Disclaimer: I don't own Col. Tavington and I don't make any profit on my writing.

Thank you Minx, for correcting the text.

She loves him

She never looks at him, not until he has undressed. She pretends to be asleep until then. It's a game if you want, but not wholly. Every day she chooses not to listen to the wagging tongues that say things she doesn't want to hear. At night she closes her eyes so she wont have to see anything that betrays his trade. Not until he is naked and comes to her bed does she look at him. She loves to do that, to see his body, his face, all so beautiful in the candlelight. She loves to touch him, to weave her hands into his hair, kiss his mouth, his eyes, every part of him.

The anticipation of his touch makes her body willing as soon as he comes into her room and she is glad for that. Once, in the beginning he took delight in her pleasure, he sometimes does even now. But more often does she open her eyes to look into his, seeing only coldness and rage. For whom she does not know, but it is on her he takes out his anger. He takes what he wants without regard to her, leaving bruises on her body. She doesn't care about them, only the abigail sees them anyway, and the woman wont tell anyone. She is foolish, she knows. She ought to tell him not to come anymore. But he wouldn't care. As long as he wants to come to her, he will.

This night is different. When he slips between the sheets her nostrils are overpowered by the smell of fire. She wonders what it is that has burned tonight, but she pushes the unwelcome thought away. When she turns towards him he just wraps his arms around her, holding her tight, so tight it hurts her, but she doesn't dare to tell him. He falls asleep like that and his grip loosens a little, enough for her to breath freely again. She lies awake, stroking his hair, which spills over the pillow. She notices the marks on his cheek, she traces them with her fingers. Scratches from a small hand, a woman's hand. She shudders and puts her hand away.

She loves him.

His sleep is restless, as usual. She doesn't wonder what chases him in his nightmares, but when he moans she holds him closer. Suddenly he screams and sits up, his body wet from sweat. She doesn't say anything, past experiences has taught her not to speak when this happens. She gingerly touches his shoulder and he takes her hand, holding it with both of his. Then he speaks. At first slowly, but then the words spills faster and faster from his lips. She has no choice but to listen and it is not rumours and gossip any more. From his mouth it is the truth, it is everything she has fought so hard not to know. She feels like the room is slowly filled with people, pale ghosts of his story and they wont go away, however hard she shuts her eyes. When he has no words left he just sits there, shivering though the night is not cold.

"Do you want me to leave?", he asks.

She may be foolish, but she is not a fool. The offer is not just for tonight, it is forever. It is her chance to be free. She can forget all that has been said and all that he has done. She can go on pretending that there is no war, no deaths. Instead she reaches for him, wraps her arms around him and murmurs words of no meaning in his ears. Words of nonsense, words of comfort. Gradually he stops shivering and then he sleeps. There are no more nightmares that night.

Nothing much changes. He still comes when he wants. He still takes what he wants. But she never closes her eyes anymore.

She loves him.

You are my purest comfort,
my most steadfast shelter,
you are the best I have,
for nothing hurts as much as you.

No, nothing hurts as you.
You ache like ice and fire,
you cut like steel my soul -
you are the best I have.
                              -- Karin Boye, translation Jenny Nunn

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