Redcoats and Rebels

She looked at him sitting there, in the corner, back to the wall facing the door. Relaxed as if he didn't have a care in the world as if the colonies weren't embroiled in a war. He was a most peculiar gentleman. While his fellow officers and the enlisted men tried to hold an increasing amount of liquor, he was content to sit there, in the exact same chair, and draw in his book. He didn't make trouble, didn't openly fraternize with some of the… less reputable women. Well mannered and cultured, he rarely raised his voice. His eyes were a piercing green, seeming to cut through and analyze everything that managed to attract his attention. His hair was regulation length, trousers and shirt pressed and sharp enough to cut meat.

When he did speak, his voice was gentle and surprisingly caring. Not rough and guttural like so many others, but it also held a sense of power that seemed to be lurking beneath the surface. Like a predatory crocodile lying in wait to snap at an unassuming gazelle. A very serious man of perhaps late 20s, he had crinkle lines around his eyes that suggested he often laughed and smiled. His hair was auburn brown with a single braid to the side and down of his head. This was odd only if you didn't know the man and what his occupation was in His Majesty's Army.

His name was Henry Haddock, major Henry Haddock. Chief of intelligence British Army under the command of General Clinton. His intelligence network had netted the British several victories, some small but as time went on far larger and of greater importance. In fact, just last month, he orchestrated the raid that had cost the rebels 100 muskets, 300 cannon shells, 5 canons, and 200 pouches of gunpowder. A near-crippling blow to the northeastern front that allowed the British to secure New York and its ports. Cutting off aid to rebel forces and forcing them into retreat.

It was a blow that the so-called Patriots were still recovering from. The British were using this opportunity to launch several skirmishes into rebel territory, hoping to destroy supply lines and weapon caches. And who brought Clinton the intelligence necessary to launch these raids? None other than the man sitting before her, sipping at his tea and drawing in his book.

The sounds of a drunken solider falling out of his chair and his companions laughing raucously shifted her gaze from him momentarily. Stifling a groan she grabbed a towel and a bucket and headed over before their high-pitched whines for assistance could be heard.

Dropping to her knees she began scrubbing the floor, her face crinkled in disgust as these slovenly drunks. As she was scrubbing she could feel the eyes of the soldiers on her, that too disgusted her. But she could ignore it, in their current state of inebriation they were no more harmful than a petulant toddler.

She felt a hand grab her backside and give it a hard pinch, "O! Sweetheart. You look rather good on your knees."

It took her a moment to process the audacity of the man. When she did, she looked at him, his repulsive grin and promptly threw the bucket of swill and vomit she had been cleaning into his face.

His reaction was…explosive. He stuttered angrily and kicked back his chair as the laughter in the room reached a crescendo.

"Why you little Cu-" he snarled and lunged for her, the back of his hand connecting solidly with her jaw.

An arm shot out and gripped his forearm tightly enough to elicit a groan of pain from the soldier. Whirling around he shouted, "Unhand me-" he inhaled sharply and went rigid.

Gripping his arm was Major Haddock, his green eyes cold with fury. "You were saying something, private?" His voice hadn't gone higher than that of normal conversation but the ice in it was enough to send shivers down her spine.

"N-no sir major." The private swallowed nervously.

The major simply stared into the man's eyes as if he were a dead deer and he was contemplating where to start cutting. Coming to his conclusion, he spoke.

"Apologize to Miss Hofferson this instant."

"But sir-" the soldier's words died off as the look in Haddock's eyes went several degrees colder. Even she flinched when he spoke again.

"I don't believe I stuttered solider. At. Once." The poor fool bobbed his head up and down like a schoolboy.

"My sincere apologies miss Hofferson." With a look of disgust, the major shoved the soldier away.

"I'm placing him in your responsibility. See to it he gets back to his barracks or you'll all be spending some quality time in the brig."

His squad-mates hurriedly dragged him away and out the door, leaving the major to watch them walk away in apparent disappointment. He turned around to see the entire room staring at him in expectation.

"Army business, go back to your drinks," he said with a polite nod and a smile. The chorus of bar patrons quickly resumed.

"Are you quite all right miss Hofferson?" The care in his eyes must be fake, but it was remarkably well done.

"Yes, thank you. Your intervention was quite timely."

He gently tilted her head with his fingertips and make a clicking noise. "Here, sit. I'll get ice."

He walked off before she could answer that it wasn't necessary. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her breathing. It's fine, everything is fine. It's not like you'll be sitting across from a member of British High Command. She focused on her breathing. In and out, in and out. Slowly, she brought her lungs under control and her breathing steadied.

A few minutes later he appeared carrying a few chunks of ice on a napkin. He selected one and with tenderness placed it against her cheek. She shivered and her breathing hitched, from the cold no doubt.

"You don't have to worry about something like this ever happening again. You have my word as a gentleman." He gave her a smile that she found somewhat, shy? What did he have to be shy about?

"Thank you" she returned his smile. This man was a Briton, she knew that, but she couldn't help but like him, here, being so gentle with her.

"My name is Henry, Major Henry Haddock at your service." He gave her another smile, a full one this time. She found herself staring into his eyes and really looking this time. Licking her lips it was her turn to be shy.

"I know, my name is Astrid. Astrid Hofferson."