A/N: Hey all of you! Glad you decided to stop by and read this story o' mine!
I should say right off the bat, I don't intend on making the chapters too long, roughly 7-10 pages, give or take, so medium length. Plus I've wanted to try out this kind of story/plot for a while now. But this'll be fun! Because of realistic interactions and plot. We don't see enough of those around here. And another thing, don't expect romance right off the bat. Love takes time and effort and awkwardness. So please keep that in mind! Thank you and enjoy!
Full summary:
"You helped me, so I suppose it is only fair if I helped you in return."
"You would be a great asset to the Assassins."
"Let's not get too crazy. I do not work well with others, remember?"
Connor sighed, crossing his arms. Colette rolled her eyes. "Oh! Do not take it so personally, you and I sometimes barely get along enough as it is."
Sighing again, Connor unfolded his arms and looked at Colette. "I am sure we can reach some kind of agreement?" Colette shrugged her shoulders and dipped her head side-to-side.
"Perhaps, depends on who you want me to kill."
Winter, the Northwest Territory (Lake Superior) – 1764
Bezhig, niizh, niswi (one, two, three)… She counted in her head as she took careful steps in the snow, careful not to make too much noise less she would scare the creature away. She counted again in her head, taking slow breaths and watched as her breath fogged in front of her.
Bezhig, niizh, niswi…
She was closer now, hiding in the bush that blended well with the elk hide she wrapped around herself. Taking a quick breath, she drew her bow, aiming the arrow right in the creature's eyes. The hare stood on its hind legs and started sniffing the air as if it were sensing danger. Before it had the chance to runaway, she let her arrow fly loose and it its target, clean – right through the eyes.
She smiled wide, glad of the warm meal she was about to have back in her lean-to. She took out her knife and kneeled beside the hare, saying a small prayer of thanks to the Creator for His gift.
"Migwetch (thank you)," she finished in a low voice, her breath fogging in front of her. The hare was rather plump and would feed her for a day or two if she were smart about the portions she used. But when she thought of the wonderful smell and the greasy taste, her stomach rumbled loudly and she contemplated about eating all of it in one meal. It had been nearly two days since her last meal and she was so hungry…
Sighing, she cleaned her knife and stored the meat in the pouch tied to her waist. Brushing the snow off her knees and legs, she ran a little towards her lean-to in an effort to warm her legs up since they felt slightly numb from being in the snow. Her shelter was small, but since it was just she, it was the prefect size. She didn't want to draw any unwanted company, especially during this time of winter.
After making the fire and skewering the meat, she took big, hungry bites of the hare. She sighed with joy at the taste and licked the grease of her fingers and hands. It all seemed too soon when the meat was finished and so she sat there, huddled in her blankets and furs as she sat by the fire trying to keep warm.
With her belly full and the warmth of the fire, it made her feel sleepy and she felt her eyes droop. Her head slowly began to lean forward and sleep began to consume her. It wasn't until the sun had just barely set when she jolted awake. She looked around, seeing if anyone was nearby and she squinted her eyes to see well in the dark. Behind her lean-to she heard a soft rustling nearby. Covering the smoking embers from the fire and rolling her blankets and furs in one mass, she tied it with a strip of deer hide and carried the bundle, slowly peeking her head out.
It was too dark to make anything specific out, but she could've sworn she saw a figure approaching her lean-to. Strapping most of her things to her back, she climbed the nearest tree to the highest branch that was willing to carry her weight. Clinging to the trunk, she watched the ground below her carefully. She couldn't take any chances – wouldn't take any chances, even if it might've been an animal.
It seemed like an eternity till someone came along. They were soldiers, from what she could tell, French too based on their uniforms. One of them spoke in a careful voice.
"Can't believe some child managed to fight her way out of captivity," he said. "There's no way she could've survived this long in this kind of weather."
"Then why have there been multiple reports of a Native child out here that match her description?" another voice asked, his tone more snapping than the former. "You see this? The fire has been recently snuffed, she must be close but it's too dark to make out any footprints. She has to be close."
"All this trouble over one child? Seems a bit much," a third voice said, this one more tired than the other two.
"She killed a générale dans cette explosion (general in that explosion)! We have orders to bring her in, dead or alive. And I don't know about you two, but I would rather not be hanged," the first voice said sternly. They began to walk underneath the branch she was finding refuge under and she clung tighter to the trunk of the tree, hoping that she would mold into it and be protected further.
Thankful for the darkness, she let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the trunk of the tree, exhausted. From overhearing those soldiers' conversation, she needed to disappear. And fast.
1775 – Davenport Homestead
Myriam sighed as she leaned on her musket, wiping the sweat from her forehead. It had been a hot day in mid-July and a slow day as well for hunting. She had made a few kills here and there, but nothing big. Myriam was trying to hunt down an elk she spotted earlier, but the damned thing kept running away before she got a clear shot. Picking up her musket and placing it on her shoulder, Myriam started walking to where the elk might've gone.
Though she couldn't deny it, it was a rather nice day to loll about and dip your feet in the stream. Myriam thought about doing just that when she felt she made her quota for the day. As she walked through the clearing, a peculiar sight caught her eye. Holding her musket carefully in her hands, Myriam took careful steps, not knowing what to expect from the strange oddity she saw. The closer she got, the more defined it became. Or rather – how defined the woman became. Myriam could smell the blood and rushed towards the woman, kneeling beside the body. There was a deep gashes on the woman's inner thigh. That would've left a nasty scar, Myriam thought in the back of her mind.
The stranger's hair was matted and stuck to her face because of the blood. Tying a tourniquet around the woman's thigh to stop the bleeding and carried her on her shoulders, running as fast as she could. From all that blood loss, the woman was surely close to dying and needed immediate medical attention.
"Dr. White! Dr. White!" Myriam shouted as she ran to his house. Luckily for Myriam he was sitting on that stump in front of his house, smoking a pipe and reading. He looked up and was about to great Myriam until his eyes landed on the body that Myriam was carrying.
"What in God's name…?" the doctor started, leading the way to the tent where he treated his patients. "Set her down there." Myriam did as Dr. White instructed and took a step back so he could get a proper examination. "Where did you find her?" Dr. White asked.
"Out in the brush," Myriam began, a little breathless from the running with the extra weight. "I was trying to reach my quota for the day when I spotted her in a clearing. She lost a lot of blood…"
"That she has," the doctor said as he began to clean the wound and other bloody parts of the woman's body. "But if we act fast enough, she will make a full recovery. I can take care of things from here Myriam." The huntress nodded and slowly walked out of the tent, hoping that the woman would be all right like the doctor said.
Lyle White, in his many years as a doctor, was accustomed to seeing many different wounds and sickness in Boston. But frontier wounds? Those he was still getting used to. The gash on the woman's leg seemed to be caused by a large animal, more than likely a bear. There were smaller injuries all over as well; it looked like a bullet grazed her shoulder and from how the blood was splashed on her clothes and face, it looked to be as if the woman had gotten into a rather violent fight. The gash on her leg looked fresher than the other lacerations on her body.
After addressing the worst of her wounds and stitching the gash, Dr. White began to clean some of the blood off her face and in her hair. She was Native, from what he could see, and possibly something else because her skin was lighter than most Native peoples. Myriam came back a few hours later, carrying some items she found near where discovered the woman's body.
"I found these not far from that clearing," Myriam said as she placed each item carefully. She found a bow and a quiver of arrows, a tomahawk with a steel axe head, a steel knife with a very ornately decorated sheath, a few pouches that contained several herbs for wound treatment, and other miscellaneous items Myriam didn't know. But she had come to the same conclusion that the woman she found was Native, Myriam just didn't know what tribe.
She took a small step towards Dr. White and examined his work. His hands were red from all the blood her cleaned off the woman. "Will she be alright?" Myriam asked.
"Though she lost a lot of blood, I saw no signs of infection since she had wounds from earlier and she seems to be very healthy judging from how fit she is. I would say she's going to make a full recovery, but she will be out for the next day or two and will be very weak," the doctor answered. Myriam nodded, feeling a slight relief at hearing the good news.
"I also went to go tell Connor what happened, but only Achilles was home so I just passed along the message. He said Connor would be back the day after tomorrow and until then, possibly try and figure out what happened," Myriam said. Dr. White nodded, said his thanks and let Myriam get back her work.
Dr. White thought about removing the bloodied clothing from the woman, but decided against it, deeming it improper and that the woman could change into fresher clothes if she choose. Sighing, the doctor cleaned everything up (including himself) and decided on taking a break, returning to his favorite chair to sip a cup of brandy. He earned it, he thought, after an operation like that.
The woman was passed out for two days, and it only seemed appropriate given the condition she was found in. Dr. White had been there when she woke up, checking on her most serious wound to see if it was healing well. The woman slowly opened her eyes and groaned, slowly raising a hand to her face. She made a move to sit up, but Dr. White gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Careful, you lost a lot of blood and I wouldn't get up if I were you just yet," he said. The woman furrowed her eyebrows and slowly lied back down, too tired to put up a fight. She groaned again and sighed, feeling sore all over.
"Where am I?" she asked in hoarse voice. As her sight began to sharpen, she could tell she was in a medical tent and from the view from the entrance, somewhere on the frontier.
"You're on the Davenport Homestead, several miles north of Boston," Dr. White answered in a plain voice as he finished wrapping the bandage around the woman's thigh. "You're very lucky to be alive, you know. You were practically close to death when we found you."
The woman looked confused. "We?" she repeated. Dr. White raised his head at the way she said "we." There was a slight French twinge to it. She must be from Canada, from one of the tribes that traded with the French.
"One of the residents found you and brought you here. I'm a doctor, you see," Dr. White continued. "Sounds like you're a long way from home. May I know as to why you have traveled so far east?"
"No, you may not," the woman replied, her French accent becoming more articulate in her voice. She watched the doctor carefully as he began cleaning up his workstation. "How long have I been asleep?"
"Two days, roughly," he answered easily. Lyle heard the woman huff and curse under her breath. He turned his head and looked at the woman over her shoulder. She looked deeply troubled and looked mad enough to kill.
"I lost him! After two weeks of tracking him and becoming this close, I lost him! Damn Black Elk for getting me distracted and loosing the trail. I bet that this is just what they wanted too… What a mess," the woman said, mostly to herself. Her French accent came an went as she spoke, the doctor noticed, but he was more interested about this "Black Elk" person and this enigmatic person this woman was trying to track down.
"I understand you're upset, but you need to rest. You don't have enough strength to do much right now," Dr. White said, handing the woman a cup of lukewarm tea and some bread with cheese. The woman looked at the man for a moment, before slowly taking the food and drink.
"Merci," the woman said in a small voice.
The doctor nodded, "Je vous en prie (you're welcome)."He stepped out of the tent for a moment, allowing the woman some privacy. Perhaps when she fully healed, he would ask what happened to her to cause those injuries and just leave it at that. As he was walking, a familiar face caught his eye.
"Connor!" the doctor greeted, "Good to see you're back." Connor nodded in reply, saying it was good to be home again. "I trust you're here to meet our new guest?"
"I am," Connor began, walking with Lyle towards the tent. "Achilles told me that Myriam found our… guest in the woods and was injured rather heavily." The doctor nodded.
"She just woke up actually," Lyle said. "Though she still might be slightly disoriented. She did lose a lot of blood and it'll take a while for her to be fully healed again." Connor nodded, taking in the doctor's words and followed him inside the tent. The woman had already finished the food and tea and was finishing dressing herself in the clean clothes Lyle left for her. Granted, they were men's clothes, but beggars couldn't be choosers. It was a simple shirt, a dark green vest and trousers. She didn't mind going barefoot. The woman looked at the pair oddly while she combed through her hair, pulling hard to get the knots out.
"Miss, this is Connor, he is the overseer of the land," the doctor began. It was at that moment Dr. White realized that he never asked for his patient's name. Inwardly slapping himself, he continued. "He just has a few questions for y-"
"I have nothing to say to a Mohowaùuck," the woman said in a rather sharp voice, leaning in the bed to keep her balance as she sat down. Connor gazed at the woman carefully. He was familiar with the word; a word used by many of his tribe's enemies, though one the Mohawk have never gone to war with. The slight French twinge in her voice helped in narrowing down where she was from.
"If you are worried I am here to cause trouble or something to that effect, do not worry. I was only passing through till I passed out from loosing too much blood," the woman answered. There was truth in her voice, that much Connor could tell. He crossed his arms.
"I heard that you had been attacked earlier, after you had been found," Connor said. "May I ask who attacked you?" The woman looked at him with a raised brow. Why did this man care to know who attacked her? It was none of his concern seeing as they weren't after this Mohawk man, nor would they want to.
"That is too personal of a question to ask," was all the woman said.
"May we at least know your name? I would hate to keep having to call you 'miss' without knowing your name," Lyle said in a polite voice.
"You may call me Colette," the woman replied. A small smile appeared on Dr. White's face.
"A pleasure to meet you Colette," he said before leaving the tent, thinking Connor would want to talk to Colette alone. Connor watched Dr. White leave, and then turned his head back to the woman sitting in front of him. She was rather pretty, with a high forehead, a round-ish face with prominent cheekbones, golden brown skin, and strong, green eyes.
"You called me Mohowaùuck, I take it you are Algonquin?" he asked. She nodded. "What nation?"
"Ojibwa, Chippewa, whichever you prefer. I am sure it is all the same to the Iroquois," Colette answered in a simple voice, seeing no harm in his question. "Though I prefer Anishinaabe, seeing as that is what my people call ourselves. I should mention, again, I do not intend to stay here long; you need not worry about me causing trouble. I need to get moving as soon as possible."
"Why hurry?" Connor said. "You need to recuperate, to get well again. It would be unwise to leave when you are not fully healed."
"That is what you say, but I rarely listen to anyone nowadays. I cannot waste time sitting here for days while there is work to be done. I need to leave as soon as possible; only I can decide that."
"Is that what has brought you so far east? You are an awfully long way from your people."
"You could say that, yes," Colette began. "But I am going to leave it at that. I have nothing more to say to a Mohowaùuck." Connor inwardly huffed, but seeing as Colette didn't know where she was, it was understandable that she didn't want to talk much.
"We will talk more then," Connor said walking out of the tent.
"If I feel like talking," Colette replied in a cool voice.