if you need anything else, Colonel Tavington."

Without looking up, she turned quickly and headed for the door before Tavington stepped away from it, causing her to slam into him hard and nearly fall against the doorframe.

He held her up against him effortlessly with one large, strong hand pressed firmly against her back. She struggled to draw in a deep breath and regain her balance and her dignity before stepping away. He dropped his hand, none too quickly.

"I certainly will, Miss Macauley."

He spoke the words too quietly for the others to hear, accompanied by a faint smirk and a wicked glint in his pale eyes before he moved back into the room and closed the door behind him. His expression made it clear that he had purposely failed to move out of her way.

Caroline could hardly concentrate on anything else she said to the other three as she showed them their rooms, or anything they said to her, except to notice that Harcourt resembled a fair-haired cousin of hers and that MacKay had a Scottish accent like her father's.

Gavin Macauley would have liked MacKay, a fellow Highlander, and likely would have embarrassed his daughter by loudly whispering what a good match he'd be for her. She had just turned eighteen, and many girls her age had already married, but she was particular about young men. Gavin would have said difficult. Caroline, however, simply considered herself a romantic who valued the intangible magnetism of passion more than a man's financial status and position in society. Her father would have been pleased to have his daughter marry a Dragoon, but she secretly sympathized with the rebel soldiers who struggled for independence and a new country.

As she walked through the house, Caroline imagined that she could still feel Tavington's hand against her back, the hardness and warmth of his chest through his shirt. It was more than his good looks and bold arrogance that flustered her, she realized. He had a strange energy about him, a riveting intensity in his eyes, and a powerful frame that made him seem as if he had been born to be a soldier. He moved with a sinuous grace and had the manners of a highborn gentleman -- when he cared to use them -- but underneath his cool exterior she sensed the potential for something more dangerous, less civilized.

The others seemed aware of it as well. They greeted the colonel politely on the one occasion that evening that he emerged from his room, but did not attempt small talk with him. He nodded to them curtly and took his glass of sherry with him as he strode wordlessly out the door and into the yard. Caroline watched him from the window of her room as he stood looking at the fort's silhouette in the moonlight.

Five days went by without incident, and Caroline's nerves calmed after her initial meeting with the Dragoons' commander. To her relief, he had not made any further advances or remarks, and in fact had hardly seemed to notice her presence since a meeting with the general yesterday that had rendered him morosely preoccupied.

Having finished her morning cleaning and chores, Caroline decided to take her sewing outside on the garden bench, near a grove of white pine trees along a small stream. It was a typical February day in South Carolina -- sunny and fairly mild, although not warm. Still, she felt comfortable enough as she sat in the sun and worked on mending a buttonhole, enjoying the scent of the damp grass and musky earth.

She heard the snake before she saw it.

The motion of its heavy body made a soft, whispering sound as it slithered across the red, sandy ground. She froze as she recognized its distinctive pattern and the triangular head that signaled a poisonous snake. Her hand was still raised in the air, dangling thread from the needle to her lap.

She knew that copperheads liked the water, and like all snakes they enjoyed the sun, but she was surprised and frightened that this one seemed to be moving toward her so aggressively. After a moment, she saw the reason and relaxed slightly, although she still held perfectly still. The snake had apparently spotted a small mouse near the stable beyond her and moved closer quickly, then stopped in a clump of tall grass and went motionless.

The mouse did not notice the danger and continued to nibble on a piece of straw. The copperhead slid slowly forward, slowly, gracefully and almost imperceptibly. Its scales glinted in the morning sun like a fine, polished piece of copper. The snake stopped again, still hidden in the grass, then glided forward again once more and rested.

Caroline watched, tensed in nervous anticipation and mesmerized by the creature's sinuous, elegant beauty even as it repulsed her.

Then it struck.

The next moment, the mouse flailed helplessly in its fangs. The copperhead had turned deadly in a flash, springing forward with shocking speed and power to capture its prey. The mouse slipped slowly into the snake's throat until only the tail was visible, then gone. She shivered in disgust.

"Amazing creature, is it not?"

Badly startled, Caroline flinched so hard that she stabbed the needle into her fingertip and whimpered in pain. Tavington moved quickly to her side and sat down next to her as she raised her injured hand to her mouth and sucked the tip of her finger, her blue eyes wide.

"So sorry to frighten you, Miss Macauley."

She nodded wordlessly, although she doubted he was.

He smiled and took hold of her wrist, then brought her pricked finger to his lips and kissed it lightly.

Caroline, still breathing raggedly, gasped even more deeply and blinked at him in shock.

His light eyes seemed to glitter in the morning sunlight as he moved his mouth slowly across the rest of her fingertips. His other hand suddenly reached for her waist to pull her toward him.

She jumped to her feet, spilling her sewing basket onto the ground as she twisted her wrist out of his grip.

"I have to go in," she said breathlessly, backing away from him and trying to ignore his amused expression. "Snakes terrify me."

She turned and ran into the house.

The sun sank into the hills and night fell, but still the officers had not yet returned to the house. Caroline knew they would eventually come back to sleep, but suspected they had stayed longer at the tavern to drink a while after dinner. Initially relieved at their absence and glad to have the house to herself, she gradually became impatient and irritated as the hours passed and she longed to go to sleep.

Finally, she went up the stairs to her room, undressed and put on her muslin nightgown, then washed her face in the basin and crawled into bed. Let the drunken Dragoons sleep in the tavern courtyard, she thought mischievously. Well, at least she'd left the front door unbolted so they could come in during the night without waking her.

Caroline drifted in and out of sleep.

"Miss Macauley!"

She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Miss Macauley!"

It was Tavington's voice, loud and somewhat slurred.

She groaned as she rose from her bed and reached for the doorknob, then paused. She could not let a man see her in her nightgown, especially not this man. Snatching her thick woolen blue shawl from a peg on the wall and wrapping it around her tightly, she opened her door and started down the stairs.

"I am coming, sir," she said, her voice low and raspy from sleep. "Where are the others?"

"Still at the tavern. Bring me some bread and water."

She bristled at his abrupt rudeness, but tried to hide her irritation as well as her anxiety about being alone in the house with him. He had already taken off his uniform jacket and was untying his shirt collar.

Tavington sat down heavily in a chair and stretched out his muscular legs as she brought him a pitcher and mug and went into the pantry for the breadbox. When she came back out, he had removed his long, dark hair from its tight military queue. It fell thick around his broad shoulders, softening his handsome but harsh features and easing his usual appearance of cold formality. At the same time, his loose hair also made him look a little wild, untamed.

His eyes met hers as she set the bread in front of him, although their normally riveting focus wavered somewhat. He made no attempt whatsoever at politeness as his almost predatory gaze traveled her tall, slender figure from head to toe and returned to admire the thick, dark waves of hair that fell almost to her waist.

"Lovely hair you have, Caroline."

The throaty sound of his voice and the familiar use of her first name made her heart beat faster, from fear and from something else. The back of her neck grew warm.

"Thank you," she murmured, backing away slowly. "If you don't mind, colonel, I --"

His hand closed over hers so quickly that she never saw him reach for her. She looked down at his thumb and forefinger, which gripped her wrist like a vise, and tried to hide her rising sense of panic.

"Ah, but I do mind. Sit down," he ordered, eyes glinting.

Despite the fear that made her stomach twist, the commanding tone of his voice still stirred her to anger. Her father had always said that pride was the deadly sin that most challenged her, but in this case he would have supported her sense of righteous indignation.

"Colonel Tavington," she said slowly, remaining standing and forcing herself to look at him as she spoke. "You are entitled only to lodging in this house."

He grinned wickedly, which both infuriated her and sent a chill up her spine even as she felt her cheeks flushing. Raising the mug of water to his lips, he drained it with a slow, lazy ease, then suddenly jerked her down onto his lap by her wrist and held her arm firmly behind her back. Her hair swung forward around her and partially hid her face as she struggled against him, scraping one of her bare feet against his spurs.

"Damn you!" she burst out at him, swallowing a whimper of pain. "Let go of me!"

He only laughed and held her more tightly, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

"How old are you, Caroline?" he asked, maddeningly calm.

"Much younger than you are."

The words sprung from her mouth out of fury, and a second later she was terrified that she might provoke the dangerous man who lay in wait beneath the façade of the coolly aristocratic officer. Fortunately, he only laughed again, amused instead of offended.

His arm left her waist. He lifted her hair away from her face, slowly running his fingers through the soft waves, then leaned in and began to kiss her neck and cheek roughly. She closed her eyes and drew in her breath sharply. The smell of wine, smoke and leather filled her head and turned her stomach.

Dear God, she thought, where was Captain Borden? He must not know his commander very well if he did not think to accompany him back to the house. Or, perhaps, they had all been ordered to stay away. Her heart sunk and she felt her eyes begin to sting. She wondered whether Tavington would take pity on her and leave her alone if she broke down in sobs, or whether tears would only provoke him to take further advantage of her.

At first, in her desperation, she thought she only imagined the hoof beats. Then she realized that she had indeed heard the other Dragoons riding up the road to the house, and she could have wept in relief. Instead, she decided to act quickly. While Tavington jerked his head toward the door, his grip on her momentarily slackened, she sprung to her feet and twisted away from him with all her strength, ignoring the pain in her arm and as she took the stairs two at a time.

"Caroline!" she heard him bellow after her.

She flung herself up the last few stairs and into her room, whirling to slam the door. Gasping from exertion and fear, she shoved a nearby clothes trunk against the door and leaned against it with all her strength. His boots shook the stairs as he came after her.

"Caroline, open the door! Now!"

His low, furious voice was just outside the door. Seconds later, the old wooden door shook on its hinges with the power of his fists against it.

Caroline burst into tears, covering her mouth to muffle the sound.

"No! Go away, leave me alone..."

He started cursing at her, words she'd only overheard outside workshops and taverns, never addressed to her. Some of them she didn't even understand. She heard the brittle crash of something ceramic as it broke against the door.

"Caroline, you little wench -- "

She heard the front door open, then voices and the echo of Tavington's footsteps descending the stairs. Still leaning against the trunk, she mouthed a silent prayer of thanks.

"Sir? Where is Miss Macauley?" That was Borden's voice. He sounded somewhat inebriated, but still sober enough to be suspicious. Most likely, he had heard something from outside the house.

"The girl's upstairs." Tavington's door slammed shut behind him.

Caroline collapsed across her trunk, shaking with sobs.

Either Harcourt or MacKay said something downstairs in a hushed tone. Minutes later, she became aware of Borden's voice outside her bedroom door.

"Miss Macauley? Are you all right?"

She could hardly breathe through her sobs, much less answer him.

"Are you hurt, Miss Macauley? Please open the door."

His voice sounded worried, compassionate, outraged.

She did not know what to say. Her soul felt battered and she was overwhelmed with fear, but she knew he was asking about a different sort of injury.

"No," she managed to say at last in a quivering voice. "No, I am not injured. I...I ran away from him as you rode up to the house, and he was very angry with me..."

"Poor girl," she heard Borden say quietly. "Miss Macauley, will you open the door, please?"

To her embarrassment, she burst into fresh tears.

"No, no, I can't, I'm sorry."

She heard him sigh deeply. He said something about Tavington under his breath.

"All right, then. Look, we will be on our way in the morning. We were to leave within a day anyway, since officers quarters are ready at the fort. I am truly, deeply sorry for this incident... Good night, Caroline."

"Good night, captain."

She noticed that Borden had used her first name as Tavington had, but from his lips the implied intimacy was reassuring rather than frightening.

Caroline remained on the floor behind the trunk, afraid to move it away from the door and too tired and upset to get into her bed. She could not help but think how her father would turn over in his grave if he could have seen what just happened, and missing him brought a new wave of silent tears. Eventually, she fell asleep with her damp cheek against the smooth oak of her trunk.

She did not emerge from her room again until she heard the officers' boots on the front steps of the house. She could hear their voices and the neighing of horses outside through the open front door.

Caroline glanced in her small hand mirror of polished silver and looked away quickly. Her eyelids were swollen and red-rimmed and her hair was tousled. Imagining Tavington's hand running through it, she shivered suddenly.

Pieces of broken porcelain lay scattered all around the landing.

She sighed heavily and put a hand to her tightened throat.

Then, she slowly sunk down to her knees and began to carefully gather up the pieces, one at a time, and place them in the spread skirt of her nightgown. Some were broken cleanly, but others were so chipped and jagged that she began to realize that repair was hopeless. Still, she kept on picking them up.

"Good morning, Miss Macauley."

She cringed at the sound of Tavington's deep voice.

Glancing at the open doorway only for a moment, she looked down again as he crossed the floor and began to ascend the stairs. Fear made her hands begin to shake until she saw from the corner of her eye that Borden stood outside on the front steps while the others remained in the yard with their horses.

The colonel's spurs clinked loudly as he climbed the stairs and stopped in front of her. She refused to look up at him as she continued to gather up broken porcelain. To her dismay and frustration, her hands began to tremble slightly. He watched her silently for a long minute.

"I suppose I broke that. What is it?"

She raised her head at the quiet tone of his voice, devoid of the cold arrogance it usually contained. His expression was slightly pained as he studied the shattered remnants.

"A vase from my mother's wedding. My father wanted me to have it to give to my own daughter someday."

Caroline could not disguise the sadness in her own voice, and his gaze shifted quickly from the floor to her face. She looked away, ashamed of her disheveled appearance, and pulled the shawl tightly around her to cover her arms and neck completely before reaching out to pick up a jagged piece of porcelain decorated with a delicate pink rose.

"Were you very close to your mother?" he asked in a low, gentle voice that shocked her into looking up at him again despite wanting to hide her tear-ravaged eyes.

The intense expression of pain and remorse in his own pale, penetrating eyes left her speechless. Her lips parted and pressed together again as she swallowed hard, unable to look away.

"I never knew my mother. She died in childbirth." She paused a moment, then asked in an intuitive whisper, "You were close to yours?"

He smiled, faintly and sadly.

"Yes. She was a good woman...as you are. She did not deserve to be treated the way my drunken bully of a father..."

He grimaced and looked away, shame written on his face.

Suddenly, he took a long step forward and knelt down near her, among the shards. Frightened again, she shrunk back against her door and turned to her face to it, letting her tangled hair hide her face.

"Don't be afraid," she heard him say quietly. "And if you still don't trust me, remember that Captain Borden is downstairs and the door is open."

The reminder emboldened her somewhat, although she still kept her face turned away and hidden.

"Did Captain Borden tell you to apologize to me?"

"My second-in-command does not tell me to do anything." He sounded somewhat irritated, but also vaguely amused.

He lifted a handful of hair away from her face, as he had last night. Still, his voice as he spoke was much warmer, kinder.

"Look at me, Caroline."

She reluctantly raised her red-rimmed blue eyes to his hazel ones.

"I look awful," she murmured.

He reached out slowly and cupped her chin in his hand, then stroked her cheek lightly with his thumb and smiled almost tenderly.

"No, darling. You look like a lovely girl who was weeping all night, because of the way I behaved." He paused and continued. "Look, Caroline, in all likelihood I will never see you again, and even if it is possible, it would be better that I did not. And...I need your forgiveness."

His words and their urgency stunned her.

"Because I remind you of your mother?"

He smiled ruefully. "In some ways...yet in others, my mother is the last thing I would want to think of when I look at you. In any case, Caroline, can you forgive me?"

She did not hesitate to nod her head, her eyes still wide. His relieved smile made him appear even more handsome than the day she had met him, and much less hardened.

"Yes...but who am I forgiving? The man you were last night or the man you are today?" His transformation still unnerved her.

He looked startled and confused, then dismayed.

"I would hope I am only one man, but there is...a dark side to me, a side that is too much like my brute of a father. It lies in wait and then emerges quite suddenly at times. When I drink too much, when I fight, it strikes --"

He broke off and shook his head, and for a moment she saw fear in his eyes before he pushed the emotion away and distracted himself by stroking her hair again.

Borden, still at the door downstairs, cleared his throat tactfully.

"Colonel? I believe his lordship General Cornwallis expects us?"

"Yes, Captain. In a moment."

Tavington turned back to Caroline, his hand still wrapped in a long lock of her hair, and without warning he leaned in quickly and kissed her mouth. She did not have time to gasp or protest, but this time he was not rough. The kiss was gentle, emotional and passionate, entirely unlike the man he pretended to be but was, perhaps, destined to become.

"Goodbye, Caroline Macauley," he said hoarsely.

"Goodbye," she whispered. She did not know what name to call him.

He rose without another word and walked slowly down the stairs, pausing a moment with his hand on the railing knob.

Then, Colonel William Tavington turned his back to her and strode quickly across the room, his boots slamming the boards and his spurs jangling harshly with each powerful step as he left the colonial girl and the shattered rose vase on the floor behind him.

The end

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