Redcoats!

Fortuna once again smiles upon Randy Fuller. Struck by the great beauty of the maid Marlton he hesitates for a bit, with just enough time to hear the faint sound of a military snare drum. A redcoat troop is approaching, and if it wasn’t for Charlotte’s rustic elegance, he would have surely been captured.

By the distinct sound of the drum Randy recognizes it to be from the 43rd Regiment of Foot, which patrols these roads. More than once the Black Brand has made the fool of the gormless lobster-backs in their ham fisted attempts to capture him. The regiment’s colonel has become so exasperated that he recently replaced the incompetent sergeant tasked with Randy’s capture with a new man of lieutenant grade, one Jonathan Easton. According to the rumors overheard at the Oak Royal tavern, the lieutenant is a recent graduate of New College, Oxford. If the tattle is true, he is a clever and honorable man, though from that dreary Calvinist tradition.

Daring not to move from the cover of the brush, Randy realizes it is a small patrol of men, perhaps only six. So at best a corporal would normally be in charge. The average trooper of His Majesty’s army is more coxcomb than chevalier, especially the lower down the ranks one goes. Judging from the poor quality of his work, the drummer is either terrible at his craft or drunk, probably both. Randy has **** but to remain still and see what matter of fate shall unfold.

Charlotte is just as hesitant as her unseen stalker as King George’s men come marching down the road by the vermilion flowers that grow near the forest. Surely the daughter of Lord Marlton would be safe around soldiers of the Crown? Still she has heard the terrible stories of how the basest commoners are impressed into service against their wills, and without the harshest discipline they are no better than brute beasts. Fretful, Charlotte ponders how to greet the soldiers who now approach.