It was the evening after the battle of Cowpens. Molly had been nervously pacing the camp for hours. Something was not sitting right with her. William had a look of finality about him that morning that made her uneasy. As the night grew cold, men started arriving from battle. Molly, among other followers, rushed to see them, hoping the colonel was among them, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Medic's tent…" she murmured to herself, and made haste.

The tent was a piteous sight. The British had taken grievous losses; injured and dying men lay everywhere, but still, she could not spot Tavington.

"Oh William…" Molly murmured, growing frantic. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the colonel's second in command, Captain Wilkins, passing by the tent and called to him.

"Captain!"

Wilkins paused and turned to her.

"Miss Pryce?"

"The colonel; where is he?" she asked urgently, laying a hand on his forearm.

Wilkins looked away and swallowed.

"Miss-"

"Where is he?!"

"He fell. I'm so sorry…"

Molly pulled her hand away from him, hot teardrops clouding her eyes.

"Where can I find him," she asked, shuddering with tears.

"He should be in the medic's tent," Wilkins offered. "Shall I come with you?"

"No, I'll go alone," she turned away.

Returning to the medic's tent, Molly was directed toward where the colonel lay, in a far corner of the tent, completely covered in a white sheet. Molly approached slowly and knelt down, resting her head on him, crying softly, moistening the cloth. Looking up, she pulled the cover back to reveal his countenance, keeping his neck covered. William's eyes were closed, a look of shock and suffering frozen to his pale face, dried blood on his mouth. Molly stroked his cool face, crying even harder.

"William, I'm so sorry…" she whimpered, leaning down to kiss him. "I'm so sorry…"

Nearly three years had passed. Molly had stayed in the colonies, posing as a widow, and got work as a maidservant. She also gave birth to a girl, naming her Saoirse Katherine, after William's mother. The girl looked like her mother, but had her father's telltale eyes and strong will. In some ways, she was a miniature of him.

It was early morning and Molly had requested a break to spend some time with her daughter. Taking Saoirse several miles from the house she worked and lived at, Molly approached a small graveyard where the British fallen lay. Some of the tombstones were ornate, bought by the rich gentry. Near the back of the graveyard on the far left was a simple flat gravestone, with a placard that read: Col. William Tavington, British Green Dragoons, 1746-1781.

Molly knelt down, brushing the gravestone with her hand while Saoirse, growing bored, huffed impatiently, stamping her foot.

"Saoirse, darling, come here," she gestured to her daughter.

"Mama…" the little girl said reluctantly.

"I want to show you something."

Molly's daughter stepped closer and peered at the stone.

"What's that," she asked curiously.

"This is where your father is," her mother replied quietly.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Will he come home?"

"I'm afraid not," Molly replied sadly.

"Why?"

"His place is here."

Saoirse stared at her mother in confusion but quickly lost interest, wandering off to look at other graves. Molly stayed at William's stone, shedding a few tears as she laid a bouquet of daisies, lavender, and willow at the gravesite, kissing the stone softly. Then, getting up from the stone, she turned to her daughter, picked her up and carried her out of the graveyard, leaving William in peace.

A/N: Saoirse- Pronounced "Seer-sha"; it is an Irish name, meaning "Freedom, liberty". It was made popular in the 1920s, but I saw fit to use it here.