Only Through Victory

Chapter Nine

The young British soldier ran his finger over the coat of arms in contemplation. His light eyes bounced back up to Annabelle who hadn't taken a proper breath of air in nearly a minute.

"Turnbull?" He asked, still watching her closely. "Will you fetch Tavington for me?"

A portly soldier who Annabelle assumed to be Turnbull rode towards them.

"You cannot merely fetch Tavington," he said, "besides, he's still off hunting his ghost."

Several laughs shot back and forth throughout the encirclement of Green Dragoons.

"Why, did you find anything suspicious on one of our prisoners?" Turnbull asked, looking Annabelle over from behind a thin pair of spectacles.

"Rather."

The tiny notebook was then passed to Turnbull and the remnants of ammunition rolled out and tumbled to the ground.

"What exactly am I looking at here, Phipps?" He flipped through the pages, passively. "There's nothing more than a few crudely drawn landscapes and mediocre poems in this book..."

Phipps shook his head. "It's property of the Colonel. Turn it over if you don't believe me."

After investigating what was on the back, Turnbull gave his men a tiny nod and tucked the notebook into the innermost pocket of his coat. "Assuming we are situated," he began, turning his horse, "which we appear to be, let us head back to the fort and give these men the swift hanging they've earned."

Annabelle watched the wooded outskirts of the road. Tavington was due to appear with the rest of his men at any moment. Her mind began to race. In the terrible anticipation of her impending execution, she began to believe that the only thing that could spare her and, if she was lucky, her men, now would be words. She could talk herself into trouble, sure, but she'd talked herself out of trouble on numerous occasions as well. If the notebook was of no significance to Tavington, she would have only this tactic to rely upon.

Something began to stir several yards back and sure enough, it was Tavington and several others. As he approached, Annabelle could see a shadow of frustration and defeat had darkened his handsome features- his "Ghost" had slipped away from his clutches. He didn't speak a word to any of the other men although Turnbull and Phipps looked, on several occasions, as though they were about to engage him. Instead, he seemed to make his own path quite like Annabelle used to do. Her mind mused upon this parallel for the remainder of their ride.

When they arrived at the fort, the prisoners were ushered into a barred holding space in the yard. Annabelle was barely given a moment to bid adieu to poor little Rascal whose behavior with the other horses had been exemplary. She didn't know this, but Colonel Tavington witnessed the brief kiss that she had given Rascal on his fuzzy black nose and had chuckled slightly from his place across the yard. No more than five minutes after seeing this, he was approached by both Turnbull and Phipps.

Annabelle was leaning against the bars in the section of the crowded prison that she had proclaimed her own when she was summoned. It was not Tavington who called upon her, but a young woman who she assumed to work as a servant in the house. The woman slipped a sealed note to the gatekeeper.

After breaking the seal and taking a glance inside, the old guard spoke, "Will Arden." He looked through the bars at Annabelle before turning his eyes to the young woman. "Very well. Take the runt to his slaughter." Not a moment later, she was handed over to meet her unknown fate. She remained in her shackles and the large wooden gates at the mouth of the fort were shut, so Annabelle assumed that nobody expected foul play as she crossed the guard with her unusual escort.