Black Angel of Mercy

Notes and warnings:

This piece of erotic fantasy fan fiction is based in part on the characters (notably, Colonel Tavington) from the movie, The Patriot. This is a piece of fiction, and not meant to be taken entirely seriously (you will find speculative tidbits with some historical accuracy -- but that depends upon your own beliefs). This piece of fan fiction has some adult situations (sexual, and violence) and therefore is restricted to those of a mind to handle such scenarios. Chapters with sexual situations will be denoted as such.

This piece of fan fiction was written with the use of Dragon NaturallySpeaking (a speech dictation program), as I am unable to use the computer conventionally as a result of my chronic tendinitis disability. Therefore, there may be errors in word choice or use which I missed upon re-reading. Feel free to e-mail me with corrections.

Feel free to drop me a line with any comments or criticisms you may have.

Chapter I

The commanding officer of the Green Dragoons stood outside his field tent and rubbed his weary eyes while stretching his body towards a more lively state. Once resuming a more natural standing position, he blinked until his strained eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the night presently enshrouding the grounds. Next to Colonel Tavington towered his second, Captain Bordon, a man extremely loyal to his commander, and surprisingly soft spoken given his physical size.

Tavington absently stared ahead at one of the hospital tents, noting a light extinguishing. The flap opened and a tall slender woman slipped out. Tavington was somewhat taken aback by this vision, for the day's events had thrust him into confrontational and ugly realms he'd sooner not take to bed with him. Happening upon such a beauteous sight was a welcome surprise. Tavington noted her skin appeared very pale, most likely accentuated by her lengthy ebony black hair, hanging loosely about her shoulders, and almost pitch eyes. She wore a simple and modest yet subtly styled gown of black and carried in her arms books and papers. She paused outside the tent for a moment and appeared to take some refreshing night air into her lungs.

"Who is that, Bordon?" Tavington inquired softly, eyes like a hawk.

Bordon replied simply, "Lady Lucrezia Moriarty. She and her husband were set to move to the Colonies from London. Unfortunately, Lord Moriarty passed on just prior to their departure. Lady Moriarty continued with their plans and she now assists us here. I suspect she wishes to fulfill something of her husband's loyalty to the Crown."

"What exactly does she do? And isn't it unusual for a widowed Lady to be here?" Tavington narrowed his icy blue eyes.

"She visits with the dying men. She writes letters for them, reads to them. Apparently she has a strong stomach as she hasn't shied away from the worst injuries some of these men have. The men find her to be very comforting. You are suspicious, Colonel?" Bordon queried and shot a sidelong glance at his commanding officer, whom he served fully and completely.

"I'm always suspicious, Captain," Tavington narrowed his eyes further at the lovely vision in the distance. Not only during his career, but during his journey in this life, Tavington trusted very few people. It kept him at a distance from those he would serve and those who would serve him, but because of this he commanded far more respect than his peers. That was until very recently. Cornwallis had begun to lose faith in Tavington, and this disturbed him greatly. But he wasn't in a position to educate Cornwallis regarding the nature of the skirmishes the Dragoons and regulars found themselves engaged in with the local Continental militia, commanded by the now infamous Ghost.

Lucrezia's eyes roved and for an instant met Tavington's. He sucked in his breath suddenly, wondering if she had detected him in the darkness, observing her intently and almost lasciviously. She pulled her books tightly to herself, as if in defense, and meandered towards the stables, eventually swallowed by the night.

Tavington smiled inwardly, finding a semblance of peace by the arrival of magnificence just prior to engaging himself in sleep. The following day she was nearly forgotten, for Tavington was a man bound by duty to the Crown. He refused to allow any distraction to delve its hooks into him, focusing on current issues as they involved him in regards to the military campaign in which he was embroiled.

Returning from a late evening walk, Tavington strode towards his tent quickly, knowing the grounds intimately and therefore precluding the need to be as watchful of his surroundings as he usually was. He cursed under his breath as he connected sharply with a miscalculated resistance. The resistance, he discovered, was another person, who he had sent sprawling to the ground with considerable force. He was about to issue a torrent of reprimands, believing the resistance a fellow officer, when his eyes focused on voluminous black skirts.

Tavington bent over the groaning form of Lucrezia, who was holding a hand to her forehead, her point of impact. He would have apologized if he knew how, but so few apologies ever flowed from his lips during his life thus far, he found it impossible. It was a trait he could not command, and neither did he truly wish to. Instead, he gently pulled her to her feet. Her face was flushed and she blinked at him, folding her hands before her demurely.

"My apologies," her voice was soft yet carried a depth of certainty.

"No need to. I suggest a quick rest at my tent to ensure you are all right. It's just ahead," Tavington followed her gaze to several books scattered upon the ground around them. He collected the books and guided her willingly to his tent.

"Thank you," Lucrezia spoke as Tavington sat her down in his desk chair -- the only real chair in his tent, the others being of the folding temporary nature. He seldom had visitors -- either by invitation or not.

Tavington deposited her books onto his desk and scanned the titles swiftly. "Would you like a drink? Port, brandy, water?" His demeanor was officious.

"No, thank you." Lucrezia smiled briefly.

"Would you like me to fetch a doctor to have a look at you?" Tavington scrutinized the stately woman who seemed quite uncomfortable in his chair. Whether that discomfort was due to the accident or nervousness at being in his company, he could not decide.

"No, I'll be fine, Colonel. A moment's rest will suffice." Lucrezia sat a little stiffly, her eyes moving at lightning speed, absorbing the contents of Tavington's temporary domicile.

The arrangement was practical and all items were tidy. Several chests, presumably containing Tavington's personal effects, were obscured by a makeshift bed.

"You know who I am then?" Tavington inquired, pouring himself some brandy to fight off the chill air.

"Yes. Colonel William Tavington. Commanding Officer of his Majesty's Green Dragoons." Lucrezia settled her eyes on the man standing across from her. She studied him from behind veiled eyes.

He nodded, "And I understand you are Lady Lucrezia Moriarty, recently arrived from London." He paused dramatically, taking a sip from his glass, "Lucrezia is not a common British name and your accent is..." he vainly searched for an adequate description of her subtle accent which bore no resemblance to any he'd ever heard before.

"Lucrezia is Spanish. I have spent much of my life traveling throughout Europe, the Mid East and Northern Africa, which accounts for my unusual accent," she replied matter-of-factly.

Tavington continued his affable interrogation. "Might I inquire as to why you chose to come here and extend your kindness to my men?" he scrutinized her from the rim of his glass, his piercing eyes boring into her, searching for answers she hid behind her dark bottomless eyes.

She relaxed in the chair somewhat and allowed a slight smile to creep across her visage, "You are a suspicious man, Colonel."

"I wouldn't have as many victories as I have if I were not," he replied with condescension, an immodest grin played on his handsome face. He employed many tactics to maintain his desired distance from others -- arrogance was one of them.

"Then allow me to ease your mind -- at least on this account. My brother, whom I was very close to, died in Gibraltar a couple years ago. However, before he passed on, I received several meaningful letters written for him by a kind lady who would visit the hospital field tents. Those letters were a comfort to me and if I can provide something of that here, I am more than happy to return such thoughtfulness." Lucrezia spun her tale as though it had been rehearsed a thousand times -- that, or it was the truth.

Tavington narrowed his eyes and remarked with a touch of sarcasm, "How sentimental of you." Distance with this woman would be imperative.

Lucrezia did not reply but simply stared at Tavington. She neither acknowledged his barb nor attempted a more detailed substantiation. She seemed secure with herself and her explanation.

Tavington knew her story was a fabrication. Her body language, eyes and tone of voice more than corroborated her disclosure, but intuitively he knew she spoke an untruth. Why, he could not guess at the moment, but he had some thoughts on the matter. She could be gathering information and if so, he would need to observe her very carefully.

"It is late and I must go," Lucrezia rose from the chair gracefully, devoid of any hint of the physical harm she suffered from her literal run in with Tavington.

"Yes. Shall I arrange an escort for you? I would be distressed to learn if you fell from your horse as a result of the injury you sustained tonight." His tone was patronizing, but Lucrezia refused to acknowledge it.

"That's unnecessary, Colonel, I assure you."

"Then you leave me no choice but to accompany you myself," Tavington drained his glass and set it on his desk firmly. Unfazed by his display of manners, Tavington decided to employ other tactics to ensure she knew where she stood. He grinned at her almost hungrily -- but his hunger emanated from his need to understand fully who she was and why she was here because all of his instincts suggested something was quite amiss where she was concerned.

Lucrezia did not avert her eyes but simply smiled very briefly. "Very well." She could not refuse his offer without raising any suspicions. She knew she was quite capable of finding her way safely back to her home, but she did not wish to argue the point with Tavington. She was about to reach for her books when he snatched them up and motioned her out of his tent with an abrupt wave of his hand and a sharp glare from his blue eyes.

He followed her to the field stables and placed her books into her saddle bag. He noted she very elegantly and swiftly mounted her horse -- far more fluidly than he would have expected given the fact that she wore a complex series of skirts this evening.

As he observed her, she observed him. His distrust of her served to spawn her suspicion of him. Suspicion and tension grew unchecked between them during the silent ride to her modest domicile on the Santee. They halted their steeds simultaneously upon reaching the main wrought iron gate to her home.

"Thank you for the escort, Colonel," Lucrezia remarked placidly.

"Oh, it's the least I could do for a Lady who brings the wisdom of John Milton to my men," Tavington grinned at the barb he flung in her direction, which was not entirely lost on Lucrezia. She understood full well that Tavington would not believe she was reading Milton to his men but was indeed a seemingly simple Lady reading it for herself.

She acknowledged his obvious learned disposition with a curt nod and turned her horse towards her stables. She could feel Tavington's eyes on her, watching, curious, and surmising. She personally didn't believe Milton too radical to be found amongst her traveling reading library, but many of the day would. However, she had to admit to herself that Paradise Lost was not a volume she would be sharing with Tavington's men. He had confronted her in his own way. But in so doing, revealed more about himself. She was just as curious as he was -- and equally as apprehensive.

Chapter II

Lucrezia barely glanced up from her reading when her servants silently entered and lit the lamps in the darkening parlour. She enjoyed this room with its small stained glass window, a vast fireplace and sumptuously furnished with select possessions from London. She reclined on a Roman styled sofa, covered in red velvet, her black skirts flowing around her like an inky pool threatening to swallow her whole. Her knees were bent, cradling the book loosely in her hands. Slender fingers flipped the pages quickly as her eyes moved rapidly over the words.

"Lady Moriarty?" a deep British accented male voice filtered into the opulently furnished parlour from the doorway.

"Yes, Sebastian?" Lucrezia glanced up at her majordomo and smiled.

"There is a Colonel Tavington here to see you," the dark curly haired man announced with neutrality.

Lucrezia sighed with slight perturbation at the interruption, "Show him in."

Sebastian bowed in acknowledgment and vanished. Lucrezia was very grateful to have someone like Sebastian on her staff. He was much more than a superlative steward, he had become her confidant over the years for both she and Lord Moriarty had been quite reclusive and lacking in friends. Sebastian returned promptly with Colonel Tavington at his side.

Tavington had removed his hat and gloves and tucked them beneath his left arm. He was a man who filled the Loyalist uniform well, and was conscious of the fact. His stance revealed intense confidence. There was no doubt that he struck fear in the hearts of many. Lucrezia was well aware of the rumors, speculations, overactive imaginings and truths surrounding his service record -- but she saw nothing more than a very dedicated individual who would utilize whatever tactics were necessary to fulfill his duties with utmost efficiency. However, her mature attitude was not shared by many others, as evidenced by the continuing tedious gossip mill focused on Tavington and his actions.

"Well, Colonel Tavington, to what do I owe this unanticipated visit?" Lucrezia inquired, gesturing a hand in the air expressively, after Sebastian vacated the room.

"I'm returning one of your books. It was found by the hospital tent, and I assume it is yours. James Boswell." Tavington approached a very regal yet relaxed Lucrezia and handed her the novel. He gazed down at her with curious eyes. She appeared as though she could easily melt into the sofa -- and draw him directly into its blood red velvet depths with her.

"Thank you," she took the novel from him and tossed it on the end of the sofa at her feet. "Do sit down, Colonel," she waved to a nearby chair, drinking in his attractive appearance and smiling. Her previous demure nature slowly slipped away, surrendering to playful curiosity.

Tavington seated himself comfortably, glancing at the book in her lap and inquired, "And what is the matter you are currently reading?"

"Boccaccio's Decameron," she smiled slyly, certain that if he was familiar with Milton, so would he be familiar with Boccaccio and its decadent contents.

"It's good to know you aren't strictly enchanted by philosophers." He chided with a boyish grin, somewhat surprised to be lured into her playful mood.

"Philosophers, mad men -- they are all the same. I read what I find stimulating." Lucrezia paused, and they stared at one another, searching for answers that may never come. After considerable silence, she asked, "Do you believe Milton was a philosopher then?"

"Most assuredly. To obscure one's viewpoints under the guise of artistic license is genius. I don't think Milton would have fared well in prison." Tavington's tone of voice bore a softness absent during the previous evening.

"You seem well read for a soldier, Colonel." Lucrezia slid the Decameron towards her Boswell and shifted onto her side. She stretched like a cat upon the sofa, propping her head up on her right hand while her left dangled across her stomach. She absently caressed the fabric of her gown, momentarily distracted by the slippery sensation against her fingers.

"I enjoy the reclusiveness books and reading provide. I too require a certain amount of inspiration. And there is some stimulation that cannot be found in my profession." Tavington studied her reclined form. Her facial features bore a strength serving to enhance her beauty. Her silken hair, while piled atop her head, snaked a few runaway strands down her long neck and over her partially exposed smallish breasts. A long silver chain hung in the centre of her chest, the pendant on which was obscured in her bodice. Her contradictions would make it very difficult for him to draw any conclusions about her in the near future.

"And what do you find stimulating, Colonel?" a finger from Lucrezia's right hand stretched out and caressed her lower lip absently as she observed Tavington intently.

"Many things...Kant, Alexander Pope, Descartes. To name a few," he grinned salaciously at the undertone to this otherwise surface conversation. She engaged him in a virtual chess game, and he was all too eager to play.

Lucrezia turned to the footsteps approaching the parlour. Sebastian halted in the doorway and gazed at Lucrezia. Tavington noted an almost invisible conversation take place between the two. They exchanged glances only they knew the meaning of.

"Colonel Tavington, you will stay for a while, won't you -- perhaps we can discuss the vile nature of man?" Lucrezia turned her dark smiling eyes to Tavington.

"Thank you, yes. I would enjoy that." Tavington felt as though he might have been asked to attend some ancient Druidic ritual, for all the peculiar tension residing in the air.

Lucrezia glanced at Sebastian, "Brandy for the Colonel, Sebastian, thank you."

"Anything for you, my Lady?" Sebastian inquired.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you, Sebastian." It wasn't until Sebastian left that Lucrezia returned her complete attention on Tavington, whom she found quite attractive given his literary persuasions. The key to her heart and soul was unlike most, and he may very well have the makings of such a key. Her gown rustled as she slid one leg sensuously over the other beneath her skirting.

Tavington was conflicted by Lucrezia's brazen mannerisms and soft subtle attitudes. She held herself as a Lady indeed, but her body language betrayed her at times, revealing something altogether different. Who she truly was, he could not begin to fathom. He did admit to being enchanted, but his quest for the truth of her would ensure he maintain control.

They began their discussion on Descartes, touched on Plato and eventually fell into that realm of intimate disclosure both seldom shared with others. They alternated in their domination of the chessboard, but with no major victory achieved at any time. Tavington would divulge a snippet of his life before entering His Majesty's service, and Lucrezia would share something of her life prior to her marriage. It was give and take, back and forth, a bit of this and a bit of that.

Sebastian entered quietly several times throughout the evening, tending the fire and delivering Tavington brandy, which he found most pleasing to his palate. Towards the end of the evening, Tavington asked to see Lucrezia's library, to which she smiled and led him to a large room part way down the main hall.

Tavington was quite impressed. Every wall held floor to ceiling shelving bearing books -- some appearing quite aged. The centre of the room was gifted with two large sumptuous reading chairs and a small table between them -- all resting quite securely on a Persian rug. He slid soundlessly behind Lucrezia who appeared to be searching for a specific volume and peered over her shoulder. His eyes traveled down the side of her face, her neck and the bare part of her shoulder. Her skin was perfect, unblemished, seemingly soft as silk. There were no traces of powder -- her pale skin natural. As he breathed deeply, as if to take her inside of himself, he noted a very subtle scent -- frankincense, he believed.

Tavington returned his gaze to the shelf before them. A title piqued his interest and he stretched out a hand, his coat sleeve brushing Lucrezia's shoulder ever so lightly. His fingers pulled at the volume and brought it towards him for closer inspection.

Lucrezia turned in her place to face Tavington. Her back was now only inches away from the shelf and before her he was only inches in front of her. He made no motion to step back, to widen the space between them and afford her more comfort both physically and mentally. He seemed very certain of himself.

Tavington sensed her steely gaze on him and glanced up from the book he was scrutinizing. She simply stared, revealing nothing. Tavington would have been more amused if he had observed some trepidation in her eyes, but there was none to be found. A wicked subtle smile stole across his face and he blatantly held her eyes, and then lowered them slowly, appraising her lithe physical form. He stared for some considerable moments at the curve of her pale breasts and returned to meet her eyes.

Lucrezia's black eyes gave nothing away. She was inwardly amused and equally enchanted. Secretly, Tavington liked to play games -- so did she.

Tavington was certain he noted a pleasure filled grin begin to form on her thin lightly coloured lips. It vanished. "May I borrow Sir Francis Bacon?" he asked, indicating the book splayed open in his hands.

"Please do. It's a wonderful collection of his essays." Lucrezia smiled openly now.

"Thank you, my Lady. I will bid you good night then, as it is very late," He closed the book and snatched up her hand in his. Tavington was surprised at how delicate her fingers felt in his hand. He brought those fine fingers to his lips and noted she tensed for the briefest of moments.

"And thank you for your visit, Colonel." Lucrezia commented cordially.

He released her hand, which promptly dropped to her side. "What do you fear?" he inquired suddenly.

"Leaving me with a quandary, are you?" she flashed an amiable grin, "If you are asking whether or not I fear you, Colonel, the answer is no. If you are asking what I do fear, that is a discussion for another time -- perhaps once we've engaged ourselves in more discourse."

"Then I will soon return for further debates with you," his smile lingered, far longer than he wished it to.

Tavington collected his hat and gloves and was on his way. He was grateful for the cool air during his ride back to the camp. He had found this evening stimulating in more ways than one, but his inner conflict regarding Lucrezia nagged him. Initially, he suspected she was another parlour read woman -- one of many who gathered together in their respective homes to discuss basic philosophical tenets, as was all the rage at the time. Descartes was known to write specifically for such a readership. However, the insights she shared with him this evening far exceeded parlour room discourse. It even appeared to him she herself became physically aroused during those moments of deep discussions between them, as evidenced by her languorous body movements. He found her strikingly odd. Yet she was a mystery and therefore dangerous. He would have to tread carefully.

Lucrezia returned to her library and sighed deeply with satisfaction. She found the evening a most pleasurable distraction.

"Your other library is complete, my Lady," Sebastian's voice resounded from the doorway.

"Is it? Wonderful," she smiled widely. Sebastian had spent whatever spare time he could since their arrival arranging the library seldom revealed to anyone else. Among her household, only Sebastian could grasp its contents and therefore organize the volumes within.

Sebastian handed Lucrezia a key and opened his arm to a smallish door visually obscured by a bookcase. She ventured to the door, slid the key into the hole and turned. The catch released, she pushed the door and slid into what would likely become her favourite room -- it always was wherever she lived. This library was her salvation, and where she yearned to lose herself so often. Sebastian followed her and lit several lamps.

This room was considerably larger than the main library, affording more space for bookcases to be scattered throughout the room as well as along the perimeter. As a result, the room appeared smaller, and would likely be claustrophobic to some.

Sebastian turned to his employer and noted she was struggling with her gown. Without a word he aided her disrobement until she stood wearing only her shift.

"Much better, thank you. I can't stand those gowns. So restricting," Lucrezia commented and stretched her body skyward in joyous celebration.

"More light, my Lady?" Sebastian inquired, unaffected by her disrobed state. At one time he was shocked by her carefree ways, but over time he came to respect her eccentricities, and as he came to know her, comprehended the reasoning by her curious habits.

"No, I'm fine. And only you and I have keys, correct?" She cast a querying gaze at him.

"Yes, that is so."

"Thank you. You are dismissed for the evening."

Sebastian bowed, taking Lucrezia's gown with him, which he would deliver to her bedchambers before retiring. He found it difficult to match her schedule at times -- she woke late in the afternoon and did not herself retire for sleep until very early in the morning. Most of the household was asleep when she was awake, and there were times Sebastian needed to confer with the day staff. This resulted in moments of sheer exhaustion from time to time -- this was one of them. However, everyone was slipping into a regular routine again, much as they had when they lived in London not so long ago.

Lucrezia wandered the book lined perimeter very slowly, no gown to get caught on books or shelving, no heavy fabrics to weight her down. She scanned some of the volumes, wondering which, if any, Tavington had read. Tavington. He intrigued her tremendously. His keen mind only accentuated her attraction to him, which could prove dangerous in the future. How dangerous, would depend on Tavington.

She leaned against a book case and shut her eyes momentarily, replaying the evening in her mind. He cut a splendid vision in his Loyalist uniform, his very dark hair tied back severely. His icy blue eyes could capture and hold almost any creature, and he was aware of those talents. Something stirred deep within her, tugged at her soul, beckoning, demanding attention. Lucrezia broke the trance like state she'd unwittingly entered and opened her eyes. She forced her attention straight ahead.

She knew the black leather bound and tattered volume the instant her eyes fell upon it. Stenographia, compiled by the Benedictine Abbott, Johann Trimethius in the 15th Century. It was an exceedingly rare book of numerology, ciphers, symbols and magic. Perhaps she would reacquaint herself with it -- there were still several hours before she took to bed.

Chapter III

In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate, Fixt Fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute, And found no end, in wandring mazes lost. -- John Milton, "Paradise Lost"

Tavington observed the lamp's flame dance seductively within its glass housing. He had attempted to engage sleep but found it virtually impossible. He had been vexed by more sleepless nights recently than he had in some time. He knew the cause quite plainly -- he thought far too much, his mind atwitter with a multitude of complexities and questions without answers. Many nights of late he lay awake, gripped by ceaseless and unending conjecture, preventing him from drifting comfortably into slumber. Night seemed to be the only time he could secure quiet moments to himself and it was only then his mind could focus on those personally important yet often waylaid thoughts of his.

He was growing increasingly unhappy with serving under Cornwallis, who had no appreciation of Tavington's expertise. Times change, and Tavington felt the manner in which battle is fought must be flexible and dynamic. Cornwallis, to his credit, was a masterful tactician, but he lost sight of the subtle differences inherent in warfare's present circumstances. The amassing difficulties with the rabid roving Continental militia compounded Cornwallis' already diminishing view of Tavington. In the same breath, Cornwallis tied Tavington's hands and prevented him from pursuing the Ghost and his rabble with the precision and efficiency he was capable of.

Tavington sighed heavily, receiving no divine answers from the fire oracle -- he felt out of place or out of time...for the moment he could not decide which. He suddenly hoped a walk in the crisp air would quell his anxiety enough to allow him precious sleep for a few hours. He rose from his desk chair and buttoned his coat, taking notice of the howling wind outside. As he walked towards the river bank he noted a lone standing figure, partially obscured by the bank itself, indicating the figure stood on the bank's slope. As he drew closer, the wind whipping his unbound hair into a disheveled state, he thought the figure belonged to Lady Lucrezia Moriarty. They had been meeting on a semi regular basis, continuing their philosophical discussions and sharing what they dared of their personal selves -- it was still very much a game of chess between the two and still very much a stalemate. Deep within, Tavington had to admit she too was the cause of his restlessness -- perhaps not so much the cause as a catalyst, for she inspired and provoked his previous passion for mental rumination. He questioned everything. The wind howled like a banshee the closer he approached the bank.

Lucrezia wore a very simple black gown of a thin fabric. She luxuriated in the encapsulating wind beating against her form relentlessly. She smiled a warm greeting to the night and closed her eyes. Pulling her from her silent ritual, she detected footsteps behind her. She had no illusions of where she was and the dangers to her person associated with lingering close to a military camp so late in the evening. She waited no longer than a split second from the moment she felt a hand upon her shoulder.

Tavington was completely unprepared for the fall he was about to take. He had just laid a gentle hand on Lucrezia's shoulder when her hands grasped his arm, pulled him firmly against her back and flung him over her shoulder as she ducked downwards. She held onto his hand with hers and towered over his fallen form, quite prepared to continue with the assault on his person.

"Colonel Tavington!" Lucrezia remarked in surprise, her pitch eyes widening. She released his hand as though it were hellfire.

"Lady Moriarty," Tavington greeted. He quickly verified the state of any injuries. Finding none, he rose to his feet slowly lest vertigo overtake him and promptly situate him embarrassingly onto the ground once again.

Her eyes widened further with shock and compassion. "I do so apologize. I didn't know it was you."

"And if you did I suppose I would have ended up directly in the river?" he jested and watched her smile in a very genuine and open fashion -- she seemed relieved he was not embittered by this unfortunate experience. He had not seen that smile before and found he quite appreciated the candor contained therein. He wished she would smile thusly more frequently.

"Nonsense. I suppose you could say the Gods arranged for karma to be served," a playful grin spread across her lips.

Tavington stared blankly for a moment, absorbing her observance, and then remarked with a knowing smile, "Ah yes. I ran into you and therefore it is only proper that you throw me to the ground. I think the Gods are on your side in this particular exchange of cause and effect. You throw well."

"It's just simple physics really. I was lower down on the bank and used your own weight and gravity against you." Lucrezia looked away briefly as if to give him some privacy as Tavington brushed any stray dirt from his uniform with his hands.

He straightened himself upright and stood merely a few feet from her. His unruly hair caressed his face, sliding along his neck against the windy assault. Lucrezia was staring at him openly again. Her eyes were secretive, her form expressionless. She simply stared. Tavington was beginning to feel uncomfortable with this penetrating and scrutinizing gaze of hers.

"You appear very Mephistophelean, Colonel," she smiled wickedly now, shaking off the shackles of mystery.

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" he inquired raising his brow speculatively.

"Subjectively, yes. Are you all right?" her face now revealed concern.

"Only my pride is wounded, my Lady. Do you have a moment?" Tavington cursed himself inwardly. Instead of quelling his mind, the evening sent it into a tumult of both the mental and physical realms. He would be denied his most coveted sleep tonight.

"I have what is left of the night," she replied.

"And then what?" he motioned her to follow, which she did, matching his slow yet purposeful walk.

"And then I succumb to sleep's sweet embrace. I enjoy the quiet of the night. Sometimes I feel as though I'm the only soul awake," she smiled, stealing glances at Tavington as he led her towards his tent.

He absorbed her words and quickly added, energy conducting and exchanging between them quite naturally, "And that as a reward, the night would gift you with some revelation known only to the Universe."

"And sometimes it happens -- like a vision."

"Leaving you to wonder if madmen, philosophers and poets before you saw the very same."

"The Universe dispensing a great cosmic joke on all of us lonely creatures of the night."

"I suspect that is why we find comfort in the literature we do," Tavington caught her stolen glance and realized he'd let her in too far. How quickly she managed to lure him from beyond the safety of his constructed barricade. His smile vanished, replaced with a disciplined demeanor, set jaw and sights on his tent directly up ahead.

Silently they entered his dimly lit tent. Tavington was certain Lucrezia was experiencing a similar uneasiness for he knew she likewise held him under a microscope -- to what end, he could not yet discern. She must have known he was attempted to break her own defenses in the hopes of capturing a glimmer of her evading intention where he was concerned. Perspective was difficult to maintain during a sharing of such a stream of consciousness as had just occurred. Lucrezia remained near the tent flap and observed Tavington pick through one of his trunks.

"I forgot I had this. You may very well have a copy yourself, but in the off chance you do not, I thought I'd offer you something in exchange for Bacon." Tavington stood before her and held out a brown leather bound volume to her.

She reached out and took the book lovingly into her fine hands. He could see she too had an intimate affair with knowledge and longed to caress it like a lover. He briefly wondered how many lovers they had shared over the years, and how many sleepless nights consumed them as they considered the universe's wisdom or lack thereof. She opened the cover and her eyes shone like obsidian glass, "Baruch Spinoza, Foundations of the Moral Life! How did you know?" She closed the book and pulled it against her chest tightly as though to absorb its contents instantly by osmosis.

"I know it's rare to a certain degree. And while I do not doubt the complete nature of your library, there are always volumes to be had. I thought this may perhaps be one of them."

"You are correct. May I borrow it?"

Tavington almost laughed at the child like glitter in her deep eyes. The Universe dispensed a joke on him indeed and gave it the name Lucrezia Moriarty. A part of him was enchanted with her and another warned of danger. And that aspect of himself he could rely upon almost exclusively, his mind, succumbed heavily to her wiles. For she tapped into that sacred part of himself -- a part he so seldom shared. His passionate love affair with knowledge was reflected in her, giving her the ideal means to infiltrate his soul.

"I promise to keep it safe," she hugged the volume tighter.

"Of course you may borrow it." Tavington searched her eyes for answers to his dilemma -- none were found.

"Do you believe he was murdered?"

"Who?" Tavington, slightly distracted by his own thoughts, lost sight of their conversation.

"Spinoza."

"No doubt. I understand it was crushed glass in his porridge -- truly horrible. A man who thinks as much as he did, whether right or wrong, is a danger to someone somewhere. Sooner or later, that someone will exercise the most decisive power."

"Is that why you are a soldier, Colonel? Hoping to obscure yourself in the guise of a military life?" Lucrezia narrowed her eyes in curiosity, striking a major vein within his soul.

She'd pushed too far for Tavington's comfort level. He fell into the old habit of deflecting unwanted interest of others in his self -- how he despised his center being pried open like a defenseless oyster harboring a pearl in the hands of a hunter. His face hardened and his eyes devoured her like a serpent. His penetrating gaze fell upon her neck chain, having come loose during their earlier physical contact, revealing the pendant upon its end. He stepped forward and took it into his palm to study it closer. The subtle scent of frankincense rose from her body. He held her now emotionless eyes for a moment with his steely gaze before lowering it to his palm. A silver Ankh, inscribed with hieroglyphs -- it appeared very old. "The key of life," he stated simply. He lowered his open hand towards her, the Ankh dropping downward and the chain caressing a line across his palm until his fingers brushed her neck ever so slightly. Before she could step back as he knew she would have done, Tavington maintained control by snatching back his hand and stepping away himself.

"Thank you for the book, Colonel. I'll be on my way now," she found herself drawn into the tension between them, like a moth to a flame. She realized she probed into realms he was not yet comfortable with revealing about himself to her -- but she also knew those details would never emerge on their own volition. If she was to truly infiltrate his being, she would need to deploy unseemly methods despite her contrary desire -- he left her with little choice.

"I'll escort you to your home then," Tavington waved his arm behind her towards the tent flap. He was satisfied for the moment he had shunted her away from himself with a warning to not tread in realms he did not wish for her to journey.

Lucrezia nodded and Tavington followed her to the stables. The short ride to her home was laden with heavy silence between them. But the silence spoke loudly, its tone deafening and threatening to vanquish all reason within them. Any speculation was a plausibility at this point rendering only unclear images.

Once more they paused outside the wrought iron gate of her home. They faced one another on horseback, their horses quite comfortable in such close proximity of one another -- far more at ease than their riders. Tavington witnessed a longing in Lucrezia's eyes she could not obscure -- a longing filled with pain. He suddenly felt as if his own heart had been cut out and splayed open and vulnerable.

"Thank you again for the escort, Colonel." Lucrezia stiffened.

"It is my pleasure to know that you are safe," and against his better judgment, Tavington reached forward and captured one of her hands in his. She made no motion to stop him as he removed her glove. Her fingers were so cold, he noticed and he brought the back of her hand to his warm lips. Her palm relaxed, he turned it over and pressed his lips to the underside of her soft wrist. His teeth momentarily brushed against the delicate tissue.

An involuntary sigh escaped Lucrezia's lips. Tavington glanced up at her face to discover that her eyes were closed firmly and instead of pleasure, her visage was gripped in soul wrenching torturous pain. Her teeth appeared clenched in the grimace of agony.

Tavington applied pressure with his lips one final time before releasing her wrist and pressing her glove into her fingers. With what appeared to be much difficulty, she turned on her horse and wordlessly slipped towards her home.

Tavington felt his heart beat wildly in his chest. His stomach tightened, threatening to expel its contents. For one single moment he thought he felt the unbearable pain she exhibited. He didn't understand why she would be feeling such profound distress at what was to be a pleasurable and enticing display of affection. He couldn't say what possessed him to suddenly fawn such attentions on her. He was losing control around her, and while this disturbed him greatly, he almost yearned to submit to the experience for it was like none he'd ever felt before. She was the first person he had ever met with whom he could speak endlessly about a variety of subjects, and not feel as though the content of those discussions were under scrutiny. They could debate with mutual respect and touch on topics often shied away from in polite company. She tapped into the mains of his soul and he couldn't decide whether to shut the door or invite her in.

Lucrezia was breathless upon entering her domicile. She settled her shaking form on a hallway bench, joined quite quickly by Sebastian, ever aware of her activities.

"My Lady?" Sebastian inquired with concern as to her obviously agitated state.

She focused her breath, breathed in deeply and exhaled. She repeated the process several times, the calm she required remaining elusive. As much as she tried, she could not wrench the image of Tavington kissing her wrist from her mind. She experienced a burning from deep within herself.

"You look awfully drawn. Some sustenance might do you well," Sebastian commented.

"In a few moments perhaps. I need to gather my wits about me. Go on, I'll find you." Lucrezia dismissed her majordomo.

It had been a long time since Lucrezia felt this way towards anyone. She was unclear as to the direction this relationship should take. It appeared to have a life of its own, and all she could do was sit back and observe like an unwitting participant. She would have to decide very quickly whether to instill the walls that would separate them or allow events to unfurl around her and deal with the consequences as they arose. For the first time in a very long time, Lucrezia felt as though she was a victim of her own nature.

Chapter IV

Of good and evil much they argu'd then, Of happiness and final misery, Passion and Apathie, and glory and shame, Vain wisdom all, and false Philosophie: Yet with a pleasing sorcerie could charm Pain for a while or anguish, and excite Fallacious hope, or arm th' obdured brest With stubborn patience as with triple steel. -- John Milton, "Paradise Lost"

Upon Tavington's next visit to Lucrezia's home, a reluctant one at that given his previous spontaneous behavior, he was informed by Sebastian she was presently in her library. Tavington almost exptected Sebastian to eject him from her home by standing orders, but to his relief, that was not the case. Sebastian was about to escort Tavington to the parlor as he had on numerous previous occasions, when a blond haired young servant tugged at Sebastian's attention regarding a purported urgent matter. Tavington nodded acquiescence at Sebastian and removed his hat and gloves. Tavington was quite capable of finding his way. Sebastian smiled gratefully and left the vicinity.

Rather than proceeding to the parlor, Tavington meandered to the library, which he found empty and dimly lit. He had no idea what he would say to Lucrezia when he faced her -- slight embarrassment regarding his ungentlemanly conduct clung to him pervasively. He was about to depart the library when he heard what sounded as though a door was opening diagonally across from him. He glanced over to observe Lucrezia, garbed in her signature simple black gown, emerge from a doorway he had not previously detected. Lucrezia seemed startled to find Tavington in her library. She knew Tavington had entered of his own accord, for Sebastian would never have escorted Tavington directly to her library.

"Colonel Tavington. I was not expecting you this evening," she shut the door firmly behind her and approached him slowly with some reluctance. She discerned an aura of discomfort enshrouding him and wondered if she was the cause.

"I am returning Sir Francis Bacon to you," Tavington held himself in reserve, still uncertain whether or not he had offended Lucrezia during their last encounter -- his brazen behavior unseemly for both their positions...he, a soldier in the King's army and she, recently widowed. Flirtation was not a crime, but physical contact -- particularly if unwanted, was abhorrent to Tavington. Admittedly, he had no idea how she viewed him. He held the aforementioned volume out to her.

A slight smile crept across her face. She took the book into her hands and replaced it among her library, "Thank you. My apologies if I was rude just now. So often I get caught up in my own thoughts and as a result startle easily."

"Sebastian said you were in the library." He paused and then added rapidly, "I'll take my leave as you appear occupied."

"Please stay. I welcome your company," Lucrezia spoke more insistently than she realized, projecting a desperation she wished she had not. However, the truth was, she desired to spend as much time as possible with him, and she suspected he felt the same -- or at least she hoped he had. Despite the increased tension in their relationship of late, she wished to continue their intimate discourse. Indeed, she yearned for more but could not proceed down that pathway of physical intimacy.

"Only if I am not intruding, my Lady," Tavington flashed a genuine smile. He would have been disappointed had she encouraged him to leave, for he wanted nothing more than to spend the evening engaging her in a variety of discussions -- for the moment.

"Not at all. Let's proceed to the parlor," she smiled encouragingly.

Tavington followed her closely and was determined to remain resolute and not be lured in by her charms and an attraction he found difficult to deny. He paused to wonder if she knew just how attractive she was to him. She lacked the usual coquetry displayed by modern women and was brazen in many respects but not consciously enticing -- the mass of contradictions addled his mind if he pondered on it too much. Once within the parlor, she took to the sofa and he to the chair. Proceeding some pleasantries, Sebastian appeared with a glass of brandy for Tavington, tea for Lucrezia and then withdrew with his accustomed silence.

"How long has he been in your service?" Tavington inquired with respectful interest.

"Sebastian Cornelius -- he has been in my service for six years now...just before I married and upon my arrival to London."

"He's very attentive," Tavington remarked, sipping the fine brandy, inhaling the aroma fully, succumbing to the relaxing elixir.

"Quite. I rely upon him considerably," Lucrezia felt the strain between them as much as Tavington did. After several moments of tension laden silence she caught his icy blue eyes and smiled, "I'm finding Spinoza quite a good read. But I am curious as to how such a volume has found its way into your collection given a couple of disparities between his and your philosophies."

"Do you ascribe wholeheartedly to all of the theories within your own library?" Tavington countered and eased his warming body into the comfortable chair.

Lucrezia became more animated, and herself more relaxed. "No, I do not -- your observation noted. Do you know your own virtue, Colonel? Do you have fixed in your mind a purpose, a desire in life?" Lucrezia queried in reference to Spinoza's described essence of virtue.

Tavington replied simply in alignment with Spinoza's hypothesis, flowing from one segment to the next fluidly without revealing any personal details, "I am true to my nature, and have discovered for myself an honor that I bind myself to. To not seek personal fortune in life, is to not seek oneself out. And how can one successfully navigate through life's mysterious channels a complete unknown to oneself." Tavington had always made it a point to comprehend himself, his instincts, his feelings and resulting actions. He also took it upon himself to explore his perceived limitations and break their barriers. He saw in Lucrezia someone who understood this personal need. "Do you believe in a constant frame of reference to which we should all ascribe where virtue is concerned?"

Lucrezia stifled a laugh, "I believe the church is doing its best to create such a frame of reference. It's a pity the secular world is filled with hypocrisy. I have no interest in coercive virtue. But I agree, one must find one's own identity and remain true to that. Anything else is superficial and destructive."

Tavington remarked absently, "According to Spinoza, the church was an evil institution indeed."

"Yes, hindering the comprehension of some of the most basic rules of life and existence. You obviously have no use for religion then yourself."

"Not really," he replied dryly. "But neither do you, I take it."

"Not in the defined sense, no. Tell me, Colonel, how an obviously educated and intellectual man such as yourself came to acquire a commission in the King's army?" Lucrezia stretched her languishing form along the length of the sofa, folding her arms across a pillow and resting her chin onto her forearms. She was oblivious her gown had slid up her legs revealing her slender calves.

"Still fishing, are we, Lady Moriarty?" Tavington grinned over the rim of his glass, which he realized was empty. He frowned slightly, unable to use the glass as a shield of sorts against the woman who lay most comfortably and enticingly across from him.

"After a fashion, yes," she smiled with a child like glee as though willing his thoughts to her.

"To summarize a very long and tiresome story, external events of my youth conspired against me, cajoling me into this esteemed career. While my preference would have been to continue to study the legal system, I found it far too constraining for my psyche."

"And the prestige of being a commanding officer in the King's army affords you the luxury of following your heart?" she inquired with softening eyes, determined to unravel his mystery.

"After a fashion, yes," he enjoyed using her own verbiage in response to her queries. "And your reputed intrigue with the military?" Tavington redirected the microscope at Lucrezia. He had performed his own investigation into Lucrezia's life and while he accumulated very little information, he did learn she had a fascination with the military.

"Admittedly a byproduct of my interest in politics. I am only intrigued by wars and their details insofar as they relate to the political climate and vice versa." She replied in a tone infused with boredom, hoping to deflect further probing.

"Actively?" Tavington became more curious. Just when he thought he was beginning to comprehend a facet of Lucrezia's nature, she surprised him. What games did she play, he wondered, and why did he feel as though he had become an integral component of her current endeavor?

"No. I observe from a distance." Before Tavington could delve deeper into Lucrezia's soul, she swiftly changed the subject, returning to Spinoza and much later, touching on Bacon.

Tavington found himself unwilling to leave her presence. He felt as though he could engage her in conversation for eternity. She revealed no sign of exhaustion, which would have been typical for the hour approaching. But she did mention she routinely kept late hours. He himself felt very much alive and awake, however, the reality was he had to rise fairly early. Regrettably, he excused himself from her company.

Lucrezia walked Tavington to the entrance hall. He paused at the door with hat and gloves in hand, turned and faced her.

"Yes, Colonel?" Lucrezia urged, his need to speak was plain.

"I confess I had one other reason for coming here this evening. I have a favour to ask of you." Tavington caressed the plumed hat in his hands nervously.

Lucrezia steeled herself. She couldn't imagine what 'favour' he would ask of her.

"I am not fond of social events for a variety of reasons. Unfortunately, as one in my position, I am expected to attend just such an upcoming event. I was wondering if you would accompany me to a ball?" Before Lucrezia had an opportunity to reply, he continued his plea, "I dislike the hidden agendas of the female hangers-on who frequent these events. And by asking this favor of you it's the only way I can be assured of intelligent conversation."

Lucrezia smiled warmly, "I would be most honored to assist you in fending off unwanted female attentions and providing you with some stimulating discourse."

Tavington relaxed his form in relief, "Thank you." He secured his hat to his head, his objective attained.

"When is it?" she inquired.

"Tomorrow night," he pulled on his gloves.

"You don't give me much notice, do you? I will have to dredge up something appropriate to wear," she teased, knowing full well Tavington understood her to be least occupied with such details.

"Something black?" Tavington's face transformed into a condescending sneer -- the one he was so famous for, "You don't own any colour, do you?"

"Perhaps for you I'll make an exception, but black does comprise of the majority of my wardrobe."

"Do you know what you are referred to as in the camp?" Tavington raised his brows and answered as she shook her head, "The black angel of mercy."

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" Lucrezia inquired with a slight smile, referring to his earlier response to her comment regarding his Mephistophelean appearance.

"Subjectively, yes." he replied as she had, and smiled. "Good night, my Lady," Tavington bowed cordially and slipped out of the front door.

"Good night, Colonel," Lucrezia whispered after him. She had expected him to kiss her hand at the very least and when he didn't, she felt forlorn with its absence.

Lucrezia leaned against the solid door for stability and shut her eyes as though to shut out her feelings. Many years of hardening her heart slipped away, leaving her vulnerable. The ache was almost unbearable and she feared the one thing she knew could quell its hunger. That one thing, right now, would destroy them both utterly.

Tavington felt pride in remaining resolute, withholding any displays of affection. It was true, he desired nothing more than to softly kiss her and feel her own lips on him. But he respected her...and he had to admit that she still unnerved him in some manner. The ball tomorrow may yet reveal her machinations and motive, for he did not trust her -- despite his feelings for her.

Chapter V

Tavington waited only a short time for Lucrezia in her front hall, checking his best uniform for any stray hairs or lint that might detract from his appearance. He couldn't decide whether the nervousness he experienced was due to his personal anxieties regarding social functions in general or the impending evening with Lucrezia at his side. He'd never been so conflicted before in respect of his emotions. The truth was, he rarely entertained his emotions beyond whatever was required of him to perform his duties. For certain he was skilled in effecting a multitude of emotional states to achieve certain desired results, but in this particular situation with Lucrezia, his emotions held him hostage -- and this, he found exceedingly uncomfortable. Undecided regarding his current state of anxiety, he stilled his mind and felt a semblance of calm wash over him.

Distant footsteps alerted him to Lucrezia's arrival. He brought his gaze up and revealed only a flicker of appreciation -- although he wished to be more ardent with his praise at her stunning beauty, moreso he wished to be respectful...for the moment. He sucked in his breath slowly and devoured her from within, revealing only a slight appreciative smile. The evening threatened to be a taxing one to his conflicted state.

"Good evening, Colonel Tavington," Lucrezia briefly smiled with blood red painted lips, ensconced in the formality of the occasion. She wore a stunning gown in crimson with a black embroidery pattern throughout. Her hair was coiffed and laden with ribbon and lace. She held out a black gloved hand firmly and stared at him with open eyes.

Tavington took her hand in his and kissed it, his blue eyes capturing the deep dark pools of her own eyes. If he wasn't careful, he would drown -- but what an exquisite death it would be. He was certain she harbored similar romantic feelings towards him, but he also sensed that she observed him with an intimate scrutiny belonging only to the most stringent of connoisseurs as though his mind and soul were etched into a catalogue for preview by select purchasers. He would daresay he felt almost objectified by Lucrezia -- an odd notion, he thought. The question was, did she care for him with sincerity or was this an element of some great plot to which he was unwittingly ensnared? Additionally, did his own feelings of desire stem from and towards her physical beauty, mental acuity or that mysterious air? He feared the answers and therefore dismissed any further consideration on the matter.

"You don't think I'm overdressed, do you?" Lucrezia sincerely inquired. She had fretted all day regarding her attire, consulting with Sebastian and Elizabeth, her head maidservant. While she desired to make an impression on Tavington, she wasn't all together enticed by the prospect of a social soiree. In the end, she gave in to Elizabeth's recommendation.

"Not at all. While I was hoping to detract attention, I'm now looking forward to being the envy of all the men there," he smiled and flashed his blue eyes.

"Colonel Tavington -- with the silver tongue of a devil," she grinned.

"It was you who referred to my Mephistophelean nature first," he chided gently.

"Of course." She gazed at him openly for a time, taking note of the fine uniform, perfectly bound hair, lace cravat and lace cuffs on his shirt sleeves. Very Mephistophelean indeed -- forbidden and alluring. She fought with her tumultuous emotions and instincts, uncertain of the victor and even if one was necessary for such an inner battle. She suddenly wondered if this had been an intelligent idea, accompanying Tavington to a ball -- she couldn't turn back now. She would have to work with her miscalculated positioning.

Tavington and Lucrezia rode in her coach to the location of the fete, which was not any appreciable distance. They resumed their conversation from the previous evening, continuing to play the game of chess that had consumed them. Once the coach halted in the great drive, both Tavington and Lucrezia fell into silence and peered out the coach's window apprehensively.

"Having second thoughts?" Tavington inquired, admitting to himself that he had some of his own. He saw this as duty -- the least pleasurable of them all.

"No. I just haven't been to a grand social event in a long time," Lucrezia recoiled as her driver opened the door.

"You'll be fine," Tavington consoled and slipped out of the coach. He held his lace framed hand out to Lucrezia who took it in hers and descended to the ground gracefully. She linked her arm around his and ventured into the magnificent plantation estate with a stoic countenance.

No sooner had they found themselves a quiet corner than Tavington was called away to attend Lord General Cornwallis for a brief time, thrusting Lucrezia in a state of unease. Her anxiety heightened with the arrival of Captain James Wilkins who pressed a glass of wine into her hands firmly. She had few dealings with the man, but every one that she had she wished she did not. She detected in Wilkins disdain for his superior commander, an attitude best kept to oneself she would have thought. She suspected Wilkins had no loyalties except those to himself -- a characteristic she despised. He was usually quite quiet and seemingly reserved, shocking Lucrezia this evening with his gregarious inclinations.

"If you were my companion I wouldn't let you out of my sight for a moment," Wilkins leered, evident he had been into the wine for some time already.

Lucrezia felt no desire to justify Tavington's actions, "Where is your companion, Captain Wilkins?"

"I don't have one yet. But I would be very excited to have you as one," he eased his glass back.

Lucrezia's eyes hardened to stone and she glared at him. "I think you should leave my presence, Captain Wilkins."

"The black angel of mercy -- she who prefers the company of the dead and dying...I suppose that includes Tavington." Wilkins chuckled with his deep voice at what he considered a comedic association, for Tavington rarely revealed any emotion in front of his men, naturally lending to the perception of being dead. "Let me show you what it's like to live," he stepped towards her, suffering from the misguided impression he could simply sweep her off her feet.

Lucrezia had enough. She held out the glass of wine between them, tipped it, allowing its contents to splatter over Wilkins' trousers and boots. Her eyes shot daggers at Wilkins' astonished expression. He was about to launch into an unseemly verbal attack against Lucrezia when Captain Bordon appeared defensively at her side.

"Lady Moriarty, so good to see here." Bordon positioned himself strategically between Wilkins and Lucrezia, protecting her from Wilkins' unwanted attentions. Bordon was not quite as surprised at Lucrezia regarding Wilkins' behavior -- he suffered from unseemly manners whenever he drank.

"And you, Captain Bordon," she nodded a silent 'thank you' for the appreciated rescue.

Wilkins couldn't bring himself to inform Bordon his presence was not desired -- the truth was, he was something of a coward. Wilkins shifted to the side and continued his attempt at stealing Lucrezia away for the moment, despite his dampened spirits and situation. How he would enjoy it if Tavington found them together in an embrace. The wine he had already drunk was seriously hampering his judgment and served to fuel his delusional fantasy.

Lucrezia shot glaring daggers at Wilkins as though she could sense his illicit intent. She turned a smiling gaze at Bordon.

"You'll be pleased to know that Lieutenant Forrester is on the mend now," Bordon referred to one of the men Lucrezia had spent some time with recently. A man grievously wounded and not expected to live.

"I'm glad to hear he's rallying. It was painful to write the correspondence he asked of me to his wife." In truth, she only vaguely remembered Lieutenant Forrester -- they were so many wounded or succumb to illness over time and she tried to spend as much time she could with all of those teetering on the edge of death. However, she was very pleased to hear when one tipped the scales and was destined to live a little while longer.

"Would you care for a stroll around the gardens?" Wilkins' voice suddenly infiltrated Bordon and Lucrezia's cordial exchange.

"No," she replied flatly and was much relieved upon seeing Tavington descend a staircase across the room.

Tavington detected something unpleasant was the matter as he caught Lucrezia's gaze. He picked up his pace, was relieved to see Bordon and somewhat agitated to find Wilkins leering over her. Wilkins scampered off without a word, ill prepared to face Tavington, who vowed to make Wilkins suffer in some way in the future. Tavington was, after all, his commanding officer and must follow his orders regardless of personal viewpoints. Tavington would ensure his orders would be contrary to Wilkins' personal beliefs.

"What a vile man," Lucrezia remarked and set the empty wine glass on the table behind her.

"Thank you," Tavington nodded to Bordon who left them quietly. "Would you care to dance?" Tavington asked, hoping to occupy her with a more pleasant experience.

"I would. Are you all right? You seem a little out of sorts yourself," Lucrezia inquired at Tavington's strained expression.

"Just a little dressing down courtesy of the Lord General. I'm fine now that I'm here with you," Tavington took her hands in his and gently led to her the ball room where couples were already dancing.

Lucrezia allowed herself to be swept gracefully towards an unoccupied area of the floor. She was pleasantly surprised at Tavington's skill with dancing, considering he detested social occasions. She suspected his evidenced skill was as a result of his upbringing and those moments where he was obliged to put on such airs of sociability. Lucrezia vanquished any further unpleasant thoughts and allowed herself to live in the moment -- something she so seldom experienced, for she often found herself occupied with other more demanding thoughts or activities. She did not like to be out of control or carried away by emotions or deeds. Every movement she made was calculated, an attitude she believed Tavington shared.

Tavington was pleased he had not forgotten how to dance, as it had been so long. Lucrezia was very agile and seemed to weigh no more than a feather against him. She seemed to anticipate his moves and followed effortlessly. He shrugged off his embittering experience with Cornwallis and Wilkins, focusing on the ravishing beauty in his arms. As lured as he was, his instincts yet again warned him about her. He desperately wished to justify this warning, but its mechanism eluded him. Instead, he focused on the moment, and how she felt so wondrously against him.

The energy they conjured during the dance was fantastical. It enveloped them and seemed to transport them to a private world unto themselves. They felt protected in one another's embrace, and the self constructed protective walls between them began to slide away. They continued to dance, melody after melody, not wishing to break the binding spell they luxuriated in. They were a vision of one, a pure dervish of red and black in a sea of wigs, powder and the very latest fashions.

Tavington mustered the courage to bestow upon her some affection, for the mood between them became all too enticing. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lovingly for a few moments. A short time later, their bodies dangerously close in proximity, Tavington dared to touch his lips to her cool neck. His desire for her coursed through his veins like wildfire. His hand on her back slowly and gently caressed her.

He incited a flame of desire within Lucrezia that threatened to burn her soul. It was overpowering. She attempted to push away her intense arousal in response to Tavington's attentions. But she could not. Her breathing became laboured and the pain was on her again. She wished more than anything that she could fold into his body and give herself up to him. She wished she could submit herself, be caressed and kissed, and return those affections. But she could not. She stiffened against Tavington when she could take no more of his stimulating conduct.

"You need some fresh air. A place in the gardens may do you well," Tavington surmised and led her outside, a supportive arm across her back. He suspected she tired from the dance but did not wish to reveal weakness. He guided her to a private area of the gardens where there resided a bench surrounded by bushes affording them privacy. Lucrezia seemed so frail. He sat her down on the bench and sat himself next to her. He gathered her gloved slender hands into his and studied her. He did not know the source for her vexed state beyond his supposition of exhaustion.

Lucrezia stared ahead with unblinking eyes, her chest heaving as though she were hyperventilating. She desired what he did -- to fall into a sweet kiss and a lover's embrace, but she could not allow it...for several reasons.

"My Lady?" Tavington brought one of his hands to her chin and gently moved her head so she gazed directly at him. He brushed his fingers across her cheek, hoping to soothe her affliction. Again she shut her eyes and revealed an expression mired in agony. Tavington dropped his hand in frustration and she slowly opened her eyes.

"I'm not feeling well, Colonel. I should go so you can enjoy what remains of the evening's festivities," Lucrezia forced herself to focus and removed her fingers from Tavington's consoling and warm touch.

"I should stay with you to ensure that you are all right." The truth was, he would be much relieved to excuse himself from the formalities of the evening. He was in no mood to tolerate the falsities surrounding this event.

"Please don't." She rose from the bench with sudden energy, "I thank you for this wonderful evening, Colonel. I'll have the coach return to take you later," and she backed away from him as though he were a predator closing in for the kill.

Tavington stood, flustered at how the situation seemed to deteriorate beyond his control, "I'll return with you. You shouldn't be left alone in such a delicate state."

"No. I insist." She held up a hand, palm forward, a sign to leave her be. She could not bear to be in his presence for a moment longer, her chest threatening to compress her heart utterly.

Tavington watched her slip away and when he was certain she had vacated the vicinity he clenched his fist, raised it and dropped it down to his side forcefully, "Damn!" He never claimed to comprehend women and their irrational behavior, but Lucrezia was in a class unto herself. He cursed himself for finding her attractive -- but perhaps it was this unusual nature of hers that endeared her to him. He could not see how she could be a threat to him, and was prepared to dispense with this anxiety residing within him since the moment they met.

Lucrezia threw herself into the back of her coach and began to feel relieved as it meandered its way to her home. She felt so frustrated and wished suddenly that she could cry real tears as a form of expression and release. She should, by all rights, push Tavington away once and for all, admitting defeat. But that would be such a selfish act, and Lucrezia had a much higher purpose in mind for Tavington. She cursed her heart for feeling so open and vulnerable to this man.

Unrequited longing forged between Tavington and Lucrezia. While the walls of trust dissipated around them, new walls where misunderstanding comprised of the mortar were thrown up in their stead.

Chapter VI

When Lucrezia did not locate Tavington in his tent, she was certain she would find him down by the riverbank. She left Spinoza on his desk and ventured towards the river. She had no idea what she would say to him -- she could not explain her actions to him...not yet. Tavington's form in the night was unmistakable -- tall, still and proud. As Lucrezia approached him slowly, he turned in her direction and did not speak until she stood a short distance from him.

"Are you feeling better, my Lady?" He inquired with formality. While his inquiry was genuine, he felt a need to distance himself. Perhaps he had misread her all along and she truly had no interest in him beyond an exchange of viewpoints. He frowned at this thought for two reasons -- unreciprocated desire was difficult to stomach, and he had seldom been incorrect in his assessment of others. While he might not have been able to entertain emotions easily himself, he could discern their nature in others -- so he thought.

"Yes, thank you. I must apologize for my behavior last night." Lucrezia folded her hands before her demurely and cast her eyes downward in shame. She struggled with what she wished to convey and what she ought to convey, trapped in the center, threatening to spill her over in one direction or another. She must maintain control.

Tavington took a hesitant step forward, the sound of his shifting saber in scabbard filling the void between them, fending off what his mind had been advising him. He needed to discover where her heart lay. He reached out with his hand, touched her chin lightly, lifting her head so her eyes met his. He could lose himself in those obsidian eyes where he desperately searched for truth. He found this foreign desperation frightening, never having been swayed by it before. "I'm sure you have your reasons, although I must admit I don't understand." He dropped his hand and sighed heavily.

"Have you ever wanted something so badly and in order to be one step closer to fulfilling that desire, your actions could potentially harm and even kill another?" She asked with a pained expression.

"Every day of my life." Tavington smiled briefly at this intense understanding, "Each day I send men to face death and sometimes they do -- as our camp's black angel of mercy, you know this intimately. All because of my dedicated service to King and Country. All because of my burning desire to succeed utterly in my position." He found it virtually effortless to disclose himself to her now and wondered why such admission eluded her still.

"You haven't lost a battle yet, Colonel," she reminded as though this perfect track record justified his actions. In her mind, they did, and she thought in his mind they would as well.

"Precisely, but I still live with the knowledge that men die through my actions," A flicker of delving amusement spread across his lips. "And what do you so desire, Lady Moriarty?"

Lucrezia could not reply. She stared at him blankly. She felt helpless, unable to respond and render unto him an adequate reply. She was trapped and bound by decisions and actions that did not take into account her desire for Tavington. She began to tremble as the Universe appeared to close itself around her menacingly.

Tavington reached out and caressed the side of her face with his fingers, wishing to coax the answer from her. She flinched briefly. He spoke quietly and widened his eyes as though to further penetrate her soul, "Why do you shy from my touch? If you feel nothing for me, tell me now and I'll let you be." His fingers dared to stroke the curve of her fine neck enticingly. Desire rose within him like an unrelenting craving.

Lucrezia could not bring herself to speak those words of denial, laced with lies and an untruth. For the pursuit of pure fact was one of her deepest desires, and she despised dispensing untruths -- whenever she had, it had a reason, a much higher purpose. His inflaming touch began to cut through her walls of defense, razing them to the foundation. "Please, Colonel," she begged him to cease his incendiary onslaught.

He ignored her protest, stepped closer still, his body almost touching hers. If she could honestly inform him that she did not desire him, he would leave her be. He had to know lest he be driven to madness. "Tell me in your heart you care no more for me than you do the dying men you aid," his fingers touched her trembling lips sensuously. He desired her with a hunger he never thought possible -- it almost frightened him. "Tell me and I promise to trouble you no more with my affections."

Lucrezia stood frozen, focused on erecting more barriers to counter Tavington's display of affection -- futile...his passion too great. "I cannot," she softly whispered, unable to speak up. At that moment, Tavington captured a key chess piece, leaving her Queen vulnerable.

Tavington's hand slipped to the back of her head and neck, holding it firmly as he lowered his mouth to hers. At first her cool lips were unresponsive, but they slowly stiffened into a divine kiss. Tavington desired no more than a kiss and an embrace at this very moment. Triumph was upon him as he pulled Lucrezia's willing lithe form firmly against his. He marveled at how frail she felt, but knew she carried with her strength.

Lucrezia brought her hands up to Tavington's shoulders, steeling herself against this sensuous assault. Her mind spun and control was slowly dissipating from her grasp. Tavington's lips pried hers apart and she felt his moist tongue enter her mouth. She sighed against him and touched his tongue with hers. His kiss grew more fevered and demanding. A guttural growl emerged from the core of her, and Lucrezia pushed Tavington away forcefully. She reeled as though experiencing vertigo.

"You once said that you do not fear me, yet your actions are contrary. Why?" Tavington flew into a mild rage of frustration. He demanded more answers.

"I do not fear you, Colonel--" Lucrezia began.

"William. My name is William," he interrupted her gently.

Lucrezia nodded, "William, I fear myself. Right now, I cannot give you what you desire from me. I ask that you respect my wishes."

He spoke through clenched teeth, "I could respect them much more if I could comprehend them, Lucrezia." He was pleased they were at last on a first name basis with one another, but this did little to solve the issue at hand. Yes, her desire for him was evident, he could lay that to rest, but her expression of these desires confused him.

"I can't explain more fully at this moment. I ask that you trust me," she forced a smile.

Accusatory condescension slipped into his voice and he narrowed his eyes to dagger points. "How can I trust you when you act like a spy?"

"Is that what you think I am?" She asked with an incredulous tone.

He retorted icily, staring down his nose at her, "It's under consideration." It was more than consideration -- Tavington was almost certain of it but he could prove nothing. It wasn't his instincts that lent to this conclusion for he had none except the warning. It simply was the only conceivable explanation for her peculiar behavior apart from the inability to express her attraction to him.

Lucrezia shook her head and chuckled a little, "If I were a spy, William, I'd have slipped into your bed long ago. I am as I am known -- the black angel of mercy," Lucrezia stepped towards Tavington, took his hand in hers and brushed his fingertips with her lips. His posture stiffened against her now. "The rest will have to wait, I'm sorry." She released his hand.

Tavington swallowed hard, berating himself for caring so deeply for one who could seemingly not return his affections. He watched her leave until she'd been swallowed by the night. He wondered how long he would have to wait for those answers. He was, after all, an impatient man.

The following weeks proved to be gratefully distracting for Tavington as he was required to focus entirely on the war itself. More specifically, and much to his pleasure, Cornwallis agreed to allow Tavington to execute his own brand of warfare to combat the problematic Continental Ghost and his riff raff -- a terribly annoying thorn in their sides requiring plucking.

While Tavington did not have time to visit Lucrezia at her domicile, he did spend some moments with her during those evenings she was in the camp -- either in his tent or by the riverbank. They returned to the more intellectual aspect of their relationship, for the moment abandoning the emotional and passionate facets -- much to Tavington's chagrin. Tavington swore that once he had his Ghost, he would obtain the answers he sought from Lucrezia.

Chapter VII (sexual situation)

Lucrezia detected an air of urgency around Tavington as he stepped into the parlor, Sebastian leaving his side. She tossed her current book onto the end of the sofa and waved Tavington in. She was quite surprised to see him considering the demands placed upon him recently by Cornwallis, leaving him very little spare time.

Her dark eyes softened with concern, "What is the matter?" She sat herself upright and motioned for Tavington to sit next to her and divulge what vexed him.

He sat down carefully, favoring his left side, grateful for the soft seat beneath him. The past 36 hours had been most demanding but also quite rewarding on several fronts. He secured the information he required to put an end to the Ghost at long last -- although this may be for naught as he was certain to encounter him tomorrow, at which time one of them would surely die.

Tavington also achieved much satisfaction with respect to Wilkins' continued harassment of Lucrezia in the past several weeks. As Tavington and his men surrounded the church at Pembroke, harboring rebellious village folk who gave aid to the Ghost, he ordered Wilkins' to fire the church, thusly ending the lives of the villagers. Tavington would have quite promptly thrown the torch himself, but he knew Wilkins would suffer serious mental anguish if asked to perform the detestable deed himself. Tavington could not resist the subtle reprimand of Wilkins in this manner for his lecherous behavior towards Lucrezia. In the end, Wilkins threw the torch and seemed to suffer greatly -- Tavington was satisfied.

"You have been hurt," Lucrezia remarked, unable to see the wound she knew was beneath his coat.

"I've already been tended to," he replied dismissively regarding his wound. He spoke with some difficulty, "Tomorrow I ride to Cowpens and I honestly do not know whether or not I will leave the field alive."

"Benjamin Martin is still alive then, is he?" Lucrezia had heard numerous stories regarding the events binding Benjamin Martin and William Tavington to one another as heated enemies -- from Tavington's perspective, it was simply war but to Martin, it was entirely personal. Lucrezia never involved herself in the discussions transpiring around her, much preferring to keep herself seemingly occupied and absorb the events as they were told in her presence. People would often speak freely in front of her, believing she took absolutely no interest, and therefore secure in the knowledge that such information would not pass beyond those present. How incorrect they were. It was a tactic she often used to glean the information she most desired -- she discovered long ago there was much power in feigning ignorance and disinterest.

"I'm afraid so. I also believe I've ignited his hatred towards me even further," Tavington added with a tinge of regret -- not for the actions taken, but for the resulting hostility he knew the Ghost would harbor for him.

"How so?" Lucrezia inquired, tipping her head slightly to the side.

"I killed another of his sons today. Unfortunately, not before he took Bordon's life." Tavington's expression softened at the mention of the man whom he had come to rely upon quite heavily, and whose assistance he appreciated above all others.

"I'm so sorry." She too felt badly to learn of Bordon's demise. Men such as he were in short supply, and Tavington was not ignorant of the fact.

A brevity of stillness hung between them as Sebastian entered and handed to a grateful Tavington a glass of brandy. Sebastian withdrew with his usual silence.

"You have unfortunately hit Benjamin Martin where he is most tender. He will stop at nothing to see you dead," Lucrezia's expression grew grim with this consideration.

"Hence my original comment that I will unlikely leave Cowpens alive. Unless, of course, fortune smiles upon me and delivers his death to me first." Tavington drank deeply from the brandy, and found its warmth soothing to his soul.

"It could happen. You are extremely gifted and talented. Do you fear death, William?" Her eyes darkened and bore a frightening seriousness.

"I never used to. In fact, I wouldn't say that I fear it even now. But there would be regrets. Regrets that I did not perform certain deeds and tasks in my short life." Tavington briefly gazed at her adoringly. Lucrezia would be one of those regrets.

"If you could, would you desire to live more than one lifetime in order to vanquish those regrets?" Lucrezia asked, softly smiling, an attempt to conjure some levity at this moment.

Tavington contemplated the weight of this question very carefully. "Yes, I think I would. I relish the idea of being able to accomplish so much, see so much, experience so much more than a single lifetime could provide. It might very well take two lifetimes to eliminate those regrets." Tavington reached out and caressed the side of her face with one of his hands, "I would like very much to have one less regret, Lucrezia." His eyes pierced her soul.

Lucrezia sucked in her breath and folded her hand gently over top of his on her cheek. They had not shared any physical intimacy or expressions thereof since that night on the riverbank after the ball.

"Can you explain to me why you hold me at such a distance? Do you still grieve for Lord Moriarty?" Lucrezia gave Tavington no choice but to ask direct questions regarding her behavior.

"He has nothing to do with my refusal of intimacy. The decision is my own. I do not base it on vanity, nor do I base it on morality or virtue." Lucrezia shut her eyes momentarily, gathering her strength, for she knew she would require it in the coming moments. She was strongly compelled to give him something. She moved her head and pressed her lips into the palm of his hand. She kissed his fingers one by one and then caught his wide ice blue eyes. "If you survive Cowpens, I promise to tell you everything, and give you all the answers you want. But tonight, the physical expression of my affection for you must remain limited."

Tavington sighed, yearning for so much more. Admittedly, he desired explanatory answers far more than he desired the physical expression of their feelings for one another. However, he would respectfully accept what she offered and ask for no more. He slid his hand to the back of her head and leaned forward to kiss her lips.

Lucrezia brought a finger up to his mouth annoyingly, and whispered, "No. Lean back."

Tavington gazed at her quizzically and eased himself back onto the length of the sofa with care. She slid onto the floor and knelt next to his hips. She reached with delicate fingers to his trouser buttons. Tavington took her fingers into his hand, "No. Not unless I can reciprocate." Once again she managed to thrust him into confusion -- while she would not indulge him in a simple kiss, she seemed quite willing to perform a certain act of adoration seldom engaged in outside of marriage or a brothel.

Lucrezia sighed with exasperation, "That is the point, William. I know it does not make any sense to you now, but I promise to answer all your questions later. Please -- let me do this for you. I want to." She bent her head down and lovingly kissed his fingers holding hers.

Tavington relaxed his fingers and allowed them to be pushed away by her hands. She unbuttoned his trousers deftly, and pulled his trousers and linen down, taking extra care of his wounded side.

Lucrezia took both of his hands in hers and laid them on his chest comfortably. She gazed into his eyes with an expression both intending to dissuade him from showering her with any affection and also reassuring him that she very much desired to pleasure him in this manner. Tavington relaxed into the sofa and gave himself over to her whims. He thought her a most odd creature.

With obvious practiced skill, Lucrezia bent her head and took Tavington into her mouth. She curled her fingers around the base and moved her lips and tongue in a rhythmic inciting dance. After a while, Tavington groaned in pleasure, desperately wishing to touch her in response to the tremendous gift she bestowed upon him. He felt an unusual warmth begin to spread from where her mouth was in contact with his flesh and flowing directly into him, completely encapsulating his core. He could not define the sensation any further. Suffice it to say, he had never felt such a calming glow when any other woman had performed such an act -- on the few occasions that it had occurred.

Tavington marveled at the languid nature with which she worked her mouth on his hardness. She did not hurry the process, and seemed to execute a variety of techniques, testing to see which was most pleasurable for him. He responded with sighs and groans as appropriate. He relaxed even more into the sofa, closing his eyes, allowing himself to feel nothing but her skilled mouth and the pleasure he derived therefrom.

Lucrezia forced herself to view this expression of her feelings in a very clinical light -- to do otherwise, would not be advisable. Once she discovered his preferred method of receiving oral ministrations, at least for the moment as this was bound to change from instance to instance, she repeated the process with only as much adulation as she dared.

The intense need for a release was finally upon Tavington. Lucrezia seemed to sense this, and quickened her pace and increased the pressure she was applying in response. That was all he needed. He growled and tossed his head back as his hips lurched forward burying himself deeper in her mouth. She drank him back with seemingly considerable ardor. She slowed her gentle pace until she stopped altogether. She lifted her head, arranged him carefully yet with some detachment, and pulled his linen and trousers up to his waist.

Lucrezia gazed into Tavington's glazed over blue eyes. "Thank you," he smiled, the warmth in his belly stretching forth and growing inside of him.

"My pleasure," she smiled wickedly.

"I doubt that," he shot her a disbelieving glance.

"Truly, it is." Lucrezia buttoned his trousers and sat herself upon the floor comfortably. She tucked her knees against her chest and folded her arms atop her knees.

Tavington regarded her curiously. She seemed much more comfortable in this position on the floor than she had on the sofa. Her conflicting actions and airs confused him. "Who are you, Lucrezia Moriarty?"

"I am the black angel of mercy," she replied simply.

"A discussion for another time, yes?"

Lucrezia smiled with a nod, "Precisely." She reached behind her neck with her hands, catching her necklace in her slender fingers. She lifted the necklace and its Ankh charm from around her neck.

Tavington observed as she rocked herself forward in one fluid motion and slid towards him on her knees. She placed the necklace around his neck.

"For luck. You can return it to me when you come back from Cowpens." And she prayed that he would indeed return with his life.

Tavington captured her hands in his and kissed them briefly before releasing them as he knew she would withdraw from any further physical contact. A darkness hung between them -- the gravity of tomorrow's battle weighed heavily upon them both. Any further intimate or philosophical discourse would need to be postponed for another time.

Lucrezia convinced Tavington to allow her driver to return him to his camp in her coach, leading his horse along the way. She was quite concerned that his injury would interfere with what was to come the next day. For Tavington, it was a mild annoyance. He would take to the field at Cowpens with as much fervor as he always did. Perhaps moreso as he had good reason to return -- from Lucrezia he wanted several things.

Chapter VIII

And that must end us, that must be our cure, To be no more; sad cure; for who would loose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through Eternity, To perish rather, swallowd up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion? ...we are decreed, Reserv'd and destin'd to Eternal woe; -- John Milton, "Paradise Lost"

Lucrezia arrived at the hospital tents in the late afternoon, the bronze sun slowly dipping towards the horizon, relinquishing its power to the night. It appeared to her that the entire camp was enshrouded in a quiet resembling an ancient tomb. Although, she felt as though she could move about with more freedom than she had been able to in the past few weeks -- the reason was quite simply that Captain Wilkins was not in the camp at present, fighting at Cowpens with Tavington and the other Dragoons.

Wilkins had proved a most difficult individual to tolerate for Lucrezia -- and for Tavington for that matter. His obsession with Lucrezia was found to be quite alarming by those directly involved and those who were witness to his untoward behavior. Wilkins would approach her in those rare moments of her solitude, signifying that he had been indeed observing her from a distance, waiting for the perfect opportunity in which to subject her to his latest devotional plea of affection. Lucrezia could not for one moment believe he was genuinely besotted with her -- Wilkins' unseemly actions stemming from an internal conflict within himself and possibly involving Tavington.

In one particular instance where Wilkins waylaid her travels from a hospital tent to Tavington's tent, Lucrezia brazenly asked Wilkins precisely what in her he was attracted to. Wilkins seemed taken aback by the question and eventually replied with an insubstantial response regarding her beauty, charm and caring mannerisms. Wilkins was actually under the impression that by simply deluging her with hollow compliments and promises of a superior relationship to that which she currently had with Tavington, that she would fall into his arms and be swept away. Wilkins completely denied Lucrezia's vocalized intuition that Wilkins was simply extremely jealous of Tavington personally as well as professionally and therefore desired exactly what Tavington possessed -- his command and Lucrezia. Lucrezia further pointed out that Wilkins lacked what was necessary to conduct himself as a true officer in the King's army. Before Wilkins could retaliate in this small exchange, instinct had brought Tavington out of his tent in search of Lucrezia and happened upon the two and their incensed discussion. When faced with Tavington directly, Wilkins had no resolve and no spine to speak of -- he would skulk away like a wounded animal...serving only to further amplify their contempt for him.

Tavington asked Lucrezia if he should issue a formal reprimand against Wilkins for his behavior, and she declined the offer, not wishing to worsen the situation with such formalities. Lucrezia did mention a subtle issuance of punishment might be in order -- and was subsequently satisfied when she heard of the situation regarding the church in Pembroke. Lucrezia was somewhat concerned, however, that this action may yet yield a retaliatory strike by Wilkins. She hoped it would not emerge at Cowpens.

In the hospital tent, Lucrezia wrung her hands nervously, her own mood considerably affected by that of the medical practitioners around her -- they too could only wait, as preparations had already been completed for the anticipated wounded.

Just at the point when she thought she could tolerate the wait no longer, everyone looked up and towards the main tent flaps at the sound of approaching horses and wagons. Lucrezia flew out of the tent and when she was unable to locate Tavington among the Dragoons on horseback, she knew what had happened. She felt her insides ice and shatter. She hung back and observed the screaming wounded being carried into the tents, fussed over by the doctors and other staff. Tavington, completely silent and very still, was among the first brought in.

She impatiently waited while the doctors dressed his mortal wounds as best as possible given the circumstances. Around her, several men reached out to her for comfort, but she could not look at them. She did not wish to appear cruel, but her genuine concern was for only one man. She glanced at the doctors as she walked towards the cot on which Tavington lay in delirium. Their expressions spoke volumes -- Tavington was not expected to live much longer...minutes, perhaps an hour.

Lucrezia quickly erected a privacy screen in Tavington's corner before sitting down next to him. Dirt and hardened blood was fused to his death pallor, the upper portion of his uniform in shreds from the doctors in order to tend to the numerous wounds he was savagely inflicted with. She glanced at his injuries, blood seeping through the bandaging, amazed he had survived the journey to the camp. She took one of his hands in hers and kissed his fingers, palm and wrist adoringly.

His fading blue eyes clamped onto her deep black eyes. She seemed the most beautiful vision he'd ever laid eyes on -- truly an angel. It pained him to know she would be lost to him forever. He tried to speak, but the horrendous gash in his throat prevented such disclosure. Lucrezia forced a comforting smile. She too was unable to speak, but for different reasons. His eyes fluttered and closed, Lucrezia fading from his vision.

Tavington felt his fragile hold on life slipping away second by second. He regretted very little in his life -- the crux of the matter involved Lucrezia. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel her lips on his hand. Her tenderness touched him, and he wished he could remain long enough to tell her so. He wished he could tell her how appreciative he was of their friendship, and that in time, he could have easily fallen in love with her. He wished he could tell her of his plans to settle in Ohio and his hope she would join him. He tried to open his eyes, but found he could not. Sensations left his body one by one -- he was soon completely unable to feel a thing. He would imagine that Lucrezia, the black angel of mercy, was still there, holding his hand lovingly. He could do nothing but succumb to the weakness, to the impending death, for it crowded over him like a funeral shroud. He tasted blood again...filling his mouth, threatening to drown him. He swallowed out of reaction, and then there was a little more. And then...there was nothing at all any longer for William Tavington.

Lucrezia wished that she could weep, but found she could not. Her chest felt like a block of ice someone was repeatedly and vigorously chipping away at. She folded Tavington's lifeless arms across his chest and rose from the cot slowly. She removed the privacy screen and slowly made her way out of the tent, oblivious to the din of the wounded and dying and those who were attempting to save their lives.

In her search for a quiet place in the camp, she regrettably encountered Wilkins. She narrowed her eyes and glared, "Captain Wilkins, I am not in the mood." She noted his appearance lacked any hint of having engaged in battle. His cowardice knew no bounds, she thought.

He ignored her threat and spoke with almost pleasure, "So he's dead is he?"

"You have no tact, no honor and no discipline. You sicken me," she spat.

"And you think Colonel Tavington had those qualities? Do you have any idea of the legacy of brutality he has left behind here?" Wilkins chuckled, believing Lucrezia most naive.

"I do not think, I know he has honor. In respect of this so-called brutality, it is all matter of subjective opinion -- especially in these times of war, isn't it?" Lucrezia spoke through clenched teeth.

Wilkins seized one of her arms, his desire for her magnified now that Tavington was no longer a threat. "You have absolutely no idea what he was capable of. Now that he's gone, perhaps you will see things in a more clear light."

"I see things quite clearly, thank you very much." Lucrezia wrenched herself from his grip and sprinted towards a nearby group of Dragoons, a few of which she knew she could rely upon for protection. Thankfully, Wilkins vacated the vicinity and troubled her no more this day.

Lucrezia could not bear to remain and so she departed the depressive camp, for this battle had not served the victory the British demanded. Cornwallis would likely linger for several more weeks before moving on to greener pastures. She did not know if she would further return to the camp assisting wherever she could until Cornwallis departed his forces. With Tavington's death, her thoughts were no longer of this place.

Her somber mood was quite evident and she spent the better part of the evening conversing with Sebastian. Sebastian was the only one of her household who could comprehend her feelings and the current situation. It promised to be another long night, and Sebastian was grateful his own sleeping patterns of late had been matching those of the Lady he faithfully served.

Lucrezia busied herself with a selection of tasks requiring her immediate attention. She found it very difficult to push the vision of Tavington's lifeless body away from her mind. He was a very virile man, and to be reduced to death was quite tragic. However, as she and Tavington believed, life and death were cyclical -- some stages longer than others, but everything always came full circle eventually.

Continue...

Copyright 2001 Xandria (xandria@akasa.bc.ca)