Chapter 3: Rules of War?

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"I was wounded, these people gave me care." The Continental Army soldier spoke as he draped his light blue coat over him. He eyed Blythe once again as she opened her eyes from her silent prayer.

The elder dark-haired man stepped down from the porch and stayed a few steps behind the slate-blue coated lad.

"They have nothing to do with dispatches." His voice deepened in opposition to the Colonel's presumption. Blythe couldn't help but glance back and forth at the spats of blood on his shirt. Her eyes continued to blink back tears and she lowered her head to avoid attention. Tavington in response, tossed the satchel to a fellow soldier.

"Take this one to Camden!" He ordered abruptly. "He's a spy! Hang him! Put his body on display!" He ranted in addition to his order.

"NO!" Blythe felt a loud, painful cry escape her lips . She covered her mouth, noticing how loud she was as she eyed both innocent men.

"Silence you!" The colonel's hand raised, barbarously striking the arch of her neck; knocking her off the back of the groomed steed, and onto the solid surface of the soil and brush. Blythe could feel her hands mask her face petrified of his next move, not just to the innocents, but to her.

Just then, a pair of hands helped her up gently to her throbbing feet in her black pointed pumps. It was the hands of the young soldier about to be held for false accusation. She could barely even stand as she felt a trickle of blood drive down her neck. She embraced the blue-coated fighter for dear life, but it wasn't long until two redcoats handled him, separating the short-known fighter from the incapacitated teen girl, who fell to her knees in agony and exhaustion.

"Destroy the livestock, save the horses for the Dragoons!"

The soldiers scrambled about, restraining the blue-coated soldier by his wrists. Until the blood-spatted gentleman came forward. His dark hair was sticking out in all directions and the creases of his forehead became prominent with alertness.

"Colonel, this is a uniform dispatch rider, carrying a marked case. He cannot be held a spy." His deepened voice interjected defensively.

Blythe eyed up as Tavington spread a tormentous smile once again.

"Oh we're not going to hold him, we're going to hang him." He guffawed, coldly eyeing young Blythe with a glacial gleam in his eyes. "Emsworth, tie up this wretch." He pointed a gloved finger at the adolescent, innocent, wilted, and fearful of what to come as a broad chested Dragoon stepped off his horse. The vermilion spattered gent clenched her hand in assurance until the broad-chested man named Emsworth yanked Blythe away from the assuring grip.

"Colonel-"

"Father-" The sandy blonde lad cut off the promising man whom Blythe now knew was his father. A knot formed in the pit of her torso, and her stomach continously churned with anxiety.

"Oh I see, he's your son." Colonel Tavington eyed both men, while Blythe could feel her wrists being tightly binded together as she was slung upon the back of Tavington's horse once again, officially imprisoned without a doubt.

"Well maybe you should've taught him something of loyalty."

"Colonel, I beg you please reconsider, by the rules of war."

"Rules of war." The unscrupulous colonel drew his pistol. "Would you like a lesson Sir, in the rules of war?" He cocked his pistol in the direction of the father, whose face was filled with a merciful plee.

"Or perhaps, your children would." Tavington fixed his aim towards the children who scooted closer inward as their father raced to shield them, his arms extending over the traumatized bunch.

"No lesson is necessary. " The pained father replied as he recovered his pistol.

"Sir," The redcoat lieutenant interposed. "What of the rebel wounded?"

A few faces of the many wounded glanced up at the stone-faced colonel.

"Kill them." He stated bluntly.

Blythe's eyes widended; taken aghast at the outrageous and unnecessary cruelty and before she could even blink a younger lad went charging forward, knocking down two redcoats.

"Gabriel run!" He shouted.

"Wait!" The father yelped dashing towards his younger son as the colonel cocked his pistol aiming straight for the back of his heart. But before his father could reach him, it was already too late. The impact of the bullet had surfaced to his clothes as he dropped to his knees.

"NO!" Gabriel cried.

Blythe could feel her heart tear open as she screeched at the tip of her lungs, unable to bear the sight of a heartless, villainous murder in broad daylight. The young lad was now pale and hints of blueness now tinged his face.

Tavington tugged harshly at the rope that bounded Blythe's wrist together, adjusting himself on his saddle and once again held his chest erectly against her back.

"Stupid boy." He muttered as the house went up in flames and the many innocent wounded were being killed before Blythe's very eyes.

Blythe could only look back at a grief-strickened father who now held his son, slipping away faster and faster with each second. She closed her eyes in prayer that his family would be safe, especially Gabriel.

"As for you," He hissed in Blythe's ear. "You are very lucky I do not have my hands on you."

Blythe's core trembled as they fled the engulfed plantation.

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