The Hostage

I enormously thank Marianne for her assistance. I am French and I wrote this story in French before translating it into English. Marianne made so that this story is written in better English, much better. And I thank her much for that. -- Myriam

* * * * * * * * * *

This morning began like every morning at 'Three Trees,' a large farm in South Carolina. Jessie rose early to prepare breakfast for her mother and two younger brothers. Many chores awaited her today, since she was the eldest of the family since her big brother Adam and their father had gone back to the militia.

Her mother entered the room, her face tired, with dark circles under her eyes. Jessie knew that she slept badly, so worried was she over the two absent men.

"How are you, Ma?" she asked.

"Fine," answered her mother without conviction, then added: "It's almost three weeks since we had any news."

"Don't worry, Ma, that we've heard nothing. If something bad had happened, we would have," she said, trying to convince herself. Her mother was going to answer when the two boys came in. The women exchanged a glance and said no more.

Later that morning, Jessie sat with her brothers on the porch, teaching them their lessons. It was a brief lull: there was so much work to do, and not enough folk to do it. Everyone had to work. She listened to Michael read, but she was distracted, thinking of her brother and father, and rumours about the British army, when the sound of a party of horsemen made her start.

She jumped to her feet. Her mother raced outside, with a look of expectation which Jessie shared. But she felt as if the ground had opened beneath her feet when she saw that the horsemen, who had just emerged at the end of the road, wore red uniforms: British. And it was far too late to flee.

The riders made straight for the house. Jessie noted their uniform: black breeches, red, close-fitting jackets with green facings, helmets crested with black fur: "The Green Dragoons" she thought.

Michael held her hand, clasping it tightly, whereas Jake, older, placed himself courageously next to their mother, whose eyes were wide in fear. The commanding officer came face-to-face with them. Jessie felt her blood chilled as she met his blue eyes, cold, merciless. An arrogant smile was on his lips. He gave an impression of incredible power and efficiency. But he was also extremely attractive.

"Colonel William Tavington of the Green Dragoons," he introduced himself. "You are under arrest." Then turning to his second-in-command, he ordered: "Collect the slaves, search the house and take these people prisoner."

Jessie saw that her mother did not protest, completely overwhelmed by the events. But she did not intend to let this happen without saying anything. She stepped forward and said bravely: "What right have you to do this?"

Tavington turned his eyes on her with a pitiless look, and she felt cowed. Despite everything she persisted: "We've done nothing."

He looked at the girl more attentively. She was tall, slender, young, with long brown hair, green eyes which glittered with anger, a beautiful face, small dimple, a maddening charm. "A real wild cat!" he thought, amused. "You are Rebels and I have every reason," he said with a sarcastic smile.

"We are civilians!" retorted Jessie. Tavington's smile widened: he found the girl's defiance amusing.

"I don't have to give my reasons, but I shall, nevertheless. Your father, Thomas Norton, is in the Rebel militia, like your brother. Therefore you, and some of your neighbours are to become my hostages. It is that simple. If they're not handed over, I may be obliged to become...brutal. Do I make myself clear?"

Jessie could not answer; she knew already that no excuse, no begging would unbend this man. "Which of us are you taking?" she asked nevertheless.

"All of you."

She gestured to her brothers. "They're children."

"Your father should have thought of that before rebelling against the crown. This discussion is closed."

The girl's eyes shone with anger and frustration but she made no retort. Her defiant look stimulated Tavington. She attracted him, he had to admit. Jessie was angry but most of all she was terrified, less for herself than for her family, her two little brothers, her mother, but also her father and Adam who would surely go to avoid the worst to them. She stared into the Englishman's eyes in the vain hope of finding a trace of pity there. She felt herself irresistibly drawn by their compelling gaze. In order to tear herself from his influence, she lowered her eyes.

Soldiers came to tie them up. Michael started to cry and Jake struggled. She looked imploringly at Tavington. Curiously he felt strangely remorseful beneath her gaze. For a brief moment he considered not tying up the children, but he swiftly regained his composure. Next was the turn of the girl, who carried herself with dignity. The family was led to a covered wagon and made to climb up on to it.

Tavington turned to his second-in-command and asked: "Well, have you finished?"

"Nothing suspicious, sir. We dealt with the slaves."

"Very good. Burn the house and the barns."

"Yes, sir."

Jessie wanted to shout, to cry, but she did not want to give that pleasure to this monster. Her mother started to cry gently when the torches flew towards the house, which immediately caught fire. Jessie could feel the heat. She saw her past life, all her memories, go up in flames. She knew that her destiny had changed irrevocably, the last scraps of her childhood consumed with the house. She felt her eyes fill with tears, and despite all her efforts to hold them back, they ran down her cheeks. She sensed that she was being watched, and raised her head. Tavington fixed her with a strange expression, very near regret: all the hardness, all the coldness in his gaze had disappeared and during this split second he seemed to be another man. When he saw that she was looking at him, he changed back again, icy, and a mean, mocking smile crept on to his lips. Then he turned his horse around and gave the order to depart.

* * * * * * * * * *

That evening, the Green Dragoons made temporary camp. The prisoners were deposited in a corner under close guard. Their hands were unbound, but it was made clear that any escape attempt would be punished by the immediate death of three people. Besides the Nortons, three other families were there. All had oneor more members of their family in the militia. None of the prisoners spoke: fear was written on all their faces. Jessie had tried comforting her mother who however remained completely distraught. She kept busy with her brothers. They were hungry, cold, and needed a wash. But the guards would allow nothing and refused to answer. Jessie addressed to the other prisoners: "Will none you protest?"

They lowered their heads and said nothing. Anger overcame her.

"You're all cowards!" She rose, entrusted the boy to his mother and moved gradually towards the soldier.

"Sit down!" he barked.

"Listen, we must..." He did not let her finish. He pointed his gun at her. "Turn around and sit down!"

"Jessie," her mother begged, "please come back."

She did not obey. "I want to see Colonel Tavington," she said in an assured voice.

"Jessie," her mother groaned.

The soldier hesitated, then he ordered one of the men to take the girl to their colonel.

Tavington was grooming himself at a nearby river. He had removed his jacket and changed his shirt after freshening himself up. He sat dreamily on a stone at the edge of water, thinking of that girl's blazing look. She was really charming...

"Sir?" The call drew him from his daydream. He turned his head and saw one of his men accompanying the very girl who occupied his thoughts. "Yes?"

"This woman wants to see you, sir."

He smiled and said, "Make her come down here, then return to your post."

"But sir..."

"Let me deal with her, and then I'm sure she won't be ignorant of the consequences of what would have been.. a folly."

"Yes, sir."

Jessie descended the slope to the bank on nimble feet. Tavington had remained sitting on the rock, admiring the young woman's silhouette. He felt his heart thumping in his chest. He looked so different with his long hair unbound and falling to his shoulders, less haughty, more intense, much more attractive. She joined him, trying to regain her spirits and remember what she wanted to say.

"Well then, what do you want of me?"

"I...The children are hungry, they need things, all of us do...You can't treat us this way."

He smiled cruelly. "But I can, perfectly well. You're my hostages, not my guests."

Her mother often reproached her for her manners, she was right surely. "You are nothing but an infamous murderer!" she exclaimed, trying to slap him.

But he caught her hand quickly, rose slowly and struck her hard across the face.

"Your courage amuses me sometimes but don't misuse it." He pulled her to him. The girl's eyes were full of tears. "Do you understand me, you young fool?"

She did not answer.

"Answer me!" he ordered, tightening his grip more strongly on her wrist.

"You are strongest," she said under her breath, grimacing with pain. "When you begin executing civilians in order to prove it," she could not resist adding.

"I could start now, with you, for example. Or with one of your little brothers."

She blanched in horror. And lost any desire to resist him.

"No, I beg you, leave them in peace! For pity's sake. I...I will do everything you want."

He felt his heart leap in his chest. "Everything? Really?" He gave a little smile of amusement. "What's your name?"

"Jessie."

"Jessie," he murmured, as if to himself. This mixture of insolence and vulnerability appealed to him. He felt ready to do all sorts of mad things, just to see a look of love in her eyes. He knew perfectly well that he could have taken her, there, at the edge of the river and this thought did not displease him, but something in him needed more. He did not want to do her violence, he wanted to be tender, and he wanted her to want that with him. He was moved by the panic in her eyes. He was surprised by his reaction. She definitely had a greater effect on him than he would have believed.

He loosened his grip on her wrist a little, and with his other hand caught her chin. He drew her charming face to his and gently kissed her, just a small tender kiss. She shuddered at the touch of his lips. He moved away and slackened his grip on her. She shivered again under the intensity of his eyes. She still felt the touch of his lips on hers and she felt herself blush with shame. The touch had been so soft, so pleasurable, she would have liked him not to stop. She hesitated between fleeing, bursting into sobs, or throwing herself into his arms to return his kiss.

The emotion which he found in the girl's expression heated him. He wanted her now. He could force her to yield to him, he had the power, but that would be too easy. He did not like that. No, he preferred to play with her a little more.

"What I want, you said," he murmured.

She hesitated but nodded.

"Perfect. I will order food to be brought to the prisoners. But in exchange you will do something for me."

"What?" Fear mingled with anger and helplessness made her eyes glitter. He smiled broadly. "Give me a kiss."

"No!"

"No?" His smile widened, which rendered him even more menacing; then it faded slowly and his gaze grew icy. "Don't force me to renew my threats. I don't ask anything of you but a kiss...for the moment." She hesitated but had she really any choice? She was at the mercy of this man, of this demon. She approached; he did not move. She came nearer; he made no gesture. She raised her eyes towards him. She saw a look of amusement slip on to his face. Making her decision, she placed hers lips on his just for a second. She turned away from him, while he held her fast.

"That was not a kiss."

Then turning back towards him, she caught him by the neck and gave him a long, wild kiss which took Tavington's breath away. Before he had time to react, she fled, eyes full of tears. He could have ordered her to return, but he was so surprised that he did nothing.

Chapter 2

The night was long and cold. Jessie did not sleep. Tavington had kept his word and had a little food distributed, but the prisoners had to do without blankets, as the dragoons had none to spare. Snuggled against her little brothers, she could not stop thinking of what had happened by the river. Of the strange warmth which had possessed her when she had kissed him.

It was not dislike which had made her flee him, it was the fear, the fear of remaining in his arms, the fear of feeling again his lips against hers. This man had burned her home, sought to kill her father and brother and would not hesitate at all to kill them - and yet she could not detach her thoughts from him.

The peace of the place, the breathing of the sleepers, all became unbearable to her. She rose without noise, lest she wake anyone. She moved a little distance away . She rested against a tree which marked the boundary of the hostages' compound, completely distraught. She even closed her eyes, not daring to pray. She felt tears running down her cheeks, She let them fall; at this hour there was no-one to see them. A few minutes passed.

Suddenly she felt fingers gently wipe away hers tears. She gave a violent start. On the other of side of the tree, his face very close to her, was Tavington.

"Well, well, little girl..." His voice was warm and gentle.

She gulped with sorrow.

"Have I made you cry?

"Why do you think that? We're all at your mercy, so everything's fine!"

"Ah, now the brave little girl makes her appearance again!" he sighed.

"I'm not a little girl."

He had a strange smile."Oh but you are a charming little girl."

She did not answer.

He reach his hand to wipe the last tears which soiled her cheeks. She was shaking. He did not remove his hand, but continued to caress her face gently. His hand was warm. He approached and kissed her, tenderly at first, then with increasing passion. She felt his tongue slip between hers lips and she opened them to leave him the passage. She felt all her limbs begin to tremble. His hand slid to the nape of her neck and he pressed his face to hers. Then he move aside slowly.

"Again..." she heard herself murmur.

He obeyed. Once again their lips joined. The kiss was very intense. He gently drew her to him until she was right close against him, clasped to his firm chest. She entwined her arms around his neck, completely making the most of this moment. She had forgotten everything, her house burning, her fear, and who the man really was, who held her tightly against him.

Finally, his embrace slackened. He looked at her, desire making his eyes sparkle. She could not resist him - she did not want to.

"Come," he said.

He lead her towards a thicket at the farthest edge of the camp. There he kissed her again, letting his hands run over her, touching the nape of her neck, her hair, down her back. She slipped her hand into the opening of his jacket and felt the warmth of his body through his fine linen shirt. Tavington's lips were everywhere, on her lips, her eyes, her ears, her neck; then went down on her throat and the top of her breast. Her breathing quickened. He raised his head and kissed again her lips, while his hands began to unfasten the laces of her bodice. Suddenly she wanted him to stop, and threw herself back.

He looked at her, surprised. "What is it?"

"You go too fast..."

He took her by the waist and drew her to him. And placed a tender kiss on her lips. "Don't be afraid of me, I beg you." The expression in his eyes was very intense.

She murmured very low: "I never have..."

"Hush, I know, I know..." He started again to kiss her gently, tenderly. A soft heat suffused the whole of Jessie's being, his tenderness was so unforeseen that it broke her last defences. She was transfixed by him. His hands moved back to her chest and undid the laces, without protest. He uncovered her breasts. She felt his warm hand caress them, and moaned gently. He carried on. The bosom under his hand was firm and soft. He felt the girl tremble with pleasure, and slipped his fingers towards her nipple, which he held. Jessie moaned even more. Tavington silenced her cries with his mouth. Slowly he bent her body and gently laid her on the ground. His hand started to rearrange her skirt, caressing her leg gently. She seized his jacket and tried to remove it. He smiled and let her do so. His hand caressed her thighs now. He took his time. He gazed into the girl's half-closed eyes What he saw there pierced him to the heart. A look of total abandon. Never had a woman given herself so completely to him. He leaned over her and kissed her passionately her, murmuring soft words in her ear. His heart leapt again when he heard her breathe: "William..."

He was going to answer with something foolish, something he had never said, or had not said for a very long time...when a shot rang out, then another.

He leapt to his feet. Through the trees he saw the militiamen attacking his men. He glanced quickly at Jessie, and exclaimed: "It's your people! Save yourself!"

But just before crossing the trees, he turned for one last glance at the girl: "Farewell!"

He ran in the fray. It was hell, bullets whizzing everywhere. A man hurled himself at him. Tavington easily dodged the attack and struck his assailant in the face. He wrenched the gun from the man's belt, checking that it was loaded, and retreated to the place where he had left his weapons. Another man barred his way. Without hesitating, he aimed at his face and pulled the trigger: the man fell. Using the pistol as a bludgeon, he threw himself at the next, pushing a bayonet away from his arm before striking with the butt of the gun. The other collapsed. He tossed aside the useless pistol before drawing his own pair from his horse's saddlebag. He sensed danger behind him. He spun round and fired. The attacker took the ball full in his chest and collapsed as though knocked down by a giant hand. Tavington slipped the second gun into his belt and seized his sabre.

Borden, his second in command, and some of their men were going to be overwhelmed. He retreated, hacking, slicing, killing all that got in his way. He quickly realised that they were lost. The militia outnumbered them, and had the advantage of surprise.

They had to escape from this trap. With one last effort, he joined Borden.

"We must flee!" he cried.

"Yes, sir!"

"The horses, we must reach the horses!"

"Yes!"

"Forward!"

They charged, with Tavington at their head. Close to him a man fell. The militiamen in their path could not resist them. They started to retreat. A man appeared in front of him. Tavington fired his gun, and the man collapsed, a bloody hole between his eyes. He sprang into saddle. His men followed him. A moment later, the surviving dragoons had made their escape at the gallop.

"Let them go!" ordered a militiaman.

Jessie had watched Tavington set off in disbelief. Shots, his terrible glance filled with a kind of despair. His farewell had torn her heart. She got up and tidied her dress. She brushed off the grass which had stuck to her, and closed again her chemise and bodice. As she approached the line of trees, she was just in time to see Tavington fleeing on horseback, alive. She could not restrain a sigh of relief.

She slipped out of her hiding-place and tried to join the other hostages discreetly. Already the militiamen had rushed to embrace them.

She was going to follow when a voice shouted: "Jessie!"

She turned. "Father!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, Father, now you're here."

"Father!" called a young, resonant voice. It was Adam.

"Adam!" she exclaimed. She was so happy that they were both still alive. She threw herself into his arms.

"Father," said Adam. "Ma and the boys are there." But their father already had seen them and run towards them. After one moment of family joy, her father took her by the arm and drew her aside from the others. He looked her attentively. She could not prevent herself blushing and lowering her eyes.

"Jessie, where were you"

"Father?"

"You were not with the others, why?"

"I...I was...you understand."

"No, I do not understand. Do you believe we ambushed the Green Dragoons like that, without observing them before?"

She felt an iron point pierce her heart.

"I saw a woman kissing a man, saw her follow this man into a thicket, a British soldier!! And I discover that it was my own daughter!!" She felt she was going to die. He pulled her towards and into the thicket. Tavington's jacket was still there, an ignominious proof.

"An officer!" spat his father. "You lay with a British officer?! With Tavington?" he thundered.

"No, I..."

He slapped her very hard."Don't lie to me!"

"I did not lie with him," she said in a weak voice.

"No? Then it's only because we attacked in time!" He was furious. "I ought to kill you at once."

"Kill me!" she exploded. "Go on! Don't be shy! You insult Tavington, but you're just the same. Will you believe that he forced me, threatened me?"

"Threatened you? You seemed to be in perfect agreement!"

She planned to tell of Tavington's threats against her , but she did not. Her father was right. Tavington had not forced her. She looked at her father straight in the eye. "Yes, I was."

Her father slapped her again. "How could you...play the whore with this man!" She did not answer, she did not know what to say to him, she did not understand what had happened.

"Very well, what's done is done. But I warn you. Not another word. Don't speak to me more, you're not my daughter. Get out of here!" Without a word, she obeyed.

Chapter 3

Tavington slowed the pace only once the danger had been left far behind. They were not being followed. He cursed to himself. Those damned militiamen had beaten him personally this time. All that because he had been unable to resist a young woman, a Rebel, whom he had wanted to seduce. He would have been with his men and not amusing himself, when the attack had taken place. He was furious, nay, mad with rage. He stopped his horse. Borden stopped close to him.

"How they could approach without being seen?" exploded Tavington.

"I...I do not know, sir."

"You never know anything!! We lost at least fifty brave men, soldiers of his Majesty! And how they could know so quickly that we had hostages?!"

Borden did not answer. He knew well to be keep silent when Tavington was in such a temper.

Tavington slowly regained control of his emotions. He had to transform this lamentable failure into a victory or Cornwallis would have fun treating him as an incompetent and, for once, would be right.

"Where's the rest of the regiment, Borden?"

"A few miles from here, sir, close to..."

"Go on, then, send three volunteers to follow their track."

"Very well, sir." Borden chose three men, a British regular and two Loyalists.

"Forward!" ordered Tavington, wildly giving spur.

The little troop of surviving Dragoons set off again on their ride.

In the devastated camp, the militiamen gathered their families, and prepared wagons to take them far from this place. Jessie helped her mother without a word, without even a thought. She felt drained of energy by the events of this incredible day. She had lost her home, had been made captive, had fallen under a demon's spell, and her father had just disowned her. She felt as if she had died. She expected the men to order them to hurry but all around her seemed to be moving slowly.

A hand alighted on her shoulder. She gave a start and met her brother Adam's gentle gaze.

"So, little sister, are you all right?"

Obviously he did not know what she had done. But despite everything she did not find the strength to answer.

"Don't worry, you're in no danger now. And a house can be rebuilt, you know."

She felt tears run down her cheeks. Her brother took her in his arms.

"You were very brave there, little sister. Jake told me how you stood up to this Tavington. Well done! You've every right to give way now..."

She was relieved. She loved her big brother so much, he was so strong, so kind. She regained her spirits and stopped crying.

"Thank you, Adam," she murmured.

"It's nothing, little sister."

The preparations finished, the small convoy set out. The journey ahead was long. The leader of the militia had decided to temporarily take everyone into the swamps, while waiting to decide what to do with their families. The journey would take surely all the remainder of the night and a good part of the following day. Adam took command of the rear, with a handful of horsemen.

* * * * * * * * * *

Seated in the wagon, Jessie dared not look at her father. Moreover, he behaved as if she did not exist. Soon she did not have anything to do but let her thoughts wander. And they were immediately invaded by Tavington's lean, alluring face, his icy gaze and sneering smile. She could almost feel his lips on her neck and she shivered. The shame which she felt threatened to choke her and she would have liked to scream. How had she let herself be seduced by this man? He was the devil incarnate, the enemy. How could she? She wanted to convince herself that he had impelled her by his threats, but she knew that was untrue. It was as if she had been hypnotized by him. She felt torn into two, She hated him but could not give up the desire to feel, once again, her body pressed against him and his lips against hers. She forced herself not to think of it any more, without really succeeding.

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun was not yet fully up, and the dawn just breaking when Tavington galloped into the encampment of the Dragoon reserves. Their commander, Wilkins, ran up, eyes full of sleep and surprise.

"Everyone on your feet!" cried Tavington.

"But..."

"Don't discuss my commands, obey them! And find to me a uniform!" In less than ten minutes the Dragoons were ready to leave. Everyone was in the saddle, and Tavington had calmed down and regained his self-control with a uniform. Admittedly it was not quite his size, nor of his rank, but it was better than a simple shirt. He glanced over the faces of his men with a satisfied smile. They were sufficiently numerous. If chance enabled them to find the Rebels, he would have the pleasure of cutting every one of them to pieces.

* * * * * * * * * *

They had finally arrived. The militia quickly assembled the camp for the night in a small clearing bordered on one side by the swamp and a track into it allowing a fast escape, and on the other by a gentle, sparsely wooded hill. The families settled down, temporarily of course: just shelters for a day or two, while a solution was found. Only a score of militiamen remained with the families, under the command of Thomas Norton who posted guards on top of the hill in order to prevent any deadly ambush. They were safe in this place and there was no need to leave any more combatants with them. Jessie regarded leaving her brother with an aching heart. He had been her only ray of happiness this day. She remained alone between her mother who never stopped crying and her father who acted as if she did not exist. How long was that going to last? Once her brothers were bedded down, she tried to speak to her father.

"Father?"

He did not answer.

"Father, what do you mean to do with me?"

Not a word.

"Father!" she begged, "please, I made a mistake but..."

"I told you not to speak to me!" he thundered.

She lowered her head. Then tried again. "I...You know, he..."

"Will you lie down?!"

She gave up. She stretched herself out close to her brothers and, despite everything, fell asleep. She was exhausted. Her sleep was populated by nightmares, houses in flames, deaths...And by the soft words which Tavington had murmured in her ear.

She woke up in a sweat, more tired than the day before. It was the dawn. Fires died out gently, and the guards stamped their feet to keep warm and ward off the need for sleep. Her father sat close to the fire, with worried face. Suddenly he rose, listening to the noises of the morning. She understood suddenly why. There was deafening rumble which shook the ground.

"To arms!!!" yelled her father, putting his pistol in his belt. She leapt to her feet. The Patriots sprang up in haste as if from the dead. And suddenly, through the gaps in the trees which covered the hill she saw them: a hundred dragoons, charging. They galloped into the camp, cutting down half of the militia in their first pass. She immediately recognized Tavington, he was terrifying in his strength and skill, nothing seemed to be able to withstand him. She stood stock-still on her feet, completely transfixed by this appalling spectacle. The spell was broken by her father, who seized her by the arm.

"Help me! Everyone must flee into the swamp!"

With her father, she pushed the families towards the small tracks which lost themselves in the swamp behind them.

"Quickly!" her father kept shouting.

The women and children fled while, running, she pushed her mother and brothers towards a path. Her father was right behind her. She heard him fire. She stopped.

"Michael, Jake, run!" she shouted. And she turned, holding in a trembling hand the gun which her father had given to her. He reloaded his weapon feverishly while the dragoon whose horse he had felled got up apparently unhurt. He wiped off the mud from his face. Jessie could not restrain a gasp of surprise. It was Tavington.

Thomas Norton saw his daughter was beside him, and had also recognized the dragoon.

"Kill him, Jessie!" he said.

She raised her pistol but could not pull the trigger. Tavington stared at her with intensity.

"Kill him!!"

Norton tore the loaded weapon from his daughter's hands and pointed it at his enemy.

Tavington did not show any fear, he had just a faint smile which seemed to mean: 'the game is over'. At the moment her father pulled the trigger, Jessie clutched his arm.

"No, Father!"

The shot rang out and Tavington cried out as the ball grazed his left arm. Norton pushed back his daughter with a violent blow to the face. She fell heavily on the ground, the breath knocked out of her. She saw Tavington leaning on his dead horse and taking out a gun, while her father finished charging his own weapon. The two men aimed and fired simultaneously. And with horrified eyes she saw her father fall back. She crawled over to him. He had a wound in the left shoulder, above the heart.

"Father."

His expression was scornful. "Get away from me!"

A shadow made her turn around. Tavington stood over them, pointing his gun at her father. Blood ran down his sleeve and his eyes danced with a kind of savage joy.

"No!" she exclaimed.

"Shoot, you bastard!" her father growled.

A cynical smile appeared on Tavington's lips.

She begged, still kneeling beside her father: "I beg you, Colonel, he's my father! Please don't kill him."

"I am not your father." Norton whispered, pushing her.

She fell into the mud beside him. "Colonel!" He took a step ahead and aimed carefully at Thomas Norton's head. "William..." she beseeched. Tavington heard his first name in the girl's quivering voice. In one moment he remembered the moment she had murmured it in his ear, in the thicket. And in spite of himself he hesitated. He glanced towards Jessie, saw her eyes full of tears, and the bruise on her cheek. She had been struck. He looked at the man lying on the ground and saw the hatred in his eyes.

"William, please, don't kill him, don't kill him, he's my father."

His forefinger tightened on the trigger: he could not decide whether to shoot.

Borden broke the spell." Sir, we've taken the field. The Rebels are killed or wounded."

"Send men after the fugitives."

"Yes, sir."

"And seize this man," he added, pointing at Thomas Norton.

"Sir?" questioned Borden, extremely surprised.

"I need prisoners this time, not corpses."

He lowered his arm slowly, then slipped his pistol into his belt. And under the deadly gaze of Norton, he approached Jessie.

He bent down and extended his uninjured arm. "Take my hand, little girl," he said with a smile.

The deadly madness had disappeared from his eyes, replaced by a certain lassitude. She hesitated, then clasped his hand. He raised her to her feet. She stood face-to-face with him. He caressed her bruised cheek gently.

"You have fared ill?" he asked.

She did not answer. Her heart pounded. She felt her father's eyes upon her.

"Come!" he said. She resisted him.

"I cannot," she murmured.

"Why?"

"I must stay with my family."

Two soldiers arrived and roughly seized her father.

"With this man?" asked Tavington.

"He's my father."

Tavington had a strange look, perhaps sad. "Very well. Accompany him," he said in an icy voice but before letting her go, he caressed her cheek tenderly.

She followed her father.

Chapter 4

They had been left in an enclosure, just behind the headquarters. Her father who never spoke to her, was treated just after he had arrived. The soldiers had not caught up with many fugitives because they had not dared to go too deep into the swamp. Her little brothers and her mother were safe. Only two women, and three children had been caught, also two farmers who had refused to fight but whose sons were in the militia. There were also five wounded militiamen among them, one of whom was going to die of his wounds.

Two hours after their arrival, warrant officers entered the enclosure and sought her.

"Miss Norton?"

"Yes."

"Come."

"Why?"

"Colonel Tavington wants to speak to you."

"And if I don't want to?"

"It is not a request, it is a command."

Under the others' questioning glances, she followed him, heart beating. He took her inside the headquarters, then into the plantation-house. He went upstairs before knocking on the door.

"Yes?" answered Tavington's voice.

"The person you were expecting is here, sir," answered the warrant officer.

"Come in."

The man opened the door and beckoned Jessie to enter with a lustful look. She shivered and entered.

It was an office. Tavington was wearing clean uniform breeches and a shirt of dazzling whiteness. His jacket hung on the back of his chair. He welcomed her with an ironic smile. "Ah my wild kitten!"

"What do you want of me?" she said curtly, determined not to yield to him.

"Well, I'm sure, if you look hard enough, you'll find out what it is."

"I want to return to my father."

"We will see, later. While waiting, I believe that the first thing you need is a bath."

"What?"

"A bath. There is a bath-tub full of hot water in my room next door, besides a clean dress which will suit you wondrously. Don't you want to remove all this dirt?"

"The only dirt of which I must rid myself won't come off in a bath! It's the memory of your hands on me!" she spat.

His look hardened. "But you did not seem to find that so unpleasant at the time."

She blushed. "That is why I must get rid of it," she murmured.

"Come along, let's not start trading insults, my little savage. For the moment I'm just offering you a bath."

He opened the door of his room. Water steamed in a bath-tub right in front of the door. He turned towards her and took her by the wrist.

"Come along."

The desire to slipping into the hot water was strong but she knew what would happen if she yielded.

"No thank you, Colonel. I must return to my father."

His look became icy. "Then do what I say to you. Or you are extremely likely never to see him again."

"Is that what you wanted to say?"

"It is only because of you that he's still alive." He answered.

"Am I still caught in a trap?"

He gave a great, mocking smile." Yes! I'm not going to let you stray far away from me, little girl."

He drew her into the room and she followed him. "Enjoy your bath," he said. Then to her great surprise he left and closed the door again. She was alone in the room. She hesitated, then with a resigned sigh she removed her soiled clothing and slipped into the hot water. She closed her eyes. The water did her a world of good, and she sank in a kind of half sleep. A hand caressing her shoulders awoke her. She opened her eyes and discovered Tavington gently rubbing the soap on her skin. His hand went down towards her breasts. She seized his wrist to prevent him continuing. He leaned over and kissed her on the ear. Then she detached his fingers one by one from her other hand.

"Let me continue," he said.

"No," she said weakly.

He took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. A long shiver ran through her.

But she said, "I cannot, I..., you are..."

"Your enemy?"

"Yes."

"It's true, but what's to do about it? Let's forget all that." His voice was deep, warm, soft, insistent.

His hand returned to soap her breasts gently. She could not with old a moan of pleasure. He knelt beside her and kissed her neck. He continued to soap, going down towards her belly, then started to soap a leg, going down towards ankle and the foot. He dealt with the other foot. Then went up towards the interior of her thigh. She could no longer, would no longer resist him. But he avoided her intimacy to return to her belly and breasts. He untied her hair, took a pitcher of water and poured it over her head. He soaped her hair carefully. Before rinsing them carefully, he gave a big smile: "There's a very clean little girl!"

"I am not a little girl," she said angrily.

She caught him by the shirt and pulled him towards her. He stumbled and collapsed on her, splashing the room.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed.

Their faces were very close, they looked at each other for a long time, during what seemed to them an eternity. Her heart beat fast enough to break, he was so beautiful, so alluring...Without really making the decision, she leaned towards him and kissed him. He embraced her. He returning her kiss passionately. He finally got up and helped the girl do likewise. She pressed herself, naked, dripping water, against him. He slipped his hand under Jessie's knees and took her in his arms, tightening her against him, completely soaking his shirt.

He carried her to the bed and laid her on it. He sat close beside her and admired the young, slim, supple body, the firm bosom with the raised nipples, the flat belly, the beautiful face lit by green eyes. He ran his hand over her body in a long caress which made her shiver. She did not take her eyes off him. He leaned finally over her, kissed her eyes, the lobe of her ear, her neck, down towards her breasts.

She wanted to feel his skin, she pulled at his shirt. He sat up. And without a word he tore it off. She was able to admire his broad shoulders and chest, his flat belly. She drew him towards her, caressing his skin timidly. He quivered under the eagerness of her hands. He felt incredibly moved. He had known many women, but this time...

He kissed her impetuously, then in a kind of frenzy he finished stripping himself and entirely naked he stretched himself slowly by Jessie. He caressed her bruised cheek gently. "Jessie..." he murmured. She laid her face against his chest and forgot everything; for this night she decided to forget everything except this man. "William..."

Chapter 5

The sun awoke her. A luminous ray bathed the bed where she was lying, naked, pressed against the naked body of William Tavington. He was in a deep sleep. His black hair was spread out over the pillow and the sheet reached his chest. His face was relaxed, calm. In an instant how she had spent the past night returned to her memory. His hands on her skin, his lips, his smell, the taste of his skin, his kisses, his lips on each inch of her skin, his tongue on her breasts, how he had entered in her, the pain. His tenderness at the time. And then...And then what she had felt when he had started again to move slowly in her, entering deeply, this wave of pleasure which had invaded her, threatening to submerge her completely, the soft words which he had murmured in her ear, and this wave which went and came, the way in which she was unable to control her body. And her cries. And the explosion which had brutally torn through her body. And his look, oh his look at this time, she had been drowning in his eyes, and then he in his turn had exploded with pleasure before collapsing on her, his weight on her, his tender kisses. And then he had rolled on side, had taken her in his arms, had tightened her against him, and she was pressed against him.

And later they had started again...

But after this second of exaltation, she seemed to return slowly to herself. The man beside her, the man to whom she had offered herself without reserve, this man was William Tavington, one of the Patriots' most hated British foes. This man held her life and that of her father in his hands. This man, this man was her enemy. She knew it. She knew that she could never face her father, or her brother, after what she had just done. She felt at the edge of tears. Why? Why him? She rose gently, lest she wake him. She did not know what to do. A simple but pretty dress was thrown on the back of a chair, the promised clean dress. She quickly and silently laced it up. Tavington moved but did not awaken. She opened cautiously the door of the room. The study was empty. She went towards the window and looked outside. She saw the place where the prisoners were locked up, her father. And shame cut her breath: shame to have yielded to him, shame to have felt so strong a pleasure, shame to wish to still feel it...

Tavington abruptly opened his eyes, passing from sleep to waking in a split second. He also remembered the night spent, of Jessie's fascinated gaze. He felt disorientated by his feelings for the young woman. Something so strange, strong, so powerful, that he never had felt, never, or...but no, this feeling was unknown for him...And then he realised suddenly that he was alone in the bed.

She had gone, without a word. A terrible blow struck his heart; he had hoped...He rose and quickly put on his breeches. Then he opened the door into the study.

She was standing in front of the window, her face pressed on the pane. A happy smile lit his face while he felt a puff of happiness. But this smile was erased slowly, when he started to understand the nature of his feelings for Jessie. He had had many mistress but never had he made the error of falling in love. He liked to seduce them, he liked to make them love him, he liked also to give them up once his whim was appeased. He did not want to love someone, he did not want to curb his future, his ambitions.

But with Jessie it really was different.

"She's a Rebel, Tavington," he thought, "just a chit of a Rebel. You will forget her. You'll just send away her."

She turned, their eyes met and William felt his heart pound. For a split second she believed she saw love in his eyes, a split second only. And then he was again Colonel Tavington, the cold, haughty, mocking cynic she knew.

"Hello, my little Rebel."

The indifference and the derision of his voice contrasted so much with the tenderness of the day before. But this coldness helped her overcome the desire to cling around his neck.

"Colonel."

Her indifferent answer wounded Tavington more deeply than he would have believed.

He was forced to say: "Finished getting ready, I will have you accompanied back." His words struck her like a whip, she became aware that she was nothing to him, just a night's pleasure.

She drove back her tears and asked: "To my father?"

"Isn't that what you wanted yesterday?" he said, no emotion showing on his face.

"Yes." Then taking her courage in two hands: "Then I want to ask you a question."

"Go on."

"What hope is there for us?"

"For you?"

"For your prisoners, Colonel."

"Oh! You are hostages, your fate will be that of hostages. And you are Rebels, the punishment is known."

The anger sparkled in the girl's eyes "You will kill us! Like that, without hesitation?"

"Without hesitation."

"And me?" she could not prevented herself asking." You'll kill me too?"

He hesitated. His first desire was to take the girl in his arms and to reasure her that he would never hurt her. And that terrified him, more than he could understand. She had attracted him, it is true, at first sight: her youth, her face, her impassioned look, her impetuosity had given him the desire for meet the challenge but in no way had he planned to feel anything other than desire for her. He stifled his feelings, and with an incredible effort of will he became again the relentless, pitiless man behind which mask he was accustomed to hide.

"Kill you? Perhaps that's how it has to end. But it would be a pity, considering the charming moments of last night."

She hurled herself at him and tried to slap him. He seized her hand and twisted her wrist. She cried out in pain.

He pulled her to him "Now, now, calm down!"

"Why don't you do it now! Why not kill me yourself now? A little courage, Colonel!"

Anger shone in Tavington's eyes and he retorted curtly: "When I decide." He pushed her back.

* * * * * * * * * *

She had been brought back into the camp by the same warrant officer who did not take his eyes off her. She had come into the midst of her neighbours while trying to avoid their disapproving glances. She felt her cheeks burn with shame. She went towards her father, but shrank back beneath his contemptuous gaze. Not knowing what to do, on the brink of tears, she went to sit down in a corner of the camp, out of the way. But she did not cry. Not in front of them.Never before had she felt so bad. She had been so naive.

* * * * * * * * * *

Tavington was on patrol at the head of his men, but today he was not thinking of duty: he thought only of her. He saw again her beautiful body lying on his bed, the way in which she looked at him and the despair in her eyes when he had so harshly sent her away. He regretted doing it. Despite all his efforts, he could not forget her, she occupied his thoughts all that day.

When he returned to headquarters he learned that Cornwallis wished to see him urgently. He smartened his appearance and hastened to the office of General Lord Cornwallis, the commander-in-chief of the British army, an arrogant and pretentious man whom he hated.

He entered Cornwallis' large office, and saw that General O'Hara, the most servile of his Lordship's courtiers, was there. He greeted the two men with a faint smile. Cornwallis raised the eyes towards him and acknowledged him as if angrily: "Well, Colonel, have you found these rustics?"

"No, sir."

"A great deal of use you are!"

"Sir, it is..."

"I do not want excuses, Colonel. While you traipse around the countryside, they defy me once too often!"

"My Lord?"

"A significant convoy was attacked, Colonel," O'Hara said "It was commanded by Lieutenant St.John Smythe, who was savagely murdered." Lieutenant St.John Smythe was Lord Cornwallis' nephew, a pedantic young man who had always looked down on Tavington.

"My condolences, my Lord," William said with a slight smile which contradicted his words.

"I don't want your condolences, Tavington!!" shouted Cornwallis. "I want to finish with these militia. You brought prisoners here two days ago, didn't you?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well. Do your duty: interrogate these people, make them talk!"

"My Lord, they won't."

"I don't care what you do, Colonel, but do something! In any case, I want to see these Rebels on the gallows as soon as possible."

Tavington's eyes were alight with anger, but when he spoke, his voice was tense but calm.

"My Lord, I thought of using the prisoners as..."

"Colonel, I gave you an order."

"Very well, my Lord," answered Tavington.

The interview was finished. Tavington turned and left the room, O'Hara accompanying him. As he left, Cornwallis recalled the General who returned. Tavington had a few seconds, he made sign to Borden, who waited in the corridor.

"Borden," he said quickly,"go to the hostages. Take the girl Jessie Norton to my room, immediately."

"Sir?"

"Quickly, Borden. She should be out of there in a minute. Hurry!" Borden ran off just as O'Hara came out of the office.

"Let's go, Colonel. I shall be curious to see how you proceed."

Tavington smiled sneeringly: "Are you sure you can stand the sight of blood...sir?"

"Have a care with your answers, Colonel."

"Of course, sir."

Jessy had been jostled along out of the enclosure by a large officer of the Green Dragoons. She had tried to resist but without success. The man seemed in a hurry and anxious. To her great despair he had led her in Tavington's apartments. But the Colonel was not there.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"He won't be long. Wait for him."

Borden came out and left her alone. This time, despite everything that she felt for the handsome colonel, she decided to resist. If he wanted her, he was going to have to take her by force. She went to look through the window. She saw Tavington entering the prisoners' compound.

He entered without a hesitation, with an air of coldness and arrogance. He looked at the poor wretched herd crowded there. He threw a glance towards the shelter where Jessie's father was. Then letting his glance alight on to each of his prisoners: children, women, both the cowardly farmers, and three other militiamen. He felt O'Hara watching him with the intention of reporting his every act to that hypocrite Cornwallis, who had taken great care that everything that happened was now under his responsibility. Tavington was not afraid to get his hands dirty: he believed the war could be shortened by even harsher action, but what disgusted him was the way Cornwallis distanced himself from operations of this kind.

"Listen to me, all of you," he said in a firm, powerful voice, "I want to know where to find the man called 'The Ghost', and you will tell me."

"Fuck you!" exclaimed a young militiaman who was slightly wounded in the thigh.

A cold anger shone in Tavington's eyes. He advanced towards the young man.

"What did you say?"

"I said : Fuck you," the boy proudly repeated.

"Oh really?"

"Butcher!"

Tavington calmly drew the gun from his belt and without a hesitation fired a ball right between the young man's eyes: he collapsed with a look of disbelief. A child started to cry. A militiaman growled:

"Murderer!"

He tried to throw himself on Tavington but two soldiers prevented that. William quietly reloaded his weapon before approaching the man. He pointed the gun at his head and asked calmly: "Where is 'The Ghost'?"

The man did not answer.

"Where is he?!" repeated Tavington more forcefully.

"I don't know," answered the militiaman.

"Wrong answer!" retorted Tavington, and fired again. The man collapsed between the two soldiers.

"Damned butcher!" exclaimed Thomas Norton, who had risen and staggered towards Tavington. "I am their commanding officer. Ask me the question."

Tavington hesitated imperceptibly. It was Jessie's father: he did not want to kill him.

"Then I'm asking you. Where is 'The Ghost'?"

"You'll never find out, you damned bastard!"

"Ah, but you will tell me."

"Or else? Will you kill me?"

"Eventually, Norton, eventually." He turned to the women and the children before adding: "I have other possibilities, too." Tavington tried to call his bluff: "Including your daughter."

"My daughter?"

Tavington gave a great ironic smile. "She is charming, of course, very tender...To educate her was a pleasure, but all good things must come to an end..."

Norton howled in pain and rushed at the man he hated. Tavington easily dodged the wounded man and struck him hard in the face. Jessie's father fell to the ground, and Tavington prodded Thomas' wound with the toe of his boot. He groaned in pain.

"Where is 'The Ghost'?"

"Go to the Devil!"

"One day, certainly, but not right now." He turned away and ordered the soldiers.

"Pick him up."

Two men hurriedly lifted the casualty. Tavington drew very close to him and said in a low voice: "Don't force me to become any crueller, Norton."

He did not answer, but replied with a glance burning with hate.

"Perfect," said Tavington coldly.

He reloaded his weapon carefully.

"Kill me, you don't scare me, you damned butcher."

"But I told you, Norton, it's not you I'm going to kill."

"You will threaten me by killing that wretch that was my daughter? Do it! She's dead already as far as I'm concerned!"

"Kill your daughter? Not yet, my friend, I still have much to do with her."

"Son of a bitch!"

Tavington looked him with an icy smile and slapped him harshly. "You should avoid insulting me."

Then he turned to the other soldiers: "You, bring me one of the children."

"Sir?" asked the soldier.

"One of the children. Bring him to me."

"Yes, sir!"

The soldier caught a boy of about 12 by the arm and pulled him towards Tavington, as Norton looked on in horror. Tavington aimed his weapon at the child's face and said calmly: "Very well, Norton. Where is 'The Ghost'?"

"You wouldn't dare," Norton said.

"But of course I dare. Then I will start again with this charming eight-year-old girl, then with this little fellow of four. Then the two women..."

"You are an murderer."

"I am a soldier. I do my duty. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty. But in this case it is you who are the murderer. Their lives are in your hands alone. Well then?"

"Go to the devil!" sobbed Norton.

"So..." Tavington slowly squeezed the trigger of his pistol.

"Stop!" exclaimed Norton.

"Yes?"

"I will tell you. I will tell you where to find 'The Ghost'."

"And all his militia?"

"Yes," said Norton, defeated.

"Good. If you lied to me, I will kill this child before even repeating the question. Is that clear?"

"Very."

"Well then?"

"They are in the Black Swamp."

"Now isn't that precise?!" said Tavington with a smirk. "Where in the swamp?"

"Never the same place. The camp always moves."

"You are sure you're not lying?"

"Yes."

"Where, then, am I to find them?"

"I don't know exactly, I..."

Tavington gave a cruel grimace before slowly raising his pistol towards the young hostage.

"Very well," Norton said hastily. "They are at the Spanish mission in the Black Swamp."

"Thank you very much, Norton."

Tavington turned and left the prisoners' compound. He met O'Hara and said coldly: "I know where to find them. Tomorrow at dawn my men and I will enter the swamp and make an end of the militia."

"Lord Cornwallis wants them all hanged."

"When I am certain of the answer that man gave me. Dead men don't talk, General."

"Perfect. Do not fail, Colonel."

"I never fail, General."

Chapter 6

Jessie had watched the whole scene from the window of the room. She had seen him kill the two men in cold blood, she had seen him striking her father, she had seen him threatening the child. Of course she knew what he was, but for her to see him doing this was different. She saw him speaking to a officer, then with the man who had brought her to this room. Finally he crossed the courtyard and entered the building. He was not going to delay. She felt caught in a trap. Her eyes fell on the desk. Feverishly, she opened first one drawer, then another. There was a gun. The door opened. Tavington entered: there were still traces of anger in his eyes, but they lit up when he saw the young woman.

"Jessie..."

She seized the gun, and pointed it on him.

"You are a monster." He stopped."I will kill you." Her hand trembled, tears running down her cheeks.

"Jessie, listen to me."

"No, never. I saw you do it!"

"Listen to me, Jessie, I had to do it, I..."

"Shut up!" Her heart pounded in her chest: she could not resolve to kill him. Her spirit was no more than a chaos of tumultuous thoughts. Tavington was not afraid of death: he had sported with it for a long time. He enjoyed defying it in the hope that one day it would come to claim him. But today he was also attacked by contradictory thoughts. He wanted only one thing, to take the girl in his arms, to cover her in kisses, to tell her that he loved her. He could not suppress his growing awareness of the word which sprang to mind. Love. He loved this girl. The revelation left him speechless.

"It's impossible", he thought. "It's impossible: I cannot be in love."

"I won't let you start this again," Jessie said with a sob. Her grip tightened on the pistol. He made a decision. If he were to die, then let it be by her hand.

"If you must kill me, then have done with it." He stepped forward.

"Stop!" she cried. He took another step.

"Stop!" Still another step.

She did not squeeze the trigger: she could not kill him, do the only thing which would have redeemed her honour.

"There is another solution," she thought. She turned the weapon towards herself. William understood in one moment what she was going to do: he leaped forward, seized her wrist at the moment she pulled the trigger. The shot flew and the ball was lodged in the ceiling. He took her in his arms, gently taking the weapon from her and tightened her against him.

"Jessie, it's over, it's over."

She burst into sobs and buried her head against his chest.

"Why did you want to kill yourself, Jessie? Why?"

"I am so ashamed." she gulped.

"No," he said. "You mustn't be."

At that moment someone knocked on the door

"Colonel?" asked a voice, "Is everything all right?"

"All's well -I don't need anything. Away with you!"

"Yes, sir."

Tavington leaned towards the young woman, sighed and said gently: "I had to do what I did, Jessie, I had to. I did not have the choice. I had orders to make the prisoners talk, by any means."

"Don't pretend you're sorry!" she exclaimed.

"I'm not. Jessy, they are enemies of the King, I am a soldier of the King. My duty is to win this war. And I am ready to do anything to accomplish that. Pity does not win wars and we are at war. The militiamen don't comply with the rules, so neither do I."

She raised her tear-filled eyes towards him. "And me? Why didn't you threaten me before my father?" He did not answer. "Why? No doubt you haven't finished with me. You'll sport with me again, before throwing me back when I'm no more use to you." she said reproachfully.

"No, I...I wanted...What do my reasons matter!"

"You may take me, but I will not give myself again!"

"You're sure?"

She lowered the eyes.

He hesitated. What was he to do? To kiss her, make her bend to his will or to seduce her. But he did not want her to yield to force; he wanted her tenderness...

Then she raised the head and hissed: "I hated you!"

The anger which always brooded in him arose.

"You hated me?! Perhaps I just saved your life! Can't you understand?"

She looked him with surprise as she started to understand his words.

"You made me come here to protect to me, is that it?" she asked with incredulity.

He smiled fleetingly before answering: "Yes."

He kissed her forehead softly and wiped her tears. "I still make you cry."

There was something different in his look, a gleam, a softness, it was another man who looked at her.

"Who are you really, Colonel?" she asked.

"Who am I?"

"I don't know who you are."

He was not ready to acknowledge his feelings, not yet. He kissed her lips gently, then with more and more passion and she returned his kiss with ardour. Their lips parted.

"Come," he said. He led her towards the room and she followed without hesitating. She loved him. She felt she had always loved him. He gently laid her on the bed and looked at her intensely.

"I will do what you want, Jessie. If you want this to stop between us, here, now, I'll obey you. I will respect your choice." He surprised himself by what he had just said.

She looked at him and made her decision in one moment. In one moment she rejected her shame, her family, her friends, her convictions. In one moment she decided to give up all for the love of this man.

Nothing counted but him. Nothing counted but the present moment. She pushed back thought of her future, any hope, all that she was, her parents, her brothers, his past. She loved him. She felt she would be unable to live without his gaze upon her.

"I am yours, William," she said in a low voice. Then, looking him with intensity, she admitted in a murmur: "I love you." These were words he had already heard before, words in which he did not believe, words of which he made fun. But not this time. She was sincere: he saw it in her eyes, and for the first time in his life, the love of a woman touched him. He shivered. And pushed back any question. He leaned and took the lips which were offered to him. He kissed her lingeringly, and lingeringly they made love, gently, slowly. They were lost together in the grip of an intense, all-consuming passion. Each one knew at heart that it was madness, but they ignored it. Then finally he sank down, exhausted and satisfied, at her side. She remained one moment on her back still feeling shivers of pleasure traversing her body. She shivered.

"You are cold?" he asked.

"No, I...I..." She snuggled against him.

He turned, smiling, and took her in his arms. "Jessie..." He kissed her tenderly. "What am I to do with you?" he asked gently.

"What?"

"You cannot stay here, Jessie."

"You don't want me any more," she sighed, her voice quavering with pain.

"Oh, Jessie, never could I tire of you!" he exclaimed, without thinking.

This heartfelt cry warmed her. But she asked: "Why do you say that then?"

"You are in danger here, Jessie."

"In danger? Near you?"

He gave a small laugh, but there was no joy in it. "Tomorrow, I go to hunt and capture this damned 'Ghost', but...But on my return, I have orders to remove all the prisoners. And I fear they won't wait for my return."

"All the prisoners!" she exclaimed. "But you can't do that. There are children, women, and...and my father."

"Your father!" he said with distaste. "He doesn't love you!"

"He is just angry with me."

"Because of me?"

"Yes. William, please, you must do something for them."

"Jessie, what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know, I don't know. But I...Oh William..." She buried her head in the pillow to hide her tears from him. He stroked her hair. He was in confusion. To kill these people did not disturb him. He even thought it was necessary but, but - there was Jessie. And that changed everything.

"Jessie, Jessie, listen to me, I will try to convince Cornwallis. But I must make you leave here."

"I don't want, I...'to convince Cornwallis'?" She looked at him with immense surprise. "You will do something for them?"

"For you," he answered, "and just this once."

Tears beaded the corners of her eyes. She buried her face against his chest. He smiled at the thought that he was capable of such follies for her.

The day was dawning. He was going to have to leave. But to leave the snug bed, to abandon this warm body tensed against his seemed inconceivable.

At that moment someone knocked on the door. He gave a start.

"Sir! Sir!" called the voice of Borden.

Tavington noticed that there was a certain panic in his voice. He rose in haste, quickly pulling on his breeches under Jessie's frightened gaze. He hurried to the door, as Borden renewed his call.

"Sir! Sir! Open the door!"

He did so. "You're insane, Borden!" he snapped abruptly.

"Sir! I've only just found out, sir!"

"Found out what?"

"Lord Cornwallis ordered that the executions go ahead in spite of your recommendations, sir!"

"What!"

"The militiamen have just been hanged, sir. Only the men, sir. His Lordship changed his mind about the women and children. They will be sent in..."

A terrible cry made them start. By the half-opened door of his room, Tavington saw Jessie upright, naked, in front of the window. She sank down slowly. Without a glance at Borden, he rushed in. Through the window he saw the bodies of the militiamen hanging from the gallows.

He knelt close to her. "My father", she sobbed, "My father...You killed him."

Chapter 7

He stroked her hair but she pushed him back. He sighed, rose, tore the coverlet from the bed, and put it around her shoulders. Then he turned back towards Borden who impassively awaited him in the office. Despite all, he was rather surprised at the reaction of his commander. He was accustomed to Tavington's perfect indifference to the pain of others; to see him rushing to comfort a woman's grief was very astonishing but he took care not to show it.

"What exactly happened, Borden?"

"Really, I don't know, sir. This morning General O'Hara communicated Lord Cornwallis' order to execute the militiamen. I was already up, and saw the scene. I...I tried to remind him that you had not finished with them, but..."

"I see."

"Is that all, sir?"

"I don't know. And the civilians?"

"They will all be taken to a prison encampment, sir."

"Very well."

"All of them, sir."

"What are you trying to say?"

Borden stroked his chin. "Included her, sir."

The officer almost shrank back under the deadly look Tavington cast at him. "Out of question!"

"But sir..."

"Who, besides yourself, knows of her existence?" asked Tavington calmly, while the concern of it crushed his heart.

"Myself...the guards and...sir what are your intentions?"

"She will remain here. I can't make her leave now. In less than an hour we will be gone and I cannot leave you here, Borden. I think that she will be safe in my rooms. On my return, I will resolve the problem."

"But sir, perhaps..."

"What?"

"Private Parker cannot accompany us, sir. His wounded arm isn't healed. He's a reliable fellow, sir. Perhaps he could take care of the young woman until your return, sir."

Borden had the surprise of seeing Tavington smiling, a genuine smile, not the cold grin which was more of a threat than a smile.

"Excellent idea, Borden, excellent! I remember. Send him discreetly to me. Avoid O'Hara."

"Aye, sir!" Borden went out quickly.

Tavington returned to the room. Jessie was still prostrate at the foot of the window. She did not seem to have moved. He took her by the shoulders and gently pulled her to her feet. He clasped her against him and murmured: "I am sorry." She took a few seconds to answer. "That's a lie, you're not. You were the first to want to kill them."

He took her face between his hands, looked at her and said: "It is for your sake that I'm sorry, Jessie. It's true I've no particular goodwill towards the Rebels, but I was ready to make an exception. Only for you."

"I know," she answered.

She pressed herself against his bare chest and found comfort in the touch of his skin against his cheek. She had passed the point of no return. In a certain sense she had caused the death of her father, and she loved the man responsible for that. However, she believed Tavington when he said he had intended to save the prisoners for her sake. She really did not know why, but she believed him. But never again could she could face the eyes and judgement of her own people. From this moment she had become fated, her life directly connected to Tavington. She was fully aware of the precariousness of his life, but she did not care: she wanted to be with him, close to him, no matter what he had done, no matter what he would do. Finally she stopped crying.

He made her sit down on the edge of the bed, and squatted in front of her. He was moved by her distress but his duty called. "Jessie, listen to me carefully. I will have to leave,now. Perhaps for several days."

"No...!" she gasped.

He hate to do this to her, but he really did not have the choice. "I cannot avoid it. Under no condition you must leave these apartments, or show yourself at the window. No-one must know that you are here."

"Why?"

"The remainder of the prisoners will be sent to a camp, far from here. I do not want you to go."

She looked him with surprise. His fingertips caressed her cheek gently, and slipped to her lips. "If they learn that you exist, you will have to leave. And I..." He hesitated, as if the words which they were going to pronounce had difficulty leaving his throat. "I do not want to lose you." She felt her heart jump in her chest. "Promise me you'll stay here, Jessie."

"I promise you, William, I promise."

He smiled "Good. A dragoon named Parker will take care of you. Do not hesitate to ask him for anything you need."

"Yes."

"Perfect." Tavington got dressed quickly. He planted a small kiss on Jessie's lips, and left. Borden awaited him in front of the door with Parker. He quickly explained to the soldier what he expected from him. Once in the courtyard, a nasty surprise awaited him. General O'Hara, and 400 men of the infantry were lined up opposite his dragoons.

Tavington looked at Borden with a disconcerted air. The latter raise an eyebrow as a sign of complete ignorance. Tavington went towards the General and greeted him: "General."

"Ah Tavington, right on the hour!"

"General?"

"A few more minutes and we could have left without you."

"I am not sure I understand, sir."

"Lord Cornwallis thought it best to entrust to me the command of expedition to mop up the militia."

"Sir? But I was counting on carrying out a lightning raid after..."

"Do not question orders, Colonel," O'Hara replied haughtily. "His Lordship decided that I was better suited to judge the situation."

Tavington gave an ironic smile. "No doubt, sir, I will attend an interesting demonstration of military technique."

The mockery was hardly disguised but O'Hara did not seem to notice it. Tavington saluted again and mounted his horse.

Tavington tried to keep a brave face but he seethed with rage. No matter what happened, the situation was against him. If they captured this 'Ghost', that slug O'Hara would get all the credit. And if he escaped them, which was extremely probable from now on, he, Tavington would certainly be held to blame, and in any event it was he who would be condemned still to track him down.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three days later, the British expedition returned empty-handed to the plantation-house. O'Hara had quite simply wanted to advance into the swamp in order of battle, and had ordered the dragoons to ensure the safety of the troops. And as Tavington had envisaged when they had arrived at the Spanish mission, the nest was empty. Worse, there was nothing that led them to suppose that the militia had left recently. In fact all seemed to have been abandoned for a long time, and was completely uninhabitable. O'Hara judged that the information was false, but nevertheless ordered a search of the swamp which, besides exhausting the men and the animals, proved fruitless. Tavington had to stifle his disappointment and bitterness. He was more downcast than ever, and filled with a cold anger, when they returned. The only gleam of happiness was the joy of seeing Jessie again. He had not ceased thinking of her, without managing to understand what had happened to him.

Just after their arrival, Tavington went up to the anteroom at the door of Cornwallis' office while O'Hara gave his version of the failure. He took a hundred steps trying to control the fury which was steadily gaining on him. The fact of knowing Jessie was close to him did nothing to calm him. Finally he was permitted to enter. He advanced with a sharp step towards the General's office.

"So, Tavington, it would seem that your information was not reliable."

"We will never know, my Lord," retorted Tavington more curtly than the military etiquette permitted.

Lord Cornwallis raised an eyebrow to show his disapproval and answered: "Is that a criticism, Colonel?"

"No, my Lord, merely an observation."

"What's done is done. But the fact all this has been in vain is terribly disappointing. How do you explain that these rustics keep escaping you? They are not soldiers, whereas you...Finally, considering your exploits, the benefit of the doubt..."

"My Lord, I..."

"Your explanations do not interest me, Colonel, I want results."

"I was not the person in charge of this expedition, my Lord," Tavington could not prevent himself from saying.

"I know. But as the information was erroneous, the fault is not General O'Hara's, is it?"

"There's nothing to say it was false. If my hostages..."

"The fate of your hostages was regulated, Colonel. There's no need to go over that again. The combatants were punished and the women sent to Miderville." He paused before adding:" -including the one you hid in your room."

Tavington felt the ground heave under his feet. "My Lord?"

"This girl that you...lodged in your room for immoral purposes. I had her evacuated with her companions. This kind of behaviour is contrary to regulations, to discipline and the honour of a British officer. I count on you not to behave this way. Do I make myself clear?"

Tavington did not answer." Colonel, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes my Lord," he said.

"Well you may go now."

Without really knowing how, he found himself outside the office. He hardly closed the door, he had to lean a moment on the back of a chair, before running to his room.

Chapter 8

He climbed the stairs hurriedly and roughly threw open the door of his office. No-one was there. Cornwallis had not lied. She was gone. There was no trace of her departure, none. He entered the room. A terrible anguish crushed his heart. He had never missed anyone like this. He sat down on the bed, hurt, destroyed, his mind in confusion, struggling for an answer, a decision. A quiet knock on the door brought him out of his dejection.

"Sir?" It was Borden.

Tavington returned to the office, his decision taken.

"Sir, Parker told me that..."

"I know. Do you know who told Cornwallis?"

"No, sir. Parker told me that someone had come looking for her on the direct orders of His Lordship. And..."

"Very well..."He hesitated one second before ordering: "Find me a fresh horse, immediately."

"Am I to ask you, sir, where you intend to go?"

"Not," Tavington answered curtly.

"Sir, I must form a patrol to accompany you."

"I do not need anyone."

Tavington's eyes were bright with cold anger, but Borden persisted."Sir, I know where you are going, and it is out of question to let you go without an escort."

William smiled wearily. "Very well Borden, very well but be quick."

"Sir, if I may...Are you sure you want to do this, sir? Lord Cornwallis will undoubtedly be..."

"Cornwallis may go to the Devil!!" cried Tavington. "I want to leave in ten minutes."

"At your orders sir."

Ten minutes later, Tavington went down in the courtyard where Borden and thirty riders were waiting for him. He sprang into the saddle and ordered them to start.

Two hours later, when they were mid-way through their journey, they came upon the scene of a massacre. Bloodstained and mutilated bodies littered the road and roadside. The attack had certainly been sudden, because the majority of casualties seemed to have been struck down on the march. Tavington led his horse to the midst of the corpses with the monstrous dread that he would recognise Jessie there. But he did not. There were only redcoats lying there. Nothing that told him it was the escort of the convoy of prisoners. But this brief hope was broken by Borden.

"Sir it's the convoy of prisoners, sir. I recognized Lieutenant Fenning who was in charge."

"Any sign of the prisoners?" Tavington asked.

"No, sir. They were undoubtedly released, sir."

"Undoubtedly," he said in a faint voice. Then he added: "Search in the surroundings to see whether you can find a trail we can follow."

"Follow them, sir? But we are too few. Excuse me, sir, but to risk the life of your dragoons for personal reasons..."

"Enough! It's to find the militia."

"Sir, she's no longer at risk, and..."

With the pressure of his knees, Tavington advanced his horse very close to that of his second-in-command until his face was within a few centimetres of Borden's. And there, with icy look and low voice, restraining his anger, he whispered: "I warn you never again to judge or interpret my acts, Borden. We will follow the militia. Because I give you the order. If you still refer to her, I swear to put a pistol-ball in your head. Is that clear?"

The officer swallowed with anxiety. "Yes sir."

"Well, you have your orders."

"Yes, sir."

* * * * * * * * * *

After Tavington had set out, Jessie had remained prostrate on the bed for a long time, not ceasing to blame herself for the death of her father and unable to forget William telling her that he did not want to lose her. Was he capable of love? She was unaware of who he truly was. She knew only that she love him and that the price of this love was her soul. She had finished dressing, because she was cold, and after wandering around the room, she curled up on the bed. In the middle of morning, the door of Tavington's office was roughly opened and several soldiers came in.

She rose.

"Here she is!" said one of them.

"Come here! Your romps with Tavington are over! I hope that you were well paid for it!" said the warrant officer who had brought her into the room the first time.

They seized her by the arm and hustled her along brutally.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, the Colonel will soon replace you!" they burst out laughing.

She ceased to think. She had no more strength. She was pushed into the midst of her fellow prisoners, who drew back from her in disdain. They knew. But she proudly raised her chin, not wanting to give them the pleasure of seeing her shame. Had she any shame? No.

The convoy advanced slowly, and Jessie looked at the landscape with a dull gaze. William could find her, but would he want to? The soldier was right, he would find another woman to put in his bed. "I do not want to lose you". William's words resounded in her ears, and she saw again his tender look upon her. She was sure that he would come.

Suddenly shots rang out and several soldiers fell. It was soon total madness, the shots, the reek of the powder, the cries, blood. Then men sprang from the wood, threw themselves wildly on the surviving soldiers and hacked them to pieces. A man leaped close to her and took her in his arms.

"Jessie!"

"Adam."

He untied her. "Hurry up, we can't stay here. Where's father?"

"They hanged him," she murmured.

"Sons of bitches!" He dragged her into the wood.

But in the evening, she sensed the malicious glances thrown at her. They knew, the other women had gossiped. She sat apart from them.

Adam joined her. "Little sister," he began.

"Adam, did you find Ma and the boys?"

"Yes, they're safe. Jessie, the other women are saying strange things about you. Tell me they're only lies."

"What things?"

"Jessie, they..., they say that you are...that you spent the night with Tavington. It isn't true, isn't?"

She looked him directly. "Yes Adam it's true."

"Jessie!...He raped you, didn't he? That monster raped you! I'll go to him and -"

"No Adam, no! He didn't rape me. He only has me...I...I consented, Adam."

"Jessie, how...I don't understand, he's a monster, a butcher, he must have forced you one way or another."

"No. I love him, that's all."

"You love him!" her brother exclaimed. "Impossible!"

"It's the truth."

"Oh Jessie...Jessie. Say nothing of that to the others. Some could see that as treason. Say nothing. Make them believe he forced you."

"Adam, I..."

"You are my sister and I love you, but this man is a monster. It grieves me to understand..."

"He saved Father."

"No, Jessie, he struck him, tortured him, to force him to speak."

"I know. But he didn't kill him. He wanted saved him. It's Cornwallis who had him hanged."

"If you say so...Rest. I'd like to stay, but Ben Martin may be in trouble in the swamp, since Father has to confess to Tavington where to find him. I must go there. Someone will lead you to the plantation of one of our people."

* * * * * * * * * *

She was sitting in the drawing-room. No-one spoke to her. Their looks were more suspicious than malicious. But that mattered not at all to her. After only three days she missed him so much.

The thunderous approach of a troop of horsemen drew her from her daydreams. She rushed to the window. The Green Dragoons. William. He was going to fall into a trap. Instinctively, she wanted to pull open the window but a grip of iron prevented her. It was a militiaman, a trapper who had joined the militia. A man whom her father would not have seen in normal times, a brute.

"I knew fine that you weren't nothin' but a little whore! Don't move, or you're dead!" He put a dagger to her throat. "You're going to see your lover die. And I'll take real pleasure in tearing his guts out..."

With wide eyes she saw Tavington at the head of a small troop, entering the courtyard. He raised his arm to halt them. She stamped on the foot of her attacker and wildly clawed at his face. He cried out and moved back a step. She smashed the window with her fists and screamed: "William!!! Look out!!!"

The man caught her by the hair and pulled her back.

* * * * * * * * * *

While entering the courtyard Tavington had sensed danger, but nothing could have stopped him advancing. For these last few days a gloomy presentiment had clung to him. He who had always defied death with a kind of wild joy, hoping in secrecy that it would come to release him from the burden of his regrets, but never wanting to do the deed himself, now felt a fear which could end up defeating him. Because for the first time in a long time he no longer wanted to die. Jessie was the reason, he knew that. She had bewitched him by the force of her presence. He did not want to lose her.

Jessie's cry pierced his heart. But his mind reacted with speed and clarity. He drew his gun. And saw the trap. There were men hidden behind a hedge on the left and he saw rifles in the house.

"Charge!"

He spurred his horse and charged the hedge, followed by his Dragoons. Shots were fired, but the sudden charge had disturbed the shooting of the militiamen and only three riders fell from their stirrups. He jumped the hedge, and cut down the nearest rifleman with a great blow of his sabre. The Dragoons were already at work. Circling his horse, Tavington yelled to Borden: "Finish this off!"

And without awaiting answer he spurred his horse, which jumped the hedge without effort, and made straight for the house. Shots rang out, he heard a ball whistle past his ear. He made his horse climb the steps, then jumped down. A man appeared in front ofhim. He fired. The man collapsed against the wall. Armed only with his sword he entered the house. Two men leaped at him. He easily parried their blows and slit the throat of the nearest man with a skilful slash of his sword. The other pointed his rifle at his chest. He jumped on him, pushing aside the gun at the moment it fired. Face deformed by a wild grimace, he plunged the blade into the Rebel's body. He got up again, and opened a door.

What he saw made him roar with anger. One brute was fighting with Jessie, trying to stab her. She pushed him back. The militiaman saw Tavington. He threw himself on the girl and struck. She screamed. Tavington crossed the room like a man insane, and struck the man on the shoulder, sending him crashing against the wall.

His eyes burned with hatred. With one blow of sword he disarmed him and without hesitation, plunged his blade in his heart. In a rage, he with drew the weapon, and rushed to Jessie's side.

She had curled herself on the couch, blood staining her dress, and her hands. She was conscious. She looked into Tavington's eyes. A deadly coldness glittered in them. She quivered. It was the look of a killer. And then slowly the fury, the madness, disappeared, and he knelt close to her. There was despair in his eyes now.

"Jessie...Jessie...don't leave me," he murmured.

He ran his hand over her side. The blade of the dagger had glanced off a rib. The gash was deep but not mortal. He sigh with relief.

"William," she whispered.

He took her hands, cut when she had broken the window, in his. Then, leaning over her, he tenderly kissed hers lips. "Jessie."

He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that she was his life. But the words remained locked at the bottom of his throat. This confession was beyond his strength. The only woman to whom he had said those words had died, in a stupid accident with a horse, an accident for which he had been responsible. To remember it tightened his heart.

Jessie had not died because of him. Was he condemned to see those he loved die with his own eyes? Or one day could he taste happiness ? He raised her skirt, tore a strip from her petticoat, and took one of her hands. He bandaged it. He tried to be gentle but she groaned.

"Jessie, hush..."

He took the other hand. A small piece of glass was still planted in it. He removed it, and bandaged the hand. Then he tore the side of her dress to see the wound there. It was an impressive slash. He bandaged the wound tightly to stop the bleeding. She groaned again.

He leaned over her.

"Little girl," he said softly

"I'm not a little girl," she answered.

He smiled and kissed her tenderly. A floorboard creaked behind him. He seized his sword and turned. It was Borden.

"Sir, we're in control of the situation."

"Perfect. We can return."

He sheathed his sword again. He picked up the girl in his arms, like a bride. She leaned her head against his shoulder. He came out of the house. "Come on, Borden."

"Yes, sir."

"Take her. Pass her up to me when I'm in the saddle."

He tenderly placed Jessie in Borden's arms and jumped into the saddle. His officer give the girl to him. He sat her in front of him, both her legs hanging to one side. He firmly clasped her against his body. She closed her eyes and lost consciousness.

Chapter 9

Jessie reopened her eyes in a room that she recognized instantly. It was Tavington's. She was dressed in a loose nightdress. She had been washed and clean bandages placed on her hands and side. She felt rested. The door opened and in came William Tavington in uniform. He smiled to see that her eyes were open.

"You're awake."

"Yes."

"Any better?"

"I don't know. Yes. What do you say?"

"The doctor says that you'll suffer no lasting effects. Just a scar where the knife struck you. And on your hands." He took the bandaged hands between his own and deposited a kiss on them. "You could have died, Jessie. To save me, to save me..."

"I couldn't let them kill you."

He sat down beside her. She wanted to sit up.

"You shouldn't move."

But as she insisted, he helped her. She took the opportunity to twine her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

"You came to look for me. I can't believe it."

He did not answer. He could not.

"Why, William?"

"I..." He shook his head and preferred to answer with a kiss.

"They're waiting for me; I must leave you."

* * * * * * * * * *

During the five days which followed he passed his time dodging the questions that she put to him. And she understood that he would not answer. She decided not to worry, but despite everything it was like an open wound. She loved him. And she wanted to believe that he also loved her but why did he not tell her?

When at last she could walk he decided to take her for a little stroll outside. For the moment Cornwallis had chosen to ignore Jessie's presence in the plantation-house, but he was certain that that would not last. He offered his arm to her, and they went out. He took her outside the fortifications: he wanted a little intimacy. They went down to the river. The place was calm and charming. She sat down on a fallen tree-trunk.

"You are tired?"

"A little."

"We don't have to go far."

"It's perfect. A river. I remember another river..."

He smiled. "Me too. I...I had been hateful to you, hadn't I?"

"You were yourself, Colonel," she replied.

He frowned. "Jessie?"

"I...Sometimes, I remember who you are when you're not with me."

"What are you saying?"

"When you're with me, you're William. But I also know that you're Colonel Tavington, and that...But however much I choose to ignore it, I..."

He knelt beside her and took her in his arms. "I am what I am Jessie. A soldier. Who does his duty effectively. Too much perhaps. But you're right: when I'm with you, I'm only William."

He took her by the shoulders and made her rise. He looked into her eyes. "Jessie, there are so many things I would like to say to you."

He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. He took her face between his hands and looked at her intensely. "Jessie, I...I love you."

She opened her eyes wide in surprise and felt them fill with tears.

"William..."

"I love you, I don't want to lose you, ever."

She could not believe her happiness. She tightened against him, burying her head in his chest.

He stroked her hair. He had just confessed his love and it felt so good. All the anger which lived permanently in his heart had disappeared. He was happy. Quite simply happy.

* * * * * * * * * *

The weeks which followed were a pure joy for them both. Of course he often left to fulfil his duty but when he came back, the war stopped, the world did not turn, nor did it have any other occupants save the two of them. Their nights were alight, each moment between them only tenderness and passion. She felt that she was truly alive only when he was there, that the rest of the time her life seemed suspended, and that she had not lived before she met him.

He started to believe in the possibility of happiness. Yet the only thing which seemed to stand in the path of his happiness was a militia leader known as 'The Ghost'. But he was ready to do anything to finish with this man. And destiny seemed finally to smile on him, allowing to him to keep Jessie close to him firstly, and secondly in fulfilling his ambition.

After being publicly humiliated by 'The Ghost', Cornwallis had made a deal with him. He had given him unlimited power to capture the leader of the militia, Benjamin Martin, a man whom he had met one day at a plantation. A plantation which he had had burned because the man looked after wounded Rebels.

He had also condemned to hang, as a spy, a Rebel dispatch rider, a young man of 20. The planter had pleaded his cause but that had not moved him, even when he had learned that the young Rebel was the planter's son. That mattered not to him. Making an example of this dispatch rider would intimidate those who would take his place. For him, pity had no place in war, it only contributed to prolonging it. And one of the planter's other sons, a lad of about 15, with an impassioned look, had tried to release his brother. Right under his nose. He had killed the foolish brat, without remorse. He had only thought it stupid that the boy should die thus.

Cornwallis's anger had provided Tavington the means of being avenged for frequent humiliations which His Lordship had inflicted on him. He had thus concluded a deal with Cornwallis: the latter offered him land in this country, in Ohio, to be precise.

William started to dare to believe that a rich and happy life lay before him. With a woman whom he loved so deeply, so madly, beside him. Nothing would stop him now. Nothing. Sometimes when Jessie looked at him, full of passion, aglow, he shivered. And at this time something like remorse crossed his mind.

* * * * * * * * * *

Today a terrible presentiment tightened her heart as she awaited him, sitting reading in his office. Jessie put back the book.

William had been gone for several days and she was without news. But she knew what he was doing: he pursued the militia, without pity. She had heard rumours. Rumours which horrified her so deeply that at times she considered fleeing. But she could not, the spell was too powerful. She still loved him. And she prayed he would change.

Galloping hooves drew her from her prayers. She ran to the window and saw that the door of the stockade had just opened and Tavington rode in, his uniform dishevelled, alone. He dismounted quickly from horse, throwing the reins into the hands of a soldier.

She had been right to worry: he had been in danger.

A few minutes later he entered the office. His hair was untied, hang down about his shoulders, his face was smudged with gunpowder, and his uniform jacket was open. She saw in the opening of his jacket a bloodstained on his shirt.

She ran towards him."William! You're wounded!"

"It's nothing," he growled.

She drew back under the roughness of his voice and saw the expression in his eyes. They glittered with fury. It was a mixture of anger, frustration, of cold rage and another thing, something that she had never seen there. Something like fear, perhaps.

"William? What is it?"

He sat down on a chair without a word. He let her remove his jacket. Then she opened his shirt at the place of the wound. She went to bring some water and gently bathed away the blood . The ball only had torn his side - a shallow wound.

"It's not serious, William."

She bandaged his wound tenderly. His gaze terrified her.

"William, answer me, please."

He leaned towards her and took her face in his hands. "Jessie,

Jessie, I love you so much, never forget it."

"William, you're scaring me."

He took her in his arms and started to kissed her passionately. He pulled her into the bedroom and made love to her almost wildly. Then he rolled on to his side, exhausted. She leaned on one elbow, looking at his beautiful face, relaxed now. His black hair was spread out on the pillow. "He's so handsome," she thought.

She clasped his hand and caressed his cheek, his lips. He raised his eyes towards her and smiled.

"William", she said,"I'm ready to hear everything, to forgive everything, you understand? Please trust me."

He hesitated. He took her by the shoulders and gently laid her on her back. He leaned over her and kissed her tenderly. The young woman's eyes were full of love and tenderness.

He said gently: "Very well, Jessie, very well. I...You see, I was never afraid to die, never. And I got into the habit of getting very close to death - very close - to meet or avoid it. To defy it, in any case. And then I met you. I...I started to fear death because it could tear me from my happiness. Today..." He stopped. "No, I don't want to worry you."

"William, please - I want to know."

He sighed and continued "I was attacked, a ambush. I've never been afraid in action. A kind of battle-fury always seizes me and preserves my life. The fighting was fierce, and at the end I found myself face-to-face with the last of the Rebels. He fired at me first, but only wounded me. I fell face down, to mislead him and take my sword which I had dropped there. I heard him approach me: no doubt he wanted to finish me off. When he got close enough, I turned over and impaled him on my blade."

"William!"

"He was going to cut my throat with a knife, Jessie. What else could I do? I watched him...dying. There was such hatred in his eyes, so much hatred. And I...ah, Jessie, I...That disturbed me more than I would have believed. But it's finished now. I'm beside you and all is well!"

"William, I feel you're hiding something."

"No, nothing, my love. Nothing." How could he have told her the truth? - Of the church, of the people he had murdered, of the fact that this boy was Martin's son and that...That he had seen not only hatred in his look. He had seen...death, his own death. An unbelievable premonition lived him. His death seemed so near now. He had to ward off this omen. He kissed the young woman lovingly. They made love again, with tenderness.

Chapter 10

At dawn he got up, dressed quickly and went out while letting her sleep. Cornwallis wanted to see all his officers immediately and he attended the meeting. He learned that the Continental Army had advanced, and that battle was imminent. According to His Lordship, it would be decisive. It would start in less than an hour. Tavington rushed out of the office and quickly gave orders to Wilkins (his new second-in-command, since Borden had been killed in the ambush). It was only provisional - Tavington did not rely on Wilkins. Then, once he was sure the captain had understood his orders, he hurried back to his quarters. He wanted to see her one last time, because his intuition whispered to him that he would meet his destiny in this battle and he needed the strength which she could instill in him.

When he entered the room she was up and dressed.

"William, I thought you were going leave me without saying goodbye!"

"Never, my darling," he said with a tender smile.

He took her in his arms: they embraced fiercely, before he kissed her passionately.

"Jessie, I have little time. But I must tell you something and... I...You know what kind of a man I am, but even so, you've managed to love me. Why, I don't believe I'll ever understand. I don't even know why I fell in love with you, my angel. I believed myself cured of love forever. But you stole my heart. I must leave, but on my return I..." He hesitated, as if to find the courage to continue. "On my return, I will marry you......if you want me, that is."

"Oh William..." She could not believe it.

"Yo don't have to answer right away!"

"I don't need time to think to agree to marry you. It is yes - a thousand times yes! I am yours for ever, William. You are the only one, you will be always the only one - my life exists only with you!"

"Jessie." He felt his throat constrict with emotion. "I don't deserve you, Jessie," he murmured. "Never forget I love you."

"Never."

After one last kiss, he tore himself from her arms and ran outside. There, he wiped tears from his eyes. He had forgotten that he could cry. But when he came out into the courtyard he had to become again the relentless Colonel Tavington. He was going to face death, and overcome it.

The battle was at a place called Cowpens. The Green Dragoons were in the rear, in a little wood awaiting the command to charge and rout the Continentals, as usual. The battle started with exchanges of artillery fire while the lines of infantrymen marched towards each other. The Rebels fired first, killing many British soldiers. But the response was more lethal. Some of the Rebels started to flee. Tavington observed the combat impassively from a distance. And suddenly his heart leaped in his breast.

Amid rows of militia a man gestured to retain those who would flee: Benjamin Martin, 'The Ghost'. An ominous smile crossed Tavington's face: he had to kill this man in order to ward off the fatal destiny which threatened him. Rising in his stirrups, he commanded: "Prepare to charge."

"But sir," Wilkins said, "we did not receive the order."

Tavington fixed him with an icy look before yelling "Charge!"

And without waiting he galloped off.

"Charge!" cried Wilkins.

The Dragoons charged along behind the British troops right into the militia. The latter fired, then their lines broke and they fled.

Obeying Cornwallis' orders, the British infantry fixed bayonets and launched their attack. Followed closely then joined by his cavalry, Tavington was possessed completely by anger, the fury, the madness of combat. He crossed a slight rise and saw the trap immediately.

Fresh troops awaited them. He pulled harshly at the reins, and wheeled about, shouting "Halt the charge!! Halt the charge!!"

But too late.

The militia had thrown themselves to the ground in front of the regular troops who took aim. Scythed down by bullets, the British fell. It was sheer carnage. Then the Rebels charged. Tavington was surrounded soon by a multitude of combatants. Magnificent horseman that he was, he circled about, sabreing down all who approached him. The combat became confused. A cry stronger than the others drew his attention. He recognized Martin, who ran forwards holding up the Rebels' ludicrous flag. The runner stopped and suddenly followed him, like a savage. The rage failed to choke him. He turned his horse about and spurred wildly to avoid the ruin into which 'The Ghost' was hastening. He was going to catch him on the other side.

* * * * * * * * * *

When he reached the brow of the hill he had time to see the British troops in full rout, and took it as a personal failure. A fatal exaltation possessed him. He had to kill this man. He reined in his horse. Martin faced him, holding up his banner as his only weapon. With the certainty that he was going to his death, Tavington charged, sabre ready to strike when 'The Ghost' ran towards him. At the last moment he saw the man fall on his knees, planting the flagstaff in the ground.

Too late.

His horse impaled itself, and he flew in the air, crashing down several feet away. He fell heavily to the ground. He got up painfully, completely disorientated for a moment. He looked for Martin. He turned and saw him at last.

Martin pointed a gun at him.

"Here is death," he thought.

An explosion unbalanced Martin at the precise moment he fired. Tavington felt a terrible burning pain tear his left bicep. He looked at his arm, then at 'The Ghost'. "Missed!" he thought. Death had just missed him. He had his chance now. His handsome face twisted by hatred and the desire to kill, he advanced and struck. Martin drew a tomahawk from his belt and the two men clashed.

Each one endured violent blows . Tavington wounded the militiaman who struck him in turn. He seized a bayonet from the ground and again went in for the attack; Martin drew back. They grappled. Martin butted him in the face and William felt his lip burst, filling his mouth with blood. He staggered, slightly stunned, but quickly regained his senses. He sliced, wounding Martin again and again. He seemed invincible. Finally he struck 'The Ghost' across the back of the knees. The Rebel collapsed. He tried to get up, but failed.

From a great stroke of his sabre, Tavington tore the tomahawk from his hands then struck him in the back, determined to make him suffer before killing him. Martin fell on his knees, his eyes fixed on the battlefield where the royal troops were in flight, pursued by the Rebels. Tavington did not seem to realize the battle was lost. His thoughts were concentrated on the prostrate man in front of him, the victim awaiting the death-blow.

He growled, remembering a threat which Martin had made him. "Kill me before the war is over, will you?" he said.

He raised his arm for the stroke: "It would seem you are not the better man."

He struck.

In a split second all changed. He scarce had time to see Martin moving, and a terrible pain crossed his body - a burning needle thrust deep in his abdomen. His eyes opened wide in pain and surprise. He was impaled on a bayonet at the end of a musket planted in the ground. Martin seized him by the collar, and picked up another blade.

William cried Jessie's name in his heart: all his thoughts turned towards her: in the split second which followed he saw again her gentle face, her mischievous smile, her look of passion. He saw again her face when he had asked her to marry him, the time he had confessed his love, the time she had said she loved him, the first time that he had made love to her...He saw her again naked in the bath-tub; again by the river giving him that passionate kiss; again on the porch of her house the very first time he had met her.

"I love you, Jessie," he thought...

He hardly heard Martin growl: "You're right, my sons were better men."

He felt the blade pierce his throat, and death seized him. Martin righted himself, leaving him there, still propped upright by the musket.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jessie awaited the return of the defeated troops at the window of Tavington's room. She had one moment of hope, recognising the uniform of the Green Dragoons, but did not see William's characteristic silhouette. Unable to bear it any longer, she dashed outside and ran towards Wilkins.

"Colonel Tavington? Where is he?"

The officer lowered his eyes and answered without emotion. "Slain."

She seemed to hear a bell toll inwardly...

"You...you are sure?" she stammered.

"Yes. I saw his body."

She pushed him away wildly, tore the reins from his hands and jumped into the saddle. To the amazement of the dragoons she crossed the field at a gallop.

Without knowing how nor how long it took her, she reached the battlefield. Wandering among the corpses in search of his body, sometimes she saw the uniform of a Green Dragoon and rushed to it.

But it was never him.

She was starting to despair when a voice shouted to her:"Jessie!" She turned around and saw Adam, her brother, running towards her.

He caught up with her: "What are you doing here?"

"I was told he was killed. I'm looking for his body," she said quickly, not looking at him.

"Tavington! You're looking for Tavington?"

She did not answer. She had just seen the body of a dragoon. She hurried to it - but the bloody corpse was not his. Adam caught up with her.

"Jessie, you can't stay here. Come with me."

"Let me be!"

"Jessie, forget him!"

"I must see him. I want to be sure he died, Adam. I will not leave before."

"He died," affirmed Adam.

"What?"

"He died. I swear to you. Now let's leave here, Jessie."

"You swear to me? How can you swear that to me?"

"I know he was killed. I...I saw his body. It was Ben Martin who killed him."

"Where is he?"

"Jessie, it's useless. He's dead."

She stopped and stared at him. "Adam, William was my whole life. I loved him. I still love him. Don't you understand?"

"He was a monster. Do you know what he did in Pembroke?"

"No, and no matter what he has done, that won't change my feelings for him."

"Jessie, he..."

"Shut up!! Adam!! Please. I want to see him. Tell me where he is."

She was determined. Adam knew his sister too well to know that she would not change her mind. He sighed and yielded: "Very well, Jessie, come with me."

He led her before a ruined building which stood in the middle of the battlefield. Suddenly she saw him. A figure on the ground. She knew that it was him.

She ran and fell on her knees beside him. He lay on his side, a musket-bayonet still planted in his belly, his uniform stained with blood. Tears running down her cheeks, she wrenched the weapon out of his body, then gently laid him on his back. His large eyes were still open. She steadied her hand to close them but stopped herself. She could not; she wanted to look into his eyes. She caressed his face then bent down to kiss his lips tenderly.

"William," she murmured. "My life is senseless without you. I want to join you."

She got up, and glanced all around her.

She seemed not to see her brother who was standing close by, with an anxious look. "Jessie."

She turned to her brother. She stared at him with burning eyes, and came towards him. She threw herself into his arms. Adam tightened her against him, murmuring words of consolation.

"Forgiveness, Adam!" she said.

She seized the pistol from her brother's belt and pushed him hard. He stumbled and fell heavily on the ground. In one swift glance, she checked that the gun was loaded, then ran to her lover's corpse.

"Jessie, NO!" howled Adam. He feverishly tried to get up.

Without listening to him, she knelt close to William, took his hand in hers and murmured:" I love you. At once, my love."

Adam finally got to his feet, but slipped on the grass. She turned the weapon to her heart, and without hesitating she fired. She collapsed across Tavington's body without a cry.

Adam fell to his knees beside her, and burst into sobs.

The End

OK, OK, I know it is a horrible end. That of the doomed lovers, reunited in death. It is sad, but so moving. In fact I wondered while I wrote this story how I was going to finish it. Was I to kill him, her, or make a happy ending and let them live happily ever after. I hesitated much initially because I didn't have a brilliant idea. And then suddenly, I knew how to finish it (I don't know if is a brilliant idea but it's a idea). I must say that I wrote it very quickly, in one evening only. Then I waited a day to read again it and add or cut off some details.

It only remained for me to translate and send it. But you have sent me messages to beg me to let him live, and let her live too, of course.

I thus decided to take up the challenge and to see whether I could write an alternative ending: I think I've succeeded. It starts at the moment Tavington tells Martin: "Kill me before the war is over, will you?"

But I like the first ending, even if they both die, their love was so strong, stronger than everything, stronger than death even...

ALTERNATIVE ENDING:

..."Kill me before the war is over, will you?" he said.

He raised his arm ready to strike. "It appears that you are not the better man."

He was about to strike when a man charged into him violently, sending him rolling on the ground.

"Hold on, Benjamin, I'll take care of him!" A brown-haired young man reloaded his gun calmly.

William got up quickly, his sabre still in his hand, close to this new opponent. The boy calmly pointed his gun at him.

"You have stolen my sister, killed my father, burned my house. You're a monster and I will rid the world of your presence."

"Who are you?" asked Tavington

"Jessie's brother."

Tavington smiled coldly. "Really? No doubt you love her," he said

He saw Adam hesitate.

"Because her fate is in my hands. If I don't come back, she will be executed."

"You're lying!"

"You don't believe me?"

Martin had regained his senses. He got up, painfully. "Adam, what are you waiting for? Kill him!"

The young man turned to Martin to answer him. Tavington saw an opening, he leaped in with a great blow of the sabre, deeply gashing the young man's arm and disarming him.

Adam gave a great cry and yielded to the pain, clutching his wounded arm with his sound hand. With a fluid movement, Tavington placed the point of his sabre on at the base of Martin's neck.

The two men's eyes met, an unfathomable hatred burning in the Rebel's gaze. William grinned sinisterly before plunging his blade into the throat of his enemy. Benjamin Martin, the 'Ghost' who had given him so much trouble, collapsed dead at his feet at last.

With a skilful wrist movement, he put the flat of his blade under Adam's chin and raised his head gently. The young man faced Tavington's gaze without trembling but with a certain terror in his eyes. Just terror, not supplication.

William hesitated, recognising in his expression something of Jessie.

Slowly he felt the fury of battle ebb.

He moved his sword aside and said: "Go!"

Adam did not move, seeming not to understand. Tavington took a step back. Through the corner of his eye he noticed a Rebel cavalryman ready to run him down. He dodged the blow of sabre, seized the boot of the rider, unseated him, and sprang agilely into the saddle. He took a last look at Adam before spurring his horse and galloping off, leaving the young man completely astounded.

* * * * * * * * * *

From the window of the room, Jessie had watched the defeated troops' return with increasing despair. She saw finally the Green Dragoons. But he was not there. She rushed outside. She spoke to Wilkins who looked her with astonishment. "Where is Colonel Tavington?"

"I don't know," answered the officer as he dismounted.

She pushed him back and tore the reins from his hands. She was about to jump into saddle when she saw him enter the compound. She ran towards him. He leapt to the ground and caught her at the instant she sprang in his arms. Heedless of the amazed stares of his men, he tightened her against him. She raised her eyes towards him. His chin was covered in dried blood. And on his left arm a bullet-wound still bled. He held her gently. His smile was so tender, and her own mirrored it exactly.

* * * * * * * * * *

The booming of the guns made her start, but she would have to get used to it. For several days they had been holed up in the shelter of the fortifications, the city being under siege. William slept close to her, hardly moving, as if the crash of the guns did not disturb him. He had come back exhausted the day before, after a failed attempt to evacuate the city. She looked at him with tenderness. She loved him so much, and lived with the fear of losing him, of being left alone, without him. Just a few weeks ago, she would have sworn she could not live without him, but from now on, from now on, she did not have the right to die. She placed her hand on her belly. It was too early to feel a movement, but it filled her with happiness. She smiled: her child, their child, She hoped that he would resemble his father.

They had married when they arrived in Yorktown. A small ceremony in a small deserted church. Just the two of them and two witnesses whom she did not know. Despite everything, it had been a fabulous moment, that she never would forget. That morning, he had brought her a splendid dress, and when she asked him why, he had answered with a beautiful smile: "My angel, will you marry me? Now?"

"Now?" she had said.

"Now. My angel, I...I want to marry you. And if I want to keep you close to me, we should not delay." He had taken her in his arms and had murmured gently. "I love you Jessie, and I want you to marry me."

"Oh William, yes, of course!" she had answered.

She had got dressed, and he had accompanied her in a closed carriage. A few minutes later they had stopped in front of a small church which they entered without hesitation. A clergyman awaited them. She had looked at him - he was so attractive in his brilliant uniform. She remembered little the words of the minister, or the witnesses. She remembered only William's eyes, his enigmatic little smile. And then the man of God had declared them married, and they had kissed. They had returned in silence. Once in their room, William had taken her in his arms, had kissed her with ardent passion, before murmuring: "You're all mine, now, my angel, you're my wife."

Remembering that moment, she turned to him and kissed his cheek gently. The noise of the guns did not awake him but the soft touch of her lips made him open his eyes. He turned to her and kissed her: "Good morning, Jessie."

"William."

"What time is it?"

"Sun-up, I think."

"I must go." He rose quickly, and started to get dressed.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing - nothing's happening."

"William..."

"We're beaten. Cornwallis will have to surrender." He sighed.

"William, the war is over?"

There was such joy in her voice that he frowned and exclaimed: "You're still my little Rebel, rejoicing at their victory!"

"It's true, William. I can't help it, but it's not the only reason."

"No?"

"If the war is over, you're not likely to be killed, William."

He smiled. "Don't worry, my angel. Death had a chance, but let it pass."

"Don't joke about it! What will happened afterwards?"

"Oh don't worry! The French are there; the surrender will take place between gentleman. Then, there will be the need for a little... diplomacy. And then we will return to England."

She hesitated. Suddenly she was seized with panic. He finished buttoning his jacket.

She waited until he had finished to ask: "And what of me, William?"

"What do you mean, 'what of you'?" he said in astonishment.

"What will become of me?"

He gave a little laugh. "But you'll be coming with me, my angel. I would have liked to offer you an estate in this country, but fate chose otherwise. England is a cold country, I know, but I'll keep you warm."

"You'll take me with you?" She sounded incredulous.

"You're my wife and I love you."

She threw herself into his arms and kissed him ardently.

"How you could believe that I would abandon you?"

"I don't know, I thought that..."

"Crazy little thing!" he said tenderly. "Well, I must be going now."

"When you will be back?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"I had something important to tell you, but...that can wait."

Disappointment showed in her expression, and so he said: "No, tell me."

"I...William, I...I...I am pregnant."

He looked at her with such amazement that she did not know how to react. And then he exclaimed: "A child! Oh Jessie...!"

His kiss was ardent. And when he turned from her at last his eyes shone with barely-supressed tears.

He caressed her face and murmured: "This evening, my angel."

With a light heart Tavington went downstairs. Finally he believed in happiness. And funnily, this happiness which he had believed for so long to depend on victory came when defeat was certain. He had faith in the future, in Jessie and their child. Suddenly he could not wait for Cornwallis' surrender. He wanted only one thing, to return to England with her. Glory awaited him there, he was sure of it.

It was only when she set foot on English soil that Jessie Tavington really believed in happiness.

The End

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