1780 Somewhere in the North Carolina Countryside.

"No!" Tavington twisted in his saddle in the direction of the cry. His newest and youngest officer was off his horse kneeling over a bundle of lavender print. He wheeled around coming up to the boy. 'Now what?'

"Lieutenant, the meaning of this."

The younger man looked up at him with shame and disbelief. "She...she was up in the oak."

Tavington followed he younger man's gaze down. The bundle, he now saw, was a young girl dirty and blooded.

"She fell under the horse -- "

"On your horse. Now. The Rebels are getting away."

"Sir, she is just a little girl."

"A dead little girl. On your horse."

The younger man hesitated then mounted. As they rode off Tavington thought in disgust, 'Why are these colonials so sentimental?'

1780 A few weeks later.

All was going dark framing Martins face, drawing to those eyes, smaller and smaller, cold stars --

Starts of his memories come to him and of all the moments of his life the little girl in lavender, the lifeless bundle he had not given a second thought, repeated over and over as all faded away. Had he his voice he would have laughed. It was a little late for remorse now.

1814 Washington D.C.

Bright Light. Tavington found himself in a burning building, the flames rolling over him, leaving him unharmed. Was this a memory, the church? No, not the church.

How did he get here?

"Help, Help!" A young girl's voice full of terror. He turned. At the end of the hall stood a little girl, nine or so. Though the smoke he could see she was crying but looking for a way out. A crumpled figure of a woman, head crushed by debris, was just behind her. A burning timber blocked her way forward another back. Something about her clothes something a little odd, the neckline perhaps and the sleeves.

"Help!" She grabbed a door handle and yelped. She hugged a toy horse to her chest. What was he seeing, how was he seeing this? "Whose there? Help, HELP!"

Tavington pondered the situation for moment. He could make it there to her lift her over the timber. He stood there.

"Sir! Oh, Please -- Eeiyie" Before he could move a section of the ceiling collapsed on her. He didn't need to go to her to know it was too late. No time for questions. He needed to get out of this building before he too was buried.

"It cannot be."

The girl stood on the other side of the burning timbers yet he could see her small arm from beneath the debris.

She walked toward him. As she did she shifted from the oddly dressed child to one in lavender. He recognized her immediately.

Nearly to him she stopped and looked up at him squarely in the eye. There was a faint shimmer around her as he saw there was around his own person.

"You were suppose to save me this time, this war."

He struggled for the words. "This war?"

"War of 1812 as it will be known. Second War of Independence. The British will lose again." She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Again?" A second war and a second loss. Unbelievable.

She nodded. "Try to remember. I don't want to be waiting life after life for you to get it right. Oh," She looked over her shoulder then turned back to him smiling. "I have to go. See you soon. And remember you have to rescue me." She poked him in the ribs and headed toward a bright light that had opened up behind her.

The light was blinding to him though she walked into it without flinching. The Brightness swallowed her. As the darkness closed in around him for the second time he heard her very serious yet chiming voice clearly more than a little annoyed, "No. He didn't even try."

Now. Somewhere in the Ohio River valley.

Tavington stretched and frowned. Not only had he "dreamt" of her in the fire he had awaken in a decidedly uncomfortable position on something wooden. He sat up. A chest of some kind. There had been several odd anchors between them, the toy horse, the green and red dragon pin ("I thought my papa was calling you dragons.") but this chest eluded him for one being so mundane, just rather plain oak. "Oak. Yes, of course. Wonder if it is part of that tree?"

Where was she? How old? What would threaten her this time? More importantly when? How many years had past? What was the year the last time? Nineteen twenty something?

The last time. She wore alarmingly short dresses many without sleeves and with no corsets. Her hair then had been chopped off short, very nice but improper. And as improper as the hair the dresses with the rows of fringe were outrageous.

For weeks he tried in vain to get her attention, forced to silently follow her about acting as a poltergeist as she called him. That final night so close to breaking through to her he focused all his energy as she snuck down the stairs to met her friends. Unfortunately, he succeed at the second landing. She screamed and lurched backward into space. Before he could react she tumbled down the remaining stairs hitting the floor in a sickening thud and snap.

He cursed his stupidity and looked up to see her ghost standing.

"Save me not scare me to death!" She marched up the stairs shifting through the incarnations until upon reaching the landing she was the little lavender girl again. She vented frustration of his failing again. And he had thought Cornwallis a right tartar.

"And I was having fun. You couldn't even wait for me to be threaten -- " The light had open up behind her. "I have to go."

She marched down the stairs into the light. The darkness as always took him.

And now he was here. Where ever here was. The room wasn't very organized. All about him sat crude boxes of some sort of paper, clearly went through many times. The furniture didn't match and both it and the boxes were haphazardly placed about. On the desk, a large plain affair of battered wood, rested stacks of flat little boxes with odd pictures and phrases. "House of the Holy?" "Bad English?" At least he recognized Mozart. What was going on?

"Hiss!"

Tavington turned his attention to the doorway. A large pale gray cat glared at him. Before he could deal with the beast he heard a rhythmic click-slap coming toward the door.

"Move out of the way Fussbudget." A foot shod with a heeled shoe consisting of one pink feathered strap prodded the cat. The leg was bare. And feminine. Tavington groaned. Not again.

"Move cat." A young woman with hair the color of copper pulled up and draping over her shoulders, pale skin with freckles, and deep green eyes glided into the room. She wore short pants of red white and blue cut well above the knees and a matching sleeveless top. She was a woman grown and surely had a husband. Then again perhaps not. What good husband would allow her run about in such scandalous things?

"Do you remember me?" Nothing. She went on sorting through the small boxes. He cleared his throat. "Can you hear me now?"

The cat came over and hissed at him once again. He snarled at the beast.

"Oh, Fussbudget. Well, Zep or Zep? Zep it is. Oh, come here." She knelt down to pick up the cat. With as much grace as her pet he knelt beside her. She shivered. Yes, he had learnt a trick or two over the centuries. "Brrr. How much insulation is this old place gonna take, hmmm? Let's get -- "

He leaned into her lightly brushing her. She stood looking stunned. Her and the cat shook their heads at the same time. "Breakfast, my kingdom for pancakes!"

Tavington had the urge to punch the nearest anything when she stopped at the doorway looked about the room lingering a moment where he stood. He would not have to spend weeks as her poltergeist this life.

Horses, falling, hooves -- -

Rai Lee bolted upright. She hugged her knees trying to stop her heart racing. The dream was back after so long and stronger far stronger than it had ever been before. "Enough."

She dropped back to her pillow. The dream meant nothing. She was just worked up, the moving, the unpacking and living room to room trying to reclaim the house, the old codger complaining about her remodeling, her mother playing matchmaker, the cold draft following her to every room in the house except the bathroom.

"And the blasted TV on. Again." Okay, maybe the stress was layered on deep, but she turned that television off.

"On or off then it's on now." She padded out to the living room rubbing her face. Looking up she stopped cold. Sitting on the end table was an imposing figure of a man dressed in period clothing -- 18th Century -- but something was not right. It hit her. He was a green dragoon but dressed like one in the movie.

"Oh, for the love -- " He growled and gestured at the TV. She looked over at the picture. The screen was filled with the famous painting of Ban Tarlteton. "He is a boy. And those trousers! White and green uniforms -- "

He looked at her but merely frowned and continued to glare at the screen.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" She looked around for the cordless.

"You can hear me? See me? That simplifies." He stood grasping his hands behind his back. "Do you know me? Look closely. Do you remember any of our time together?"

"Let me simplify. How-did-you-get-in-here?" She saw the phone on the couch behind him. She needed to get back to her bedroom to that phone. Major problem. Relaxed as he was in stance down in her gut she knew he could strike like a cobra.

"The oak chest upstairs. Is it a family piece?"

"My hope chest? You couldn't even fit in it."

"I did not fit in it. It drew me to you. No questions. After two centuries I do not understand how this works and you are usually too angry with me to enlighten."

"Did you forget your medication today?"

He sighed. "You don't remember."

Suddenly he seemed not wholly solid. She blurted out the first thing that came to her. "Horses. Okay? I've dreamed of horses and -- " Why did she think of that?

"And trees and falling. What about fire?"

"You've been spying on me."

"Not entirely my choice. I have tried to give you...privacy at the appropriate times."

The cold draft. She stepped closer to him. A chill washed over her. No, this wasn't possible.

"You don't exist."

"I never believe in the existence of ghost until I became one or actually saw one, you my lady."

"For pity's sake. Look you've screwed up. Dragoons didn't wear green and red, and well, you do a lot look like a certain actor -- -"

"Madam." He took a deep breath and exhaled. "I am Lt. Col. William Tavington formerly of His Majesty's Green Dragoons."

"A Character In A Movie! Not real. The boy you were making fun of was the real man, the real Lt. Col. of the Dragoons. Those were the uniforms. You are a bad dream...Are you okay?"

He had went pale and seemed exhausted. "No, madam, I am not. I am spending my afterlife trying to do right by you and failing miserably. Now you insist I have never existed. You are most uncooperative."

"Well, you're real but who are you really?" He fairly snarled at her. "Oh don't how is it you Brits put it? Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Madam!"

"Call me Rai. So you're a fictional character come to life -- er well you were alive. Okay, in some other reality you are the real thing. Why are you here now? This isn't your timeline."

"I am here because of you and before now there has never been a discussion about my not existing or timelines."

"I don't imagine the American Revolution is my favorite period of history. I don't remember exactly what happened."

He sighed and looked down at the floor. "We came through your village pursuing rebel militia. Apparently you had climbed a tree to get a better view."

"The widowed oak, it stood by itself." She rubbed her forehead. The dream was gushing from her memories more intense ever.

"As I road by you fell -- "

"I couldn't see you very well. I'd heard the adults talk of the Butcher, the Dragons -- "

"Dragoons," he said softly and she saw he was smiling at her as if this was some fond memory between them.

"I -- -." She was remembering these events more vividly than many events of her present life. It couldn't be real. "I just leaned out just a little."

"And fell beneath the horse of my lieutenant. He could not stop, not until it was too late."

"You made him leave me." Her face set stern and angry. She remembered his cold words to the lieutenant about her.

"You were dead. There was nothing to be done and the rebels were getting away. If the boy had rode on we would have caught the lot and Martin would not have survived to the battle of Cowpens." His mouth was a thin line she could see his eye twitch.

"But I was a child and he had no control. You could have left him behind to deal with what happened. God, he was so young. I suppose you would have rode on."

"Yes, madam, I would have. And I would not have returned afterwards. You were dead."

"So that's it. Somehow that has to be it. And you aren't getting it and I don't remember -- No I can't deal with this at this hour. I'm going to bed. Do NOT make me get out of it until my alarm goes off. Watch all the TV you want, read what ever just don't tear anything up and don't cause me to get out of my bed. Remember the war is over, you lost, and now we're all friends." She stormed out of the living room not sure if she was dreaming and sleepwalking or just plain crazy.

"Miss -- Rai time is of the essence. There are questions I need to ask you."

"In the morning. Proper folk are in bed asleep at this hour."

"Then it should be no problem for you to stay awake and answer my questions."

Rai spun around and slapped him then recoiled in pain. Her hand was numb from cold. It wasn't covered in ectoplasm or any such just an intangible cold that drenched through her flesh. She realized she was panting from the intensity and suddenness.

"My lady," He leaned forward. She expected to see his face distorted by the blow as if made of gelatin. To her relief he appeared normal. The concern that filled his eyes, the touch of guilt that clouded them took her by surprise draining the anger away. "Your hand?"

"Cold but," she flexed her fingers. His body relaxed, his shoulders dropping. "I imagine it's my clothing that upsets you. First of all you are in my house when I thought I was alone and second of all this is the 21st century. I could wear less than this and still be a prude. And you are a two hundred years plus dead man. Who are you to criticize?"

She regretted the words immediately. His face fell into the same kicked puppy expression the actor used in the movie when Lord Cornwallis gave Tavington grief. "Look, I am going to bed. Questions in the morning. You've waited this long another few hours can't possibly make any difference."

She started to reach for him, lay her hand on his arm. The cold surrounding him held her back less than the cold in his eyes.

"Very well." He turned away. She heard him muttered and swore he said, "Only this is usually when disaster strikes."

Tavington had mixed emotions. He had succeeded in contacting her, making her aware of his presence far faster than any other time in the past. She was older than before and apparently more stubborn than ever.

Then again he had not been too late. So far there had been no fires, no strangulations, drownings, falls, smotherings or such. Nor had he been distracted.

Distracted as he had been when she was an infant. He arrived truly puzzled. It took him a moment to realize she was the babe in the crib. All seemed well. What trouble could befall an infant? Having no desire to awaken her and listen to her squall he wondered outside.

He missed gazing at the stars feeling the cool air move around him even if it slipped through him now, and hearing all the sounds of the nighttime. Would he be given a chance to be among the living once again? He would have to remember, could not see how he could not but remember how calming how important standing in a cool evening was to the soul.

A wail from inside had pulled him from his thoughts. Rushing inside he followed the cry to the nursery. A young couple stood at the crib. The woman sobbed deep from within her soul. The man held the trembling woman. He was consumed with grief.

What had happened? A sharp kick to his shin drew his attention to his right.

"Babies have to be watched. She's young, inexperienced and tired. I've been sick. She didn't realize she dropped the top from the medicine bottle in the crib with me. I choked on it. All you had to do was take it away from me or wake her up or wake me up. If you woke me up I would have cried and woke her up. Honestly."

"Excuse me but as a man what do I know about infants?" Her reply was another sharp kick in his shin. She refused to say another word to him whilst waiting for the light.

He picked up the remote control and hit the red button. The box was boring after a short time. Boredom was his main enemy now. He no longer slept when he was with her. Filling the hours called for creativity. At the moment he wasn't feeling creative.

He went to the bedroom door, found it ajar and pushed it open. For a few minutes he listened to her steady breathing and her cat's purring.

He fought the urge to go over to her to watch over her and see that nothing happened to her during the night. Instead he returned to the living room and stretched out on the couch, over stuffed and odd looking as it was.

Within minutes the cat slinked out and jumped up on the coffee table. It settled and stared at him. He frowned at it. Unblinking it stared back.

Than it began to groom.

"I suppose you will be keeping me company tonight." He thought of Capt. Wilkins. "I have had worse."

Thump.

"No, no," Thump, thump.

"No," a muttered sighing. "No," Thump.

"OOOOKay. That's enough!" Rai bolted up and threw a pillow at him. It bounced off his shoulder utterly ignored. Last night hadn't been a fever dream unless she was still trapped in it. No, he stood at her closet standing tall intent on his task.

Thump, thump.

"What are you doing?"

He tossed another hand full of her clothes to the floor.

"Hey. HEY!" She got out of the bed and marched over to him. "Stop."

He turned to her. "Madam, do you not have one decent outfit?"

"I've a closet full on the floor. Rotten..." She knelt down, scooped up a arm full and wrestled them on the rod.

"Do you not own at least one dress?"

"Why? Taking me out to the pictures?" He gave her a puzzled look. "Never mind. My dresses are in the other room in garment bags. Women don't generally wear dresses working around the house."

"What do they wear?" He seemed genuinely curious. What had he watched on the TV? Probably just the History Channel.

"Jeans," She grabbed a pair from the floor. "Or sweats, ah here, or pants of some kind."

"Trousers? Men's clothing?"

"No," she smiled at his little boy disbelief. "not men's clothing. How long, no wait. Lets go to the kitchen."

She pulled on a housecoat conceding he was a guest of sorts. For him she'd be a bit modest.

A bowl, cereal box, pointing him at the table and she was ready to ask questions. Of course he wanted to ask rather than answer.

"Has anyone threaten you?"

"Wait, let's fill me in on what's going on."

"I am to save you. Assuming it will not be an accident to claim you has anyone threaten you?"

"Not really." He started to lecture. "Okay, the old codger across the way has complained about everything I've done to this place. He doesn't have anything else to do so he complains. He's harmless."

"We shall see. Lovers?"

"No. And don't ask. No." She pushed the bowl away. "Look, there just isn't anyone I can think of that would want to hurt me."

"Perhaps a random act. Are there many travelers passing through here?"

"Not out here."

"This is an old house and..."

"A mess."

"I assume you are repairing the damage."

"Slowly. Structurally she was in a fine state but on the surface -- painting and papering and so on -- she needed and needs a lot of work. Still, I'm not going to fall through any floors or off ladders. I'm scared to death of falling. Ooops, sorry. Just how many ways have I died?"

Tavington frowned and shook his head. "Let us concentrate on how to keep you alive. You are older than I remember before. I take that as a good omen in that you have learnt something from your other lives."

"I don't think I'm the one supposed to be learning something when it comes to us." 'Learnt something' indeed. Was he really that dense yet...Something played at the edge of her memory...Stairs, his reaching out...

She didn't know how she knew it but he was close to a break through.

"Rai, are you unwell?"

She shook her head and straighten, "No, just tired. Tavy-ington, I really can't think of anyone that wants to hurt me and this house is sounder than it looks. Maybe you're here early, way early like years and years."

"That has never happened before. You are in danger and I must save you if I am ever to be free."

"Gee thanks. You're wonderful company as well."

What was it with him? One moment he was a rather shy man, soft spoken and thoughtful the next thick as a brick and twice as dense.

"I had not meant any insult."

"Ya know apparently you aren't the only one. How many times have you screwed up and I've died? Well?"

"Do you ever go outside at night?"

"Look don't change the subject. I promise I won't wander outside without letting you know, okay?"

"Do you ever go outside at night? Do you stand and watch the stars or the wisp of clouds move across the moon? Do you feel the damp air against your skin soothing the troubles of the day away?"

For a moment she couldn't answer him. All the things he could not do, could not really appreciate anymore came rushing to her. The taste of a good wine, the smoothness of silk, the warmth of another's breath. She was alive and had been. The last two hundred and twenty years he'd been caught in some sort of limbo. And the answer was so simple and so difficult. He had made very little progress. Yet, if they were doing this dance over and over again there had to be hope. If only she knew exactly what to tell him.

"So this isn't easy for either of us and I do have the advantage of not really remembering everything. I can't tell you anything else. I can't imagine what the impending doom is."

"Then my lady I shall stay by your side at all times."

"Except for the bathroom."

Tavington smiled and nodded. "I shall respect your privacy."

Rai stretched. Another decent night's sleep. A sure sign of insanity. First she had a guardian ghost of a non-existent 18th C British colonel nick-named the Butcher. Second that fact made her feel safe.

Insane.

Well, he had wanted to stay in the Colonies.

So far the morning was going well. Her clothes were in her closet. The room was warm. The TV wasn't blaring away. Very well indeed. Of course she had to get out of bed and see what he was up to now.

She grabbed her robe. No fight there. Normally Fussbudget would be stretched out over it but her cat had taken to the colonel. Rai padded to the living room rubbing her eyes and nearly tripped.

"Fussbud -- What have you done!" Stacks and stacks of magazines and newspapers and books formed a tight maze in her family room. Tavington reclined on the couch ankles crossed reading her copy of The American Revolution Through British Eyes.

"No officer would break a horse in that manner. The beast are too valuable." He tossed the book aside.

"Reading up on your counterpart?"

He shrugged. "Curious."

"Mind getting curious about housework?" He narrowed his eyes and compressed his mouth into a thin line. "You made the mess. What where you thinking? I mean, I am desperately trying to unpack and you do this."

"They are unpacked."

"Unpacked means put up. And get those boots off my couch. Oh no." That sound. Oh, she knew that sound! Her mother's Ram Pick Up. "Get off the couch now."

"Madam, I will not be hissed at."

"That's my mother. How do you think I can explain you? Besides she cheers on Mel Gibson. Oh, never mind. Just go."

He stood the little boy smirk firmly on face, impish glint in his eyes. "So you aren't loyalists. Trying to protect an enemy officer?"

"The British aren't the enemy any longer. Just one big, happy, bickering, totally dysfunctional family. Christ! I can hear her crunching through the mulch. Please. Mom just comes on in. "

For a moment the glint in his eye turned reflective. "Of course."

He turned and before thinking of it she put her hands on his shoulder. There was a faint coldness but he was very solid. "Hurry please. Just hide in the bedroom."

He just made it through the door when her mother let herself in.

"Who were you talking to, dear?"

Rai saw the open window. Oh, that man. "Just Fussbudget. She knocked over a stack."

"I see. Just why did you do this?"

"Started looking for an article on wallpapering tricks and just got carried away."

"In National Geographic?" Her mother nodded. "Well, here I am to lend a helping hand."

"I thought you were helping the Methodist ladies getting ready for the, what was it? Rummage sale?"

"White elephant sale. Pink ones if it raises the money. I decided to drop by here and help you."

"Ah, mom, it's just I am working on the stuff only I can deal with -- what is it?"

Her mother was looking over her shoulder. Her whole face brighten. "Hmmm, yes only you can deal with. Have fun dear. Call me later."

She patted Rai's face, gave her a wink and a abruptly left.

Rai just stood and gaped after her. Then the proverbial light bulb went on. She spun around. Just emerging from the bedroom Tavington was pulling on his jacket. His neck scarf was missing, the shirt open and his hair loose.

"She saw you."

"Hmmm," he fussed with his buttons, "I thought it best if she thinks you have company. I watched, what were they called, 'movies?' the last few nights and it seemed that when a young lady had a man visiting it was considered only polite to leave them be. Rather odd age you live in."

"She thinks I've hooked up with someone. Endless questions. Did you hear her? 'Call me later.' Now I'll either have to come up with a story to explain you away or concoct some elaborate stories about who you are. And keep them straight. Why couldn't you hide in the bedroom?"

"This seemed the fastest, the safest way to have her leave."

"No more TV for you. No more magazines. And don't you dare get next to the Internet. She thinks I have a man here."

"I resent the implications of your statement. I am still a man."

"You know what I mean. Though maybe you have a good idea. Give me the jacket and the belt."

"What, might I ask, are you planning?" She held her hand out and then grabbed at the air for him to give her his clothing. He frowned and took off his jacket and vest. "Very well."

"If she comes back or anyone else drops in and sees you before you duck out of sight it will be easier to explain you if you aren't wearing all this. A man is easier to explain than a Green Dragoon. What?"

He was smiling at her handing her the jacket and such. "Rather like one of those novels with the scandalous covers."

"You would zero in on those. I have a lot of other books."

"Shall I take the shirt off as well?"

"Don't you dare. And remember to stay out of sight. I gotta find a place for these. And start putting those books up."

Tavington watched her disappear into the bedroom. Her anger distracted her from the troubles having a ghost, his ghost as a house guest. He understood her mother seeing him in full uniform would cause Rai more trouble than he felt she deserved. But he had absorbed enough in the last few days from the television and over heard conversations between the two women to gamble the mother would leave her daughter alone with her suitor.

'Tis a shame that does not qualify as saving her.' Though he did feel he had done just that: rescued her. Why did he go through this trouble?

The image of the little girl in the fire. That simple word. "Please." He saw that young woman at the bottom of the stairs. "I was having fun!"

He thought of the conversation he had overheard. Her mother bemoaned the fact Rai did little else save work. From what he had witness the matron was correct. Rai had left the house once for groceries. The rest of her waking hours had been spent in or about the house.

No suitors had called. As his charge had said to her mother last evening over the curious device she called a phone, "No, I don't have a date tonight. Yes, again."

How would a man court a woman in this day and age? These colonial ladies had always seemed rather...rough. Now they were independent, loud, and blunt. They held jobs, at least on "television", he could only image men holding. Rai owned a house on her own and was not seeking a husband. In fact she had told her mother she didn't need one.

He carried a stack of books back to the boxes in the upstairs. When he returned for a second stack she had not emerge from the bedroom but he could hear her. Best to let her settle.

The question of the women in this country in this age continued to run through his mind. Women in his own age were hard enough to understand.

One truth remained. The "fairer" sex took great delight befuddling the male of the species. If what he witness on the television was true the ladies had no intentions of enlightening the gentlemen.

Yes, the women were opinionated, independent, and perplexing. Yet they did seem to want husbands sometime in the future.

'Rai denied wanting a husband.' But again from what he had seen on the television women often made such statements only to quickly fall in love and marry. Though he question such quick change of events he believed the basic point. What a lady proclaimed and what she actually felt were not necessarily the same.

He sat on the stairs. His charge might deny wanting a husband all the while feeling quite the opposite. Even if she did not she needed a husband. There was more in a marriage for a woman than wealth. There was security physical and emotional.

He thought of his father and mother. No, not any man would do. The husband had to be the right man. Rai needed a solid fellow with a strong backbone.

"That is why I am here." He stood pleased with himself. It was so obvious. She was old enough to not do a silly thing such a climb tree, be at the mercy of a fire, choke on a bottle top or sneak out of her parent's home. She was past childhood disasters.

Perhaps given she was never old enough to seriously consider marriage she was in the habit of not considering. In part, he conceded, he was to blame. That made his reason for being here obvious. He needed her to see she needed a husband.

She was in this age a proper young woman and proper young women needed husbands. In truth she should have been married years ago as far as he was concerned. He would make her see this. Surely that would qualify as a rescue.

He scowled and sat again. Just how was he to do this? His lack of knowledge concerning courtship he had already fully admitted. He looked over his shoulder. He had only pulled those "romance" novel to tease her. Could they offer some clue?

"I am not reading books with half naked men on the cover." But he had to find his way in this. If the threat to her was spinsterhood he would be facing years and years of haunting her. Despite himself he smiled at the thought. "I would never be bored."

Tavington had become oddly sulky. He would be charming, teasing even then distant and quiet. Rai could almost see the gears in his mind churn when he did that especially when she caught him looking at her in a particular way.

"Have you thought of a story to tell your mother?"

She shook her head. "I've thought of possibilities but none I think my mother will buy. You don't look like a plumber or electrician or handy man. You certainly aren't the new youth minister. You aren't an agent."

"Agent?"

"Oh, sheesh I really haven't' told you what I do. Wait here." Rai wondered what he would say. There were political cartoons in his time but she doubted any were drawn by women at least that any reader knew. She pulled her portfolio from under the bed in the spare bedroom. These were old but would get the point across.

Downstairs she knelt on the floor and opened the black portfolio. Tavington, with a look of apprehensive curiosity, knelt by her. She noticed that he didn't radiate cold and she sniffed. Oh, yes, just faintly she was capturing...smells from him. Well, first things first.

She held up one of her favorite piece, the Fiery Horse galloping across a medieval Japanese landscape. It was a study for a cover. She had always liked the study better than the cover. The editor had no complaints.

"You are an artist."

"Yes, a commercial artist and, well, I've a niche in the genre and I sell some original pieces as well. I do covers for comic books and fantasy novels mainly. I've done some work for webpages. I'm by no means the big dog in my field but I'm doing okay."

Tavington didn't answer. He merely reached out and turned the pages looking for some seconds over the drawings. He lingered on the barbarian princess with battle axe raised and large pale panther at her side. She blushed when he grinned at her.

"The red hair gives it away. Should I be wary my lady? Do you have an axe tucked away?"

"Not if you are good. That was a study for 'Fierce Fatales' a fantasy quarterly. I couldn't afford to pay a model and my cousin had the flu so Fussbudget and I posed. I fudged a bit. Would you like to see the final results? Follow me."

She led him to the upstairs room he claimed to have awaken on top of her hope chest. Rai knelt and pushed the latch button. "Oww. Darn."

"Let me." He leaned by her and with his thumb press the button letting the catch go. He inclined his head looking at her then said, "There."

"Ah, well, ah, here we go." She lifted the lid. What was he up to? This wasn't just a good mood. She grabbed a stack of bagged mags and leafed through them. "Here it is."

He took the offering and studied it several moments. "It is a shame."

"What? They had a circulation boost with that cover."

"It is a shame that they covered your work with words."

"Oh," What was he planning?

"The subject is a bit scandalous. Tell me when you acted as your own model did you dress this way?"

"For -- Not likely. I did use some props. Come on I had to use my imagination for certain, er, dimensions. The editor was a bit of a pig. Still, he liked my work."

"Is this another one?" He picked up a half exposed copy of FF. This was the odd cover. She had been the model again but this was more Raphaelesque, flowers in the hair, long flowing dress. Only the demon white eyes hinted at anything sinister.

"Yes, that was the Valentine Edition. Faery Demon Sorceress falls for a gallant knight and tries to change her ways or his. Or some such. The editor's daughter picked the stories and illustrations including the cover for that issue. He had a heart attack the issue just before. That's why she stepped in. Couple issues later that was it for FF. I really hated that. I usually could count on a number of sales in the year. But the exposure really gave my career a boost."

"I fail to see the demoness in this illustration. She is lovely. May I look at these?"

"Sure, just put them back in the chest. Now we have to discuss something else." He gave her a questioning look. "Do you know what a shower is?"

After much discussion and her special permission to enter the bathroom she maneuvered him to the shower. "I have never had to accommodate in this manner."

"You are becoming more and more solid in this world and that brought some side effects. Just try. Read the directions. Here's a big towel. Clothes." She slapped her head. "Lay'em outside the door and I'll do what I can. I promise I'll leave you some temporary duds. Don't looks so dubious. I'll polish your boots if it makes you feel better."

"No." Rai tried not to grin too hard but for the world he was a little boy protesting a bath before supper. She left him to deal with the mysteries of modern plumbing.

In the laundry room -- the old back porch now enclosed -- she found a home dry cleaning kit. The pants and jacket and vest were wool of some kind and she was sure not the washable kind. Hopefully the kit and some air freshener would take the worst of it away. The shirt and other items she'd risked washing and drying.

She would give him a little time to put out his uniform. An over sized tee shirt and sweats would do for a little while. Her cousin's old Slayer shirt while appropriate she passed knowing Tav wouldn't see the joke. Instead one of the plain white XL tee's she slept in would do as would the old black sweats her coz left last time he crashed with her.

Rai frowned at the sweats and the old discarded shirt. Her cousin, Ward Daniels, had fallen ill from fever "Cause unknown" and slipped into a stupor. "The lights are on but no one's home."

Why had she kept these, even packed and moved them to her new house? For the last dozen years Ward had stayed in a "special place" fed and exercised and almost forgotten. Given he drifted a bit most in the family felt no guilt in that. Because as kids he'd played big brother to her even if she didn't need him to do that she didn't forget. The fact she was the last person he visited before going home and falling ill didn't lighten the guilt.

Enough. She had someone who did need her attention.

She picked up Tavington's dirty things and deposited the clean ones. She stood a minute. The water was running. Suddenly there was a string of cursing ending with "That stings," and something about her she thought best to let pass.

After loading the washer going light on the detergent and the softener given she had no idea what effect they would have on him or the clothing she sat at the kitchen table.

He was solid now. He wasn't exactly humanly warm at the touch but he didn't radiate the cold. And the disturbing sensation that he wasn't stirring the air when he walked through was gone as well.

What was changing? If he was drawing on someone it wasn't her. She felt fine. He hadn't come in contact with anyone else but her mom and she was fine.

"You have a devilish sense of humour." He glared at her from the doorway. She covered her mouth. His hair was loose, damp and tangled. The shirt fitted across his shoulders flattering the shirt. The sweats where a little big given they were extra long for her coz. His poor eyes were bloodshot.

"I've got a lace hanky or two you can tuck in the collar."

"I fail to see the need for that remark. My clothes madam."

"In the washer. Just be patient. May I ask you some questions?"

"My clothes."

"Are sopping wet. Sit."

He hesitated then took a chair. The glare deepened. Rai couldn't be intimated. Wrong or not he just wasn't frightening to her.

"How solid have you been before?"

"I am not sure what you mean."

"You could pass for alive. I wouldn't panic, not totally, if someone came in right now. I don't remember hearing a lot of stories of ghost who needed baths."

His brow furrowed. "Not this real."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. Cold penetrated her skin. It wasn't the numbing cold she had encountered from him before but it wasn't living. "Poor circulation."

"My our humour is dark today my lady."

"You don't shimmer."

Tavington sat up in the chair and looked out to unseen point. "I have noticed changes. I have...weight again."

"Really hasn't happen to you before?"

"No." He frowned. "I do become more anchored as you become more aware of me. Always before these were brief interludes. Too brief."

Rai resisted patting his shoulder or rubbing his arm. He would only pull back. Still she hurt for him. If she could avoid asking him these questions, avoid making him think of his condition she would have. She had to ask. "That's why you went pale when I doubted. Have you ever failed to reach me?"

"No."

"Try to keep these answers short. Oh, Tavy -- Tavington don't look so put upon. I was teasing. Maybe that is the key. I mean I can stretch my imagination around you." He gave her an impatient what-are-you-talking-about look. "I've read science fiction and fantasy and comic books -- all right, all right. I am just saying this doesn't seem nearly as weird to me as it must have in past lives."

"You have more belief in my being than ever before." He stared harder at the unseen point.

"Any witnesses in the past."

"Other than pets, I do not believe so."

"But my mother got a good look at you and she firmly believes you are. Boy, does she believe in you." If the number of calls increased she would have to replace all the phone lines. "I wonder what would happen if more people saw you. Wonder what would happen if someone saw and talked with you."

"I don't think that is wise. After all how are you to explain me."

"Old school chum."

"I think we should wait before pursuing this course of action."

"Hmmm, of course." But Rai was wondering which friend to draft for her experiment.

"Bernie I can't"

"Ah come on! You're my good luck charm!"

"Bernie I'm still sorting out my house and well I have a lot on my plate." But Bernie persisted and she did owe him. "What about two covers to be named later? I get the silence of your answer. If it really is that important than okay. E-mail me the story, well, the basics. Oh, heck just tell me what you want like you always do."

Thirty minutes later she had Bernie's wish. One gallant knight "forget the traditional shining amour" wielding a sword "yet appealing to the ladies." Why didn't men understand that the two naturally went together? She would assume Bernie didn't want a sword wielding barbarian but no amour? How in the world --

"No, he'd trip. Still, I owe Bernie and I don't have a lot of time." He wouldn't pose. That was out of the question. She couldn't ask him to sit. He needed to be in action so to speak for her to get the feel for how he held his body.

Fussbudget butted her forehead against Rai's knee. Rai brushed her aside only to get a nip on the knee and a impatient meow. "Fussbu -- What a minute." She picked up the cat. Yes, it just might work. She went to the foot of the stairs. Lord, that man was spending a lot of time upstairs.

"Tavington! Taaavvvvy!" She heard rustling. A few decisive steps later he appeared at the top of the stairs. "Tavington would you help me out? It's nothing very difficult."

He rolled his eyes and started down. "What do you require."

"For you to play with my -- cat. A buddy of mine has called a favor and I need to make some sketches of Fussbudget but she won't cooperate."

He stood in front of her and took the cat from her. Fussbudget put her paw on his chin and looked over at Rai as if to say, "Shame on you for such a lie. But we'll pull it off."

"What am I to do? Hold the beast down?" Fussbudget smacked his chin.

"No, just distract her, like I said play with her." She lead him into the family room and gave him the belt from her robe. "She loves to chew on this. I need some real action shots." Rai step back and grabbed her digital camera. For a moment Tavington stood, holding the belt in one hand and looking down at the cat. Fussbudget soon grew bored with this game and swatted his ankles. Rai sighed with relief glad she'd given in to him wearing the rather out of place boots.

Within minutes she had dozens of shots. The cat popped up from trying to tear the belt from Tavington's grasp and dashed to the other room with one last over the shoulder to Rai. "There you are."

Tavington frowned at the departing cat. "They are truly like women. Shall I fetch her?"

"No, wouldn't do any good. She's had her way with you and is bored with the Tavvy Toy. Well, that's how cats see things. Thank you. I've got to do a rush job on this."

"I shall occupy my time." He turned on heel and left. Rai downloaded the pictures which did indeed have several good shots. If he saw these -- and he was bound to see the end results -- he might just go back to haunting her. Might decide to try another lifetime. She'd have to think of something. For now it was drawing time.

Tavington tossed another book aside. These were positively lurid. And to believe such strong men would turn weak as water because of a woman. He felt like throwing the book again. He was learning but none of it was much help.

Did she truly want such an impossible combination of traits? And the expectations in bed -- He shuttered to think about it. The cover illustrations were as bad and confusing. He had seen her make faces at such men on the television yet nearly all of the men plastered on the covers where over muscular and deformed.

He paced the room. The books were not a reliable source. Or he did not understand enough of this time to make proper use of them. If he only had some idea of what she was looking for in a man.

"Yes, beast." The cat weaved around his legs purring loudly. He'd made the mistake of picking her up once. Who knew a cat could contort in so many directions at the same time? She leaned hard against his legs and went to the door. "I suppose you wish me to follow you. Very well."

Downstairs he found Rai asleep on the couch. Several sheets of paper were scattered about. He picked one up. A rather familiar male figure sword in hand completing an arch through the air filled the page. A large "X" had been marked through the drawing. He retrieved several other sheets.

Pictures of the beast indeed. He had been called a beast and worse. This little bit of deception, though, he could not let go unpunished. Of course he would have to restrain his laughter.

"Meow."

He followed the cat's voice. She sat at the machine Rai called a computer. The cat batted at the mouse (he could remember what it was called given the cat played with it) and the pictures of himself playing with the gray mini-monster appeared.

Another "window" was on the screen as well. There were little yellow squares with various names including one entitled "Fan Fiction Tavington." He did as he had seen her moving the little arrow over the square and pressing the button on the mouse twice. Another window sprang up. Smaller squares of white with little black lines filled this window. The names were odd and repeated with tags such as part 1 of 12. He clicked on one of the squares.

"Good God."

Rai yawned and stretched. "Sheesh, I'll never get -- Oh my." She spotted the neat stack of drawing paper, a stack she had not made. There was going to be trouble.

"Who is Charlotte!"

Wrong. There was trouble. From the boom of his voice he wasn't happy.

Charlotte? "Fan fiction."

There was one of two choices to make: Face Tavington or go to the top of the turret and jump. Decisions, decisions. Given he would just follow her to the next life she decided to face the good colonel.

He spotted her coming through the door.

"WHAT IS THIS?" He pointed at the monitor.

"A computer. Oh, okay, don't blow a lobe. Calm down Tavington. Some of the fans decided to expand on the story."

"I Never -- "

"No, I don't imagine you did. Other Tavingtons might have." She bit her lip. He didn't look like he was ready for a run down on alternative realities. "They -- We felt the character deserved a bit of happiness. Or tried to explain why he was the way he was, did the things he did. You know, the girls are very creative."

"Ma'am these are -- are!"

"Get over it. No harm meant, no harm done. You should be flattered."

"These 'girls' even wrote about Bordon and that colonial Wilkins. I did not have a sister, a daughter, a paramour -- "

"Not surprising."

His face twisted , eyes narrowed, mouth drawn. She could see the muscles in his jaw strain, his temples pound. For a moment fear gripped her then she saw the real emotion in his eyes. Pain.

"Tav, the basic premise behind these stories aren't far-fetched. There probably was a young lady or three suffering a crush on you. You never saw it because you didn't believe it could be. Women judge by more than money and power."

"Yes, that is why so many of the heroes in your romance novels are beggars and paupers, never a lord or a prince."

"Ladies see you as a gallant knight and there are several knights on those covers."

"I do not see why they should take such liberties with me." He pounded his fist against the table. Rai could see he was working up to a temper tantrum slipping into his little boy mood. She had enough.

"I said get over it. To them William Tavington is a fictional character."

"No excuse to write such -- "

"Come with me." She stormed to the television, retrieved her copy of the movie and slipped it in the DVD player. She noted Tavington sneered at Mel Gibson's Ben Martin.

"That's not him but an actor. Really looks like him?" Not taking his eyes off the screen the Tavington nodded.

Rai went to scene selections then to the climatic battle. The camera closed up to the British actor on horse back. Tavington's eyes went wide.

"That man...He looks like my brother..."

"You look a lot like him or rather he looks a lot like you. Watch."

He turned his attention back to the screen. "That was a bad fall wasn't it?"

His features had set grim and Rai realized she overreacted. She should talk to him.

"What happen?"

"I hit the stop button."

"Bring it back. Please."

"Tavington, this is the final scenes for the character..."

"Please." What to do? His pale eyes pleaded with her. Against her better judgment she hit the play button. The action unfolded. Just before the fatal blows she started to stop the disk again but Tavington took the controls from her. Outwardly he did not flinch but she sensed he churned on the inside. Question was with anger or regret or something else?

"Tav, I just wanted to make the point that even though a good number of the ladies are Americans they fell for the gallant young colonel. We even half jokingly rewrite some of the movie to take out the more painful of his transgressions or explain them. I'm sorry. I didn't intend for you to watch the whole thing."

"Such anger. I was so consumed. I did not even feel that fall from my horse. The pain could not compete with my rage. I funneled all my frustrations on this one man."

"That was then Tavington. That was war. Look, we'll figure out just what you are to do this time and get you back on track, er, get you back on the wheel of rebirth. That didn't help either. Trust me. You'll get a chance to work all this out. Life got to you and you didn't get a second chance. Not in that lifetime. You will. Hey, look at me. Even you've lost count."

He sighed and nodded neither gesture showing he believed her.

"Hey Tavington," He turned his attention to her as if ordered. "Tav, William, it has been...interesting to have you haunt me. I'd recommend you for house ghost anytime. Seriously, it's been nice. It was kinda lonely out here by myself. Nice to have a man around the house."

He brighten. "Truly. You see having a man about the house to be a good thing?"

"Yes. And about the Fan Fic. The girls just wanted to rescue the dashing colonel if in no other way in another generation. A little shallow perhaps but understandable. Point is they like Lt. Col. Tavington. You can be a likable fellow when you put your mind to it."

He took a deep breath. Looking out in front of him purposely not looking at her.

"And the pictures."

Ut oh. "Which pictures?"

He arched an eyebrow. "The ones with the feline."

"Oh, those pictures. I owe a friend a favor. He wants a special cover for a mag he's taking to a potential backer. I'm his good luck he says."

"Favor, m'lady?"

"No Ta -- William, he isn't the threat. Too far away for one thing. Remember the covers I showed you. Bernie is the one who snuck samples of my work to the editor. The editor was convinced a woman could never deliver the kinds of covers he wanted. I didn't exactly but hit a happy middle we could both live with. If it hadn't been for Bernie I would have never cracked that market. I owe him."

"He doesn't require a female on the cover?"

"The investor is a woman.. Have to tread a narrow path."

"And I am that path."

Rai could feel her face burn. "You're what's handy."

"Ah..."

"Don't be so smug. I'm on a tight deadline and I didn't think you would model."

"Probably not. Except I suppose I owe you. Loyalty is a trait I admire."

"I'm not sure I understand?"

"I admire your loyalty to your friend Since I am a guest here, my presence thrust upon you it is only fitting I lend a hand. Please dear Rai have mercy though. I do not wish to look like the cover of one of those 'romance' novels. Why are you smiling?"

"No reason. No Fabio looks." He frowned. "No romance cover type drawings I promise, not like the ones you saw." And not like the ones he hadn't seen on her computer. Certain ladies were as creative with photos as with words. She didn't imagine she could make him see the playfulness in those.

Tavington retrieved his sword and submitted himself to Rai. "Better watch what you say. Never mind. Just give me a ready to defend yourself, the threat is there but hasn't struck yet."

Rai started with pics and then moved to quick sketches. As a struggling artist she used friends and family and from that had gotten in the habit of chatting with her models. She found herself drifting into that habit with Tavington. At times like this she easily believed they had spent many lifetimes together over the two centuries since is death.

"William, may I ask you some questions, about the others?"

For a moment he merely looked at her then quietly said, "You may ask."

Rai understood he wasn't promising to answer. "Did Bordon die at the creek?"

His eyes narrowed once again. He looked away. "No. When I found help a detail was detached for the others. I wanted to go but the doctor forbade it. Bordon was among the survivors though how I still cannot imagine. He was more of a fighter than I gave him credit. I can only tell you Rai, last I saw him he was hovering 'tween this life and the next."

"Did you know him well?"

He hesitated. "He had a sister. I wrote her letting her know he was hurt."

"What did he do before the war?"

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I am not sure."

She shook her head, indicated for him to turn and started a new study. "What about the lt.?"

"Lt.?"

"The one who had the accident with me. What was his name?"

"Lt. White. Excellent horseman. Shame."

"Shame?"

"He never could put you from his mind. A few weeks after the incident he was ambushed and killed."

"Is that all?"

"I think he could have made a decent officer if he hadn't been...Ah perhaps that is not fair."

"Really don't like 'colonials' do you?" She had mimicked his accent saying 'colonials.' He glared then huffed.

"I do not like traitors."

"Wilkins wasn't a traitor."

"He sided with the Crown only because he believed Britain would be victorious."

"So you'd stayed with the 'Crown' even if you knew for certain your side was going to lose."

"Ma'am, if I had joined the rebels the war would have ended much sooner with the outcome much clearer."

"Ya know Tavster I believe ya. Of course, after you cut loose on the red coats Britiaina would still be p.o.'d at us." She grinned despite his frown. Suddenly he crossed his arms and chuckled.

"I do suppose you are correct."

Rai had herded him out of the bedroom.

"It will be an all nighter, William. Go. Leave me alone to work. If I die of a pencil injury I deserved it. Go."

'How odd,' he thought. When sketching she was a chatterbox but claimed to be too shy to let him watch her "get down to the nitty gritty of it."

He needed to be near her. Despite her declarations he knew from experience danger was everywhere. If only he could walk through walls or will himself to her side or become invisible. None of these talents had been his and certainly weren't now.

Neither had he the bone chilling cold to fend off an attacker if that was her danger. If anything he was weaker than when he lived. He had went into combat at less than full song. Now was no different.

She had hid his sword and pistol in the laundry room. He retrieved them leaving the jacket and vest. Should someone see him this way he could claim the weapons were props.

A chair, a pillow and a stack of those books and her magazines and he settled in to watch over her.

His hearing had been sharp even through years of battle: cannon fire, pistol fire and Cornwallis' fire.

He listened allowing the sound of her pencil across the page, her muttering and the crumpling of paper to reassure him. Finally the sound of preparation gave way to smells of paints, not like the paints of his times, not strong yet not pleasant. He sneezed and sighed. What would happen next?

"Tav?"

He started. Amazed at realizing he hadn't exactly fallen asleep but had drifted away, he missed what she had said and had to ask her to repeat herself.

"I said I'm going to bed. You're getting too engrossed in those." She pointed to the book in his lap.

"Remember to leave your door open."

"Yes, Tavster." She giggled, kissed her fingers and pressed them against his forehead.

The next day he found himself pounding on the door in the late afternoon. A grouchy, pale creature flung the door open.

"Lunch."

She made a face than gave in long enough to grab a sandwich and duck back into the room.

He repeated his part that evening as she did her performance.

By the wee hours he had worn out the comfortable, tolerable and torturous positions the chair had to offer.

He sat rest his jaw in his hand. If he was to guard her then she just would have to get over her shyness. "Most intolerable."

He rested his eyes.

Would there be other times he waited patiently as she worked? He'd have to demand a better chair. He smiled. A picture of him setting in a "recliner" reading as she painted filled his mind.

Perhaps in this age there was no rush for her to marry. The process could take years --

He found himself standing. What was the noise?

"Rai." He went to the door. "Rai?"

He looked back at the window. The sky was grey blue. Again he had drifted away.

"Rai!" He pounded on the door then froze. A faint moan pulled at his ears. Let her be mad if she had merely fallen asleep.

The door was unlocked. Fussbudget cried at him. Rai was not to be seen at her table, though two sandwiches and an unused cereal bowl sat to the side.

The bathroom door was ajar and the light on.

"Christ!"

Rai sprawled on the floor one leg draped on the tub. Tavington knelt. The cat whined.

Blood seeped from a cut on her cheek, her mouth and nose. He prayed she had merely hit her nose and cut her lip.

"Rai?" No answer. No moan. Her breathing was shallow.

The cat continued to whine. He pushed it away. What was he to do? She wasn't dead, yet he doubted his battleground medicine could help her.

"Beast." He started to push her away when instead he picked her up and help her face to face. "Do that again."

Plaintively the cat repeated her trilling meow.

"Phone." Gently he let her go. "Stay with our mistress."

He dashed to the bedroom. The phone was half buried in the bedclothes but his soldier's eyes spied it immediately. At her side again he tried to remember.

'Press on, 9-1-1..'

"9-1-1 Please state your emergency."

"She has fallen, Miss Rai Lee."

"Address, sir?"

"Wait." He ran to the kitchen and retrieved of all things the phone bill and back at her side read the address. "Please hurry. She is unconscious, her breathing is shallow and -- " he felt her chest "her heartbeat is weak."

"Sir, stay on the line. I'll be here with you until the paramedics arrive."

"I cannot do that. Tell them to come quickly. The door is open."

He pressed the button and the line went dead. He squeezed her hand. After unlocking the door all he could do was return to her and hold her hand while waiting for the medics.

"Well, here we are again. Or nearly so. I have watched the television programs with these situations. Your physicians perform miracles on a whim. We will have plenty of time for me to botch things up in this lifetime. Fight, Rai, fight."

He sat up. A vehicle door slammed but there were no sirens and on television there where always sirens. The house door opened.

"Hey Babe of the Paints. Hey, Rai?" Footsteps drew closer. Tavington dove for the closet.

A tall, painfully thin man with unkempt yellow hair steeped in the bedroom.

"Rai? Jesus Christ! Rai!" He dashed in the bathroom and grabbed the phone. "Yeah I'm at, wait," He dug a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and read off the address. "Hurry, God, yeah, Bertie Winford. Hurry. Yeah, I'll hold on. Whatta mean this time? Just Freakin' Hurry."

Tavington heard sirens. He let out a long breath, closed his eyes and leaned back.

'I am sorry, Rai. I failed again...I am sorry. They should have given you Bordon or Lieutenant White. I am a soldier and suited for little else." As the darkness closed in Tavington hoped with all the heart a man and a ghost can have that his lavender Rai was free of him at last.

(Rai Lee.)

Rai turned. Where only darkness surrounded her now there was light. She was seeing faintly as if looking through a heavy veil.

(We need to speak to you about the one known as Tavington.)

'The disincarnated? Oh, yes. You want my report.' "Where in the world did that come from?"

(Do not worry. Relax and answer our questions. Think of this as a pleasant dream.)

"Yeah, right." 'Ask.'

(Do you think the being known as Tavington is ready for promotion?)

"Promotion as in school type promotion?"

(Please. Is he ready?)

'Possibly. I suggest letting him live.'

(Reincarnation?)

"He's due." 'Yes. He is willing to spend years guarding Rai, willing to try another lifetime if asked and even more willing to release his "ward" and consign himself to the unknown, to the darkness.'

(You believe he has learnt his lesson.)

"You betcha!" 'Not all but I do believe at this point he has learnt as much as he can. His heart is somewhat mended and his soul somewhat matured.'

There was a murmur.

"Sigh." 'Sigh.'

(He is not ready to be a child.)

"Yes he is. This time give him a parent worth a snot." 'I am not sure I understand. You do not think he will make a good guardian?'

(Do you?)

"Yes." 'Yes.'

(And we agree. Still, he is not ready to be a child. Childhood is difficult and he is still a young soul.)

'Then what is to become of him?' "I don't want to forget Tav again."

(Do not worry. It is not your place.)

"Hey, he's my friend, I worry. Look -- "

(Hush. We are satisfied Tavington will make a good guardian. Hold on to that thought, let it comfort you. Now sleep. You are making a miraculous recovery.)

"I won't remember will I?"

(Not all, not yet.)

"One last thing. Being his guide hasn't been bad." 'I could not let him know.'

(Sleep little guide, sleep.)

"No mom. I'm fine. Yes, I'm up to a surprise. Chinese for supper is not a surprise. Okay, okay I'll be ready."

Rai tossed the phone aside and leaned back on the couch. Normally a break from cooking and dining alone would brighten her day. Not today.

Since coming home her mother had called morning, noon, night and in-between. Of course she deserved it. Of all the stupid accidents...

Dizzy from lack of food and lack of sleep she leaned into the shower to turn on the tap and bam! Slip and fall. Thank Goodness she hadn't undressed yet. Tavington would have blushed to his toes.

And she knew Tavington had called the paramedics first even if Bertie got the credit. Maybe it was for the best. Explaining the mystery man who called 911 then disappeared would have bought her a one-way ticket to the Happy Hilton. Leave it to Bertie to arrive early. She'd drafted him without telling him for her little experiment with Tavington.

Tavington. Rai swallowed hard. She hadn't seen or heard from him since she fell. Vaguely she remembered him holding her hand and vaguer still she remembered a dream. She was sure this dream was real even if all she could remember was he had passed a test of some kind.

An image of him with wings come to mind though his were soft grey rather than radiate white.

"But not yet."

If she hadn't found the vest and coat she'd sworn she'd imagined all of it. Nothing weirder would happen in her life.

Rai passed the dirty dishes piled in the sink, around the sink and above the sink. Best to make sure she met her mother at the door before she could storm in and see the state of the place.

Her mother would know there was something wrong. There was of course but she couldn't talk it over with her mother. How could Rai tell her she was moping over her green 'dragon' and that was that?

"It'll pass. The two of us will met in another lifetime without all the baggage. Been friends a long time and will be."

Far sooner than she expected she heard her mother calling out for her.

"Bloody hell -- " A Tavy-ism. "Just a minute." She dashed to the family room hoping to scoot her out as soon as possible. "Okay, mom -- Hello."

A familiar looking man approximately her age smiled at her from behind her mothers right shoulder. But the familiarity pulled at her two ways. Her mother stepped aside.

"Rai this is Ward Daniels. Your cousin Ward." Rai's eyes locked with his eyes, eyes of pale green and blue. Ward's eyes were dark grey weren't they?

"Tav?" She mouthed. He merely smiled.

"Seems the same time you had your miracle I had mine."

"He just came out of it. Woke up and was fine. The doctors think the fever changed his eye color but he's in perfect shape."

He grinned shyly and looked directly at Rai. "Not entirely. I've holes in my memory. Almost like a man from another age having to learn everything in a future time."

"Oh, that's not important. What is important is you are out of the hospital and the doctors can't find a sign of damage." Her mother's phone rang cutting off any reply he had. "Ray, yes, dear we are picking up Rai. You do remember your daughter? Just a minute. Rai I'm going on out. Come when you're ready."

They watched her leave. Ward leaned toward her. "I'm not suppose to know but they are having a party for us."

"Uagh. Guess it wont be that bad. Let me get my purse." Mentally she shook herself. This mooning was getting out of hand.

"Your mother told me you could use a handy man. And she's worried about you being out here alone. I am in need of a job. I thought I would ask before she volunteered you and give you a chance to politely decline."

"That she would." Rai thought a moment. "It would be easier on both of us if I hire you. As long as you don't mind the bulk of your pay being room and board."

"Done. You are an artist? Are working on a piece now?"

He held her coat out for her. She slipped her arms in. Somehow things were balanced in the house. Maybe she had been lonelier than she thought when Tavington turned up in her life. It wouldn't be the same though would it?

"For myself. Red and green dragons."

He leaned to her ear and whispered. "That is dragoons, my lady."

End