Once Upon a Time Patriot Games

April, 1782

The warm April sun had only just dipped below the horizon when two British officers, dressed in George's Red, violently flung the calico partition of General Golde's tent back and rushed inside hefting what appeared to be a slight young boy clothed in the familiar dingy blue uniform of a colonist.

"Forgive the intrusion General," one of the officers announced, struggling with the lad in blue, "but Major Marlowe told us to bring this spy directly to your quarters."

Golde, having yet to turn from the letter he was penning to his son, acknowledged the trio with an absent wave of his long hand accompanied by a distracted, "Be my guest gentlemen, pray no ceremony in the company of an enemy."

The accused spy writhed against the soldiers who dug their fingers his arms painfully, but he did not cry out nor plead his innocence.

After a few quick seconds of hearing the quill scratch against rough parchment Golde spoke again, his voice sharp as a saber point and devoid of any sympathy.

"Did Major Marlowe order an execution?"

The rebel hung his head and glared at the dirt floor upon hearing those mournful words, silently willing the hot tears clouding his blue eyes not to fall.

"No sir, he said it was your decision sir."

Golde answered the officer with a slight nod; the back of his head and

glossy brown ponytail tied with black

ribbon still the only thing visible as he

dusted powder on the wet ink before carefully folding and gently sliding it into the awaiting envelope marked for France.

The two detaining officers glanced eagerly at one another, anticipating the General's next move.

His reputation for unwavering ruthlessness was widely known.

He had been called evil, inhuman, and monstrous for his escapades on the battlefield and off.

Effortlessly he cleared the field, claiming victory after victory for England; spilling colonial blood with less than a flick of the wrist.

Almost as if it were by magic...

He was the boogeyman infuriated mothers told their naughty children to beware lest he snatch and skin them alive.

He was received as a guest of honour into the best loyalist families of South Carolina, Virginia, and Boston where he was praised for his heroism and bravado to his face; but criticized and reviled for the blatant opportunism he used to climb the military ladder when he turned his back.

But their idiotic opinions on his character did not matter to Golde.

Bloodshed did not phase him; whether it be innocent or not.

Some called him heartless and perhaps he was.

After all, what good does having a heart do?

"This person carried papers of an incriminating nature no doubt?"

His tone implied both total boredom and an obvious disinterest for the matter at hand.

"Yes sir."

Golde silently raised his left hand and held it out behind him, palm up.

Understanding at once, the officer dug deftly inside of his coat and retrieved a battered parchment envelope.

The General snapped his fingers impatiently, "Before the end of the war if you please Mr. Newnam."

"Yes sir, sorry sir." He bumbled, reverently placing the mud splattered envelope in Golde's outstretched hand.

He did not even bother to turn and face the man.

"Well then gentlemen," he said, the cracking of the weather-worn letter filled the tent as he unfolded it, "let us see what we have..."

The young colonial went rigid in the hands of his detainers; panicked eyes flashed up to the scarlet covered back of General Golde and then to the dusty ground.

Golde quickly read the message and correctly assumed that the badly smudged ink and scrawling, frightening penmanship was the hallmark of supreme haste.

"Major Marlowe has read this?"

"No sir, no one has but you."

"Very good."

Golde tucked the paper safely inside the breast of his dress uniform coat and smoothed it.

He was about to announce for the execution to be held at sunrise, but as he turned to finally face the men he stopped.

The slight figure looking forlornly towards the ground with a large shapeless cap covering all of his head and most of his face gave Golde pause.

He narrowed his gaze, wincing at the boy curiously.

"Hold your head up and look me in the eyes."

The young man continued to glare at the floor in an impudent silence.

"I am inclined to be distrustful of those who refuse to meet my gaze."

Golde nodded slightly to Officer Newnam who promptly jabbed the boy hard in the ribs making his knees buckle, but he caught himself before falling to the floor.

"Here! You'll be doing as the General asks or there's worse where that came from!"

Golde only stared at the prisoner impassively, disgusted with him as he tried to regain some semblance of poise.

Sighing rather dramatically, he rolled his deep chocolate eyes and folded his arms behind his back.

"Come now," the General said as he approached the colonial, "playing stubborn with me will get you nowhere but the point of my rapier."

The lad tensed when he saw the black shining toe's of Golde's riding boots stop less than a foot in front of him.

"If you do not raise your head and look me directly in my eyes I shall have ask Mr. Newnam to raise it for you, and he is not known for his gentility."

Upon hearing this, the young man began to lift his head slowly, afraid that Newnam would strike him, or worse, if he did not obey.

Slowly, he began to lift his young face upward when suddenly and impatiently the General snatched the Accused small chin between his index finger and thumb, roughly jerking the boy's face, locking his own brown eyes with two of the bluest he had ever saw.

Golde studied that petite face with the crystal, unblinking eyes quietly for a few moments; fully taking in the long curling lashes, full, rose shaped mouth, and high, structured cheekbones covered with unusually clear, smooth skin.

He was effeminately handsome; delicate to say the least.

"Pray remove the cap Mr. Newnam."

Golde asked, still observing the out of place face before him.

Newnam complied, hatefully snatching the hideous hat from the boy's head therefore allowing hidden masses of waving maple tresses to escape, falling in fuzzy ringlets to the young man's shoulders.

Golde made an approving little hum and released the rebel's chin.

"You may go now gentlemen," he said dismissively as he retrieved a white lace handkerchief from inside of his sleeve, "but leave the prisoner with me for a spell."

Both of the officers nodded and bowed out of the tent, knowing very well to never question the sometimes strange actions of General Golde.

Now visibly distraught, the colonist watched his captor slowly wipe his hands and dot his forehead with the delicate hankie stitched with a flourishing crimson "R."

He wasn't a big man, probably only around five foot eight or nine.

But he was as imposing and unnerving as Goliath standing before the lad now in full dress regalia with his long hair pulled away from his sharp, condemning face.

Neither of them spoke for a long while.

But Golde could smell the pure fear, rancid and nauseating, as it practically _dripped_ from the rebel.

But it wasn't fear of death...

"Walk to that cot and stop before it." He ordered, finally breaking the stalemate.

Timidly the spy shuffled over to Golde's makeshift bed and halted.

The General noticed the apparent awkward and unnatural stance the prisoner had, as if he were stiffly contemplating each short step.

"Your gait is off, are you wounded?"

He shook his head, answering no.

"Are you mute? Can you not speak?"

Golde again held his arms tight behind his back as he haughtily addressed the prisoner.

Loudly the boy cleared his throat, "No sir." He clipped in an alarmingly _low _register.

One of Golde's brows shot up quizzically, "Pardon?"

Again he cleared his throat before repeating, "No sir," in the same strained depth and forced colonial accent.

"Are you ill?"

The boy started to shake his head, but a warning glare from Golde made him cough a little, then bark out, "_No sir._"

The General's assumptions were mentally being checked off as his eyes scanned down the front of the traitor.

The Colonial's height was childish and mismatched compared with the bulk of his body and large, long feet.

Everything seemed obviously exaggerated; shoulders that were too broad and heavy against long, willowy arms.

The soft pixie face encircled by fat, healthy curls appeared almost conspicuous against the slumped figure.

And that voice...

"Undress one article at a time and place them onto the bed behind you until you are _completely _ nude, do you understand me?"

Golde spoke without blinking, his long aquiline nose and slightly pointed chin gave his face a dark, impish quality.

"_But sir!_"

The lad's voice erupted too high and light, causing Golde to start angrily.

"Do you refuse? For if you find yourself unwilling to follow a simple order I shall dispatch Mr. Newnam here to assist you," he took a step forward and the lantern shadow fell menacingly on his scowling countenance, "and when he finds what truly lies underneath those filthy rags I shan't stop him from acting on impulse."

"_And what, pray, do you think he will find?!_"

The Accused snapped at General Golde with a prominent, feminine change to his voice.

"That you are a woman dressed as a man; a crime against nature itself."

Golde's expression was stony ;betraying nothing of his own emotions, but inside he was congratulating his own incredible instincts.

Defeated, the young soldier cowed his head, "Would you sever these ties that bind my hands?"

A little smirk of satisfaction tickled at the corner of Golde's mouth, but he suppressed it and threw out a frigid, "_Turn 'round then._"

With a quick flick of his blade, Golde watched the rope fall onto the ground.

The woman slowly turned to face her captor with wide, glassy eyes and a violent blush on her cheeks.

"Proceed." He ordered.

She began with the filthy yellow riding gloves that were obviously too large for her small hands, and tossed them onto the cot behind her.

Golde looked at her delicate white hands with cracked, dirty nails and clipped in a cold tone, "The coat."

Her hands went to her chest and quickly began popping the brass buttons undone.

She shrugged the heavy garment off and folded it carelessly before laying it on the bed.

She wore another woolen coat, though not quite as heavy and bulky, underneath her blue uniform jacket along with a rich broadcloth vest.

"Ye Gods! I wonder you haven't smothered in all these dressings!"

Golde rolled his eyes and irritably started pacing back and forth across the small space in front her.

"One can abide many discomforts for a higher call such as mine, sir." She retorted humbly with her beautiful eyes downcast.

He scoffed.

"A higher call? Rejecting your sovereign so that you may live in this primitive wilderness is, to you, a higher call?"

She was now facing him in only her square cut vest, oversized white cotton shirt, shapeless trousers, and muddy boots.

"We are our own nation now sir, we have a declared our independence and one day this _wilderness_ shall be more cultured, more cosmopolitan, than your beloved London."

Neatly she plucked the tortoise shell buttons of the vest and folded it atop her two coats and gloves as she spoke, not seeing the perturbed expression on General Golde's face.

"By God you do give your opinion freely," he stilled and shot her an unpleasant look, "but I strongly suggest that you curb your treasonous tongue lest you find it missing."

A chill ran through her at his malicious words, but she shook it off and started unbuttoning her shirt, seemingly undaunted by Golde's threat.

"He's got quite a bark," she mused to herself, "but I wager his bite is quite laughable."

With an airy wave of his hand the General said tightly, "Pray continue."

The young woman rose slightly trembling fingers to the top button of her blouse, then stopped.

"Would you turn your back please?" She whispered, trying to sound brave despite the painful stab of humiliation she felt in her heart.

Golde replied stoically, "You do not possess a novelty under those bandages, and as for modesty, you lost that when you cropped your hair and donned a rebel uniform. Now disrobe."

If he had been any other man she would have killed him then.

But he wasn't any other man, and so she obeyed.

Slowly, methodically, she undone every button, both angry and ashamed that this man was using his power to make her feel inferior and worthless.

When the girl finished, she parted the shirt to reveal her entire torso wrapped tight in wide muslin bandages starting underneath her arms and ending at the waistband of her breeches.

She did not look to Golde even though her cheeks burned and embarrassed tears pricked her eyes.

"

"_Do the brave thing..." _A voice from deep within her soul said.

The colonial girl was petite; her figure reflected the imprint of years in an oppressive whale-boned corset and now that she had been found out, an old posture, long forgotten, made her back straighter and her head a little higher.

If General Golde couldn't tell before by her voice and choice of wording, he could see now by her change in carriage that this young woman was a lady of genteel birth.

"A Planter's daughter perhaps..." He thought to himself, eyeing the dirtied muslin strips that mashed her breast's flat against her ribs like a small boy.

She reached under her left arm and untucked a corner of the muslin, keeping her eyes low as she began the familiar process of unbinding.

Golde ceased his pacing, choosing now to still in thoughtful observance as a little reddened tissue of her breast came into view.

"All the way." He said with a slight nod when her hands stopped just below the top of her bosom.

Deep creases and indentations littered her breasts and ribs from the frequent binding.

She inhaled deeply, momentarily forgetting the General's austere presence as she felt the rush of free breath spread her sore ribs deliciously.

Her body was hunched, bent in the middle, slightly obscuring her breasts from his gaze.

"Stand up straight!" He snapped.

She dropped the bandages immediately and stood facing him with her hands nervously fisting the dirty burlap of her trousers.

Her naked torso with full, round breasts echoed the marble anatomies of ancient Roman goddesses General Golde had seen in museums and art catalogues.

Her slender neck curved down to meet two perfectly squared shoulders; the velvet under skin of her breast lay against her ribs with soft, pink, upturned nipples.

Her stomach looked smooth and round; her waist was tiny enough he could probably slip his arms around it and still be able to clasp his hands together at the small of her back.

His upper lip twitched, "Your breeches if you please."

A shocked, wounded look came over her face; the arched brows knitted in indignation and her blue eyes narrowed.

"_But sir!_"

Golde touched the handle of his sheathed knife in warning, "Remove your breeches or I shall cut them from you myself."

Something in his eyes made her sure that he would, so she complied.

Making quick work of her boots she kicked them to the side, glad to be rid of them and their paper stuffed toes.

Her breasts moved slightly with each nervous breath and her nipples stood pinched and erect in the cool night air.

Golde remained impassive.

"A stone wall hell bent on humiliation." the girl thought to herself, working the thick leather belt through the loops.

Her breeches were easy to remove but she was ashamed by their filthiness.

Underneath them she wore baggy white linen under drawers that reached well past her knees and buttoned up the sides.

The only human being that had ever saw her naked body had been Eloise, the Caribbean beauty that spoke fluent French her father bought to be her ladies maid when they were naught but children.

Now a man who wasn't her husband, or even a lover, would see her in her entirety.

As she undone the little buttons holding her under drawers together the girl thought of what her maid might say in a moment like this and suddenly her hands weren't shaking as bad.

General Golde felt stuffy in his scarlet dress coat and fought against loosening the cravat in an effort to feel a bit of cool air on his neck and chest.

Carefully, the girl stepped out of her underthings and bore her body to him.

It was like a swift blow had been dealt to him; just looking at her luxurious hair, the piercing blue eyes, round hips meeting with plump thighs and the little nest of dark whispy down made Golde's head pound and lungs ache for breath.

His eyes scanned every inch of her feminine body while her hands rested flatly on the sides of her thighs.

It had been many years since Golde had beheld a woman so beautifully made.

Not even his own wife, now living in her home country of France with their son, possessed such a lushness.

Turning, the spell suddenly and rudely broken by the unwelcome image of his wife, he huffed a command of, "That is quite may dress."

She hastily grabbed up her underclothes and shirt, relieved that he appeared satisfied with her for the moment.

General Golde walked to his writing desk, his back to the young woman as she yanked on her trousers and done up her blouse.

"What is your name girl?"

He drummed his long fingers on the desktop as he spoke, an unnerving sound that made her pause.

"I haven't got all night you know." He snapped curtly after a few delayed seconds of silence.

"George Howe sir."

Golde sighed and pinched the bridge of his long nose between his thumb and index finger.

"Your _birth _name, if you please."

"There is no reason why I should give it to you, George Howe is sufficient enough."

The General's hand came down with a loud slap atop the mahogany desk, making her start.

"_You are in my possession now! You will answer me or-_"

He stopped and the tent fell quiet.

Golde felt fat beads of perspiration dot his hairline and brow, but he didn't raise his handkerchief to wipe them away.

The young woman stood glaring at the black ribbon holding his long brown hair back.

"I am Elizabeth Isabelle Howard of Virginia."


End file.

Once Upon a Time, Hurt-Comfort, Romance