Chapter Three;
Interim
"In war, discipline can do more than fury." Niccolo Machiavelli
Idiot, Connor thought to himself. He knew she would make a run for it! Never should he have cut her binds free... Connor found the situation to be entirely ironic. Here was this woman, who seemed to him quite cold and merciless, mad at him for killing a Regular, despite the many questionable deeds she herself had committed. Leading the horse into a sprint, he retraced the steps he had seen her take, and it wasn't long before he spotted her running along the path. As he pulled the horse to a skidding stop, he cut her off, bringing forth a small agitated scream from her lips.
Cora had not intended to actually escape – she still had her plan to accomplish, after all, but she still felt like getting as far away from him as possible. Thankfully, she had run most of her anger away, but still couldn't stop her seething glare from finding its constant subject.
Part of Connor wanted to leave her here in the forest, to be rid of her infuriating ways, but the possibility that she held information about Lee was too important an opportunity to pass up. The Assassin dropped his arm, intending to help her onto the horse, but she crossed her arms in cold refusal.
"I do not need your help, Assassin. I thought I had made that very clear."
Letting out a frustrated, impatient breath, Connor dismounted.
"I do not have time for games. If you are going to be difficult, we should end this now."
Oh, how much she wanted to let it end now... But she had a job to do. She had a plan. She had to finish it, had to get justice – if not for herself, for her family, and for the other people they had harmed. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of winning, she did not look at him, moving instead to the horse without a word.
Connor felt his anger rising at the sight of her back, and he finally grasped fully what a mistake he had made in bringing her along, despite her knowledge. If this was going to work, if she was going to tell them anything, he would need to gain her trust, to make her understand... Perhaps he should be more patient, should soften his approach. Who knew what the woman had been put through, what reasons had made her hate him so fiercely.
He grabbed her arm, and she turned to face him. She struggled beneath his grip, yelling at him to let go, but his grip was like that of iron shackles about her arms.
"Calm down," he said above her shrieking, trying his best not to let his aggravation seep into his words. She opened her mouth to protest, but he shook her gently, speaking again. "Look at me," he demanded, trying to get her attention. Her protests slowed, although he could still see the distrust in her eyes.
In an abrupt motion, he pulled down his hood, revealing his face to her before taking hold of her again. "Look at me," he repeated, his tone more gentle. Finally, she stopped moving, although he could still feel how tense she was below his hands. Her eyes widened for a moment, her eyes jumping about as she took in the features of his face. He was a good looking man, she would give him that, but the real reason she had finally calmed down was the surprising look of kindness in his dark eyes. Everything else about him had radiated such aggression, but in his eyes she found enough gentleness to make her doubt herself, even if only for a moment.
"I do not know what has happened to you, or why you are so intent on hating me despite knowing nothing of me that you have not heard from another. This would be made easier if you would not be so resistant. Once we speak, you have my word that we will find a way for you to make a life you are comfortable with."
The woman gave no response, and Connor was unsure how his words had affected her. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were still looking upon him stubbornly, mistrust still evident on her face.
"If I have done something to offend -"
"You killed those I love," she cut him off sharply, her voice low and full of hate. She jerked towards him as she spoke, rising up and bringing her face closer to his. He let go of her, then, but she did not run. Cora was determined to make him acknowledge his crimes, to admit that he had been the one to tear her life apart.
"I have killed many men," he conceded, looking down for a second, some strange emotion washing over his face that Cora couldn't put her finger on.
"My family," she said, moving impossibly closer to him, her hands in tight fists as she tried to keep it together. The Assassin looked up again, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Is that what they told you?" He seemed to stand taller as he loomed over her, the passive state he had been in disappearing quickly.
"They told me everything," she said darkly, speaking through gritted teeth. "They told me that you sent your men after my father. I was there, I saw it! I watched as they cut him down! I was the child who was forced to run, and then, you went after the rest of them. You killed innocent people, children, unarmed men!"
Connor listened wordlessly, unable to speak with the shock of her words. "I have never done anything of the sort," he said, offended.
"And I suppose I should just take your word for it?"
"What makes you believe they ever spoke the truth to you? Those same men attacked me as a child, harmed my people, and are responsible for more death and evil than you would ever care to know," he said, the calm of his voice a stark contrast with the malicious tone he held. He was so close that Cora could smell the leather in his clothes, and she wanted to hit him, to push him away, to take her anger out... He was lying. What he was saying was impossible! Afraid she would do something she would regret, she walked away, ending the conversation. It would be better for her to let it be, to let him think he had won, and then when the time was right, she would show him exactly how wrong he truly was.
She mounted the horse without a word, scooting as close to the front of the saddle as possible. The Assassin took his place behind her. "Will you run again?" Though his words were calm, she could feel how tense he was.
"No."
The ride was wordless and cumbersome, and when the Assassin told Cora that they were close, she was absolutely relieved. Any kind of torture the Assassin and his followers would inflict on her at their headquarters would be much less agonizing than being forced to ride in front of him, so close she could literally feel him breathing down her neck. The scenery as they got close wasn't something Cora had anticipated. She had figured their headquarters would be somewhere less... remote.
Instead, they rode into a small community. It couldn't really be called a town, for there were few homes, but there were people passing through as well as inhabitants doing their daily chores and work. As they came up to a wooden bridge, Cora began to take in her surroundings as thoroughly as possible.
It was a pretty little settlement, surrounded by hills and beautiful, tall trees. Though she couldn't see it yet, Cora knew by the sweet, heavy smell of salt in the air that the ocean was close by. The locusts called loudly from the trees, their rhythmic chirp a strange comfort to her. Oddly enough, she loved that sound, that ushering in of summer by even the smallest of beings.
As they passed the bridge, two young boys came running, seemingly out of nowhere, waving their hands and calling out.
"Connor's back!" They yelled, the younger one jumping to get his mother's attention. Cora finally spotted the woman at the same time she had looked up from her washing. A strange look spread over the woman's face, and as her sons began to trot onto the path, she called them back, placing a hand on their shoulders as she eyed Cora hesitantly.
The Assassin nodded at her in acknowledgment, though he said nothing. As if his silence was a signal for trouble, the woman leaned down and whispered something into the ears of her children, who obediently turned and headed towards what Cora assumed to be their home. It was funny to Cora, that the woman seemed to look at her as if she was the danger, and not the Assassin. Did she know nothing of what he and his Order had done? What sort of trance did this man have these people under?
As they continued slowly on the path, anxiety began to tighten its grip on Cora's heart. What would he do to her, once he had her completely in his clutches? Was there even a way to earn his trust? Would she waste away, trying for months in vain in an attempt to win his favor so that she could carry out her plan? So many questions, none of them possible to answer...
When Connor dismounted, he glanced up at the woman, trying to gauge what her reaction would be. Her eyes met his fleetingly, and for a moment he saw the smallest trace of fear reflected back at him. But then it was gone, replaced by hardened features, by contempt and stubbornness.
He watched her as she swung her leg over the horse, hopping to the ground easily. Though she refused to meet his eyes, he knew she was waiting for him to instruct her.
"This way," he said wearily, gesturing for her to enter the house.
It wasn't at all what she had been expecting. The house was large, and admittedly quite beautiful. It was well furnished, and seemed to be well lived in. She stopped suddenly, glancing into the kitchen, the smell of fresh baked bread distracting her from all else.
The memory gripped her tightly, rending her incapable of speech or movement. It was as if her mother was there before her eyes, pulling a loaf of sweet bread out of the little stone oven. Maebh came around the corner, dark brown curls bouncing as she begged to be the first to try it.
"Not now, bláth beag. You will hurt your mouth," her mother warned gently.
"Awhh," Maebh whined loudly. "But mama!"
When their mother had left the room, needing to sit down to relieve the burden that her swollen belly put on her feet, Maebh had tiptoed to the table, mischief in her eyes. Up she went on the tip of her toes, reaching... reaching... the tips of her fingers finally found the bread, reeling back as she touched it.
"You had better not," Cora warned, looking up from the potatoes she had been cutting in preparation for dinner. After sticking out her tongue, she tore the smallest piece of the loaf, plopping it into her mouth, a satisfied look on her face.
It was moments before she screamed, forcing her tongue out of her mouth as if the air would somehow sooth it. Their mother had rushed in, worry all over her face.
"What? What is it?"
Maebh said nothing, only making strange grunting sounds as she hopped around, trying to distract herself from the pain. Their mother's eyes drifted from Maebh to Cora to the missing piece off of the bread, putting two and two together.
Instead of reprimanding Maebh, she burst into laughter, holding the swell of her pregnant stomach as if to keep it in place as she shook with laughter.
"'ot -unny," Maebh yelled, tongue still hanging out of her mouth as she looked both disappointed and embarrassed at having been proved wrong.
As Cora fell into laughter as well, her mother crossed the room, dropping a kiss on the heads of both daughters before preparing a glass of water for Maebh.
When Connor turned, the woman was standing near the kitchen, eyes lost in some faraway place. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and when her head snapped in his direction, again he saw the smallest bit of vulnerability. But just as before, it was gone in an instant.
"Stay right there," he muttered before making his way to find Achilles.
As he had predicted, he was sitting in his chair, head tilted to the side in sleep. Sighing, he reached out to shake his shoulder, wishing the old man had not fallen asleep. Achilles was always cranky if you woke him, and Connor wasn't in the mood to deal with it.
When Achilles' eyes finally opened and he became conscious enough of his surroundings to notice Connor, he sat up straighter, grabbing for his cane and pulling himself to his feet.
"Connor! I didn't hear you come in," he said, his voice rough.
"There is something I must tell you," Connor said, skipping the greetings. As he explained the situation to Achilles, the old man's face grew weary and grim, as if he was quite hesitant to meet this woman at all.
"Where is she," he finally asked.
"In the hall."
"She – what!" Sighing wearily, Achilles moved Connor aside with his cane, grumbling as he made his way into the hall. Bringing her here! Of all the foolish things that boy had done...
When he caught sight of the girl, he was unsure what to make of her. The Templars recruiting women to seduce and kill was news to Achilles, and he approached the situation wearily. It must have been something one of the lower ranking Templars had managed – he couldn't see Haytham or Lee overseeing such a project. Hickey, perhaps, but he was long dead.
"What is your name, girl?" His brow was furrowed as he watched her, his suspicious eyes scrutinizing her every move.
She was silent for a few moments, as she took in the situation. The man, old and obviously not in the best condition of his life, held an obvious role over Connor, who stood behind him, hands clasped in front of him, chin lifted as he peered down at the situation unfolding before him.
"Cora Anderson," she said slowly, figuring that at this point, a false name wouldn't do her any good. Then, she had to suppress a laugh at the irony of what she had just thought.
Cora wasn't her real name – not even close. When she had arrived at the Templar headquarters and found she was not the only woman there, it had almost been a comfort. There were only two others – Hannah, who was almost ten years older, and Jane, who was about Cora's age. Oliver, the man who was the overseer of their training and upkeep, insisted that she not go by her own name. Cora had been the most stubborn of the three, the hardest to break, and so he did his best to strip her of every part of her past life, even taking her own name from her.
It was Hannah who had given the suggestion.
"What about Cora," she asked one day, not a week after Cora had arrived. Hannah had taken quite well to the girl, stepping in almost as a mother figure, just as she had with Jane. "My mother was named Corinna, but my father called her Cora. I always planned to use it for my daughter one day, but..."
She didn't have to finish for Cora to know what she was going to say.
"Would you like to tell me why you are here," Achilles asked politely, still looking at her wearily.
Not really, she thought. But she did anyway.
"He seems to believe I may have some information that will be useful to you," she said, gesturing to the Assassin and doing her best not to give him a disgusted look.
"And do you?"
For some reason, Cora didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth, only to close it again, words caught in her throat. Ordering herself to answer him, she opened her mouth again, but still she did not know what she should say and what was wise to keep to herself. She should have thought about this on the way here, and cursed herself for not doing so. Now she looked like a bumbling idiot.
"Hmm," the older man said, eying her carefully. "Well then, follow me."
The younger Assassin unclasped his hands then, shock exploding over his features. His mouth practically gaped open as he watched the old man lead her up the stairs. Cora had to suppress a satisfied smile. His disgusted reaction was enough to calm her contempt for at least the rest of the evening.
"It's not much, but this will do for now," the old man said, waving her into the room with his cane. "There's a small cot around her somewhere. I will have Connor bring it up shortly."
Then, he was gone, not even waiting for a response. It wasn't as if she would have given him one anyway, but the man's directness still intrigued her. Even more intriguing was the room he had placed her in. It wasn't much, just a table in the middle of the room, a few chairs, and some paintings and flags covering the walls.
What had really caught her eye was the door. Upon investigation, she was more than surprised to learn that the old man had put her in a room with such an easy escape route. It was impossible to deny the temptation, especially once she had walked out onto the large balcony.
It would have been easy, to hop over the railing, to drop down, steal a horse and ride off. She would be long gone before anyone even noticed. It was an alluring thought, until she realized she would have nowhere to go, anyway. Sighing, she swung her legs over the railing, sitting on top and letting her legs dangle off.
It was beautiful from up here, she had to admit. Despite having to be so close to the Assassin, having to spend who knows how long to win his favor, despite everything, at least she would be able to find some solace on this balcony. Likely, she would spend her time sketching the scenery.
Sketching. Panic filled her as she threw herself back onto the balcony, frantically searching her skirts for the telltale hardness of the book in the pocket she had sewn in. Though she knew it wouldn't be there, when her hands finally found the empty pouch of fabric, her heart sank. Her whole life was in that book! Everything she held dear...
Cora had not cried in six years – she wasn't some delicate weeping woman, pushed into tears by her favorite sewing needle being misplaced. But if there was ever a time she felt like crying, this was it.
As she looked back towards the door, she spotted the Assassin there. Her despairing heart turned instantly cold at the mere sight of him. It was all his fault, anyway! It had probably fallen out in the house she had taken him to, while they had been fighting. First he had taken her family, her life, her future... And now he had taken the only thing of value that she had left.
Connor had walked in to set up the cot that the old man had him dig out of storage, but at the sight of the door ajar and the woman seeming to be about to make her escape, he had dropped it, readying himself to go after her until she had jumped back onto the balcony, rustling her skirts as if an animal had run into them.
With the way she was looking at him, he thought she might very well try to kill him then and there, even unarmed and cornered as she was.
"Achilles told me you would be staying here. I brought the cot up," he told her, ignoring the obvious raging in her eyes.
"And where do you live," she asked finally, crossing her arms defiantly.
"Across the hall."
Her eyes flew open in response, her face conveying both disgust and a trace of fear. Connor rolled his eyes and sighed, so exhausted with her constant attitude.
"I do not know what Achilles is thinking, letting you stay here of all places. But that is his decision, and so I must abide by it."
Why would the Assassin have to answer to the old man? Unless...
"He is the Mentor?"
Cora had been told many things about the Mentor – that he was cruel, soulless, merciless. Told that he had told the Assassin to order the attack on her father. But that old man, hunched over his cane, who had not pressed her for answers... It didn't make sense.
"Yes," the Assassin replied, raising his brow at her as if in skepticism. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Quite the contrary, actually. Cora was slightly relieved – once she had killed the Assassin, taking out the old man would be easy. Though of course, she did not voice this. She was trying to gain the Assassin's trust, after all.
"Of course not," she said, her tone falsely gentle. "He is just... Not what I expected."
Connor kept his eyes on her for a moment, not sure what to make of her suddenly agreeable temperament. The woman stood there before him, wide eyed, one hand gripping the railing as if she was trying to keep herself from falling over. It was strange to him, how someone could go from being so hostile and filled with rage to seeming so quiet-natured. What a strange woman she was.
"Achilles will likely insist you come down for dinner," he finally mumbled, giving her a curt nod before ducking out of the door and disappearing.
Still unsure what to make of her, he made his way downstairs. Achilles stood expectantly by the bottom of the stairs, looking up when he heard the creaking of the steps.
"How did it go?"
"She is strange," Connor replied, following Achilles as he went to sit down.
"In what way?"
"She was so hostile and defiant before. Now she is so... calm."
Achilles chuckled, as if at some secret joke. "You really have no experience with women," he commented. "Anyhow, I believe we should give her some time before we begin asking questions. Perhaps in time she will come to us willingly."
Connor made a face, surprised by what the old man was saying. "This is unlike you."
"Each situation must be dealt with in its own way, Connor. The way to handle the threat of your father and Lee is much different than the way to deal with this woman."
"I do not understand." Connor shifted his weight, crossing his arms. How did Achilles not see that she was potentially just as much a threat as Lee? And she was on the homestead! Would he really willingly keep danger here? "If you saw how she was before, maybe you-"
"Connor," Achilles interrupted. "Do you deny that it is wise to analyze each situation on its own? If I had not, you would not be standing here today."
Defeated, Connor sighed, slumping slightly. Why was he surprised, though? The old man won often, and today was no different, except that this time Connor was too mentally exhausted from dealing with Cora to argue with Achilles.
"What would you have me do?"
"Be patient. From what you told me before about her seeming to be reluctant to go back, I doubt she will try to run. Remember that not everything is as it seems. Including this girl, I suspect."
It killed her not to have her sketch book with her. It was the only thing that had kept her sane since she had found it in the room she had been kept in, stowed carelessly into a drawer. At first, it was her family that she had made sketches of. Her father, her sisters and brother, their little home. She had tried to draw her mother, but could never get it right, each attempt missing the eyes or the lips where she had given up. Realizing she could no longer remember her mother's face had been difficult, but she had supposed it was to be expected.
Later, she had filled it with drawings of Hannah and Jane, even of some Templars she had seen often enough to sketch. The task calmed her, the mindless strokes of the hand keeping the fears and memories at bay, passing the time...
Without it, she felt naked, like part of her was missing. Her hand craved the feel of the chalk in her hand as she transferred lines onto the paper, curves and shades that would be the same no matter what happened. Her sketches were constant, reliable, comforting. With them gone, she felt as if everything would begin tumbling out of control.
The voices of squealing children drew her out of her despondence. Upon further investigation, it seemed to be the same boys she had seen by the bridge, only this time they were running around, yelling the Assassin's name as he walked towards the stables. Before he had a chance to respond, they had latched themselves onto his arms, laughing maniacally as he lifted them off the ground, feigning effort as he let out a strained groan. The boys, delighted that they believed they had been hard to lift, only laughed harder as the Assassin walked forward, loudly declaring that they had grown a foot each since he had last been here.
Cora raised her eyebrows, taken aback by his indulgence of the children's affections. He had seemed so hard and stern to her, and yet before her eyes he was playful as the subject of attention for those two boys. Doubt, cold and merciless as it was, crept into her heart, demanding answers to questions she didn't want to know the answer to.
As the Assassin had predicted, the old man asked for her to join them at dinner. Yet instead of joining them, she stayed in her room, her mind too occupied to play nice. She could start wooing them tomorrow...
When the next day came, though, she still confined herself to her room. To both her surprise and relief, none came to bother her, to interrupt the solace she had taken in the solitude, however temporary. Both the Assassin and the old man had eventually showed up, though, with offers of food or invitations to join them, but she never answered them, mostly out of pride. Though she knew eventually she would have to talk to them, to converse with them, eat with them and ultimately befriend them, it would be on her terms. Not theirs.
While rummaging through drawers and cabinets, she had managed to find paper and a nearly dry inkwell and quill. It was funny how the simple task of drawing could calm her so easily. When the panic and anxiety had began to set in, the worries that Oliver would find her or that the Assassin would take her back, she had taken comfort in the feel of the pen against paper, the meticulous lines suddenly forming the shape of the stables, the trees... Though using ink to draw was not something she had done, it was at least better than nothing.
She had been in the middle of crafting the precise curve of a horse's back when she heard the door creak open. Startled, she nearly crumpled the paper in her hands, setting it aside only after taking a breath in preparation for dealing with the Assassin.
"What is it," she said flatly, wiping her hands on her skirt.
"Achilles insists that you join us for supper."
"Tell him I am ill," she sighed, trying to slump over for good effect.
The Assassin rolled his eyes.
"I will see you downstairs."
As he shut the door, Cora had to repress the desire to kick something. That man would be her undoing. The last thing she wanted was to go downstairs and be civil with those men, to smile and give good graces. Though indeed, the time to begin to gain their trust was slipping away each moment she stubbornly kept herself shut away in this room.
Sighing loudly, she gathered her drawings, laying them gently on the small table in the middle of the room. As she looked down at herself, she was sure that she was in no way presentable for any kind of formal meal. Blood stained her chemise, her hair and face were laden with dirt, and she was not sure she smelled too pleasant after the events of the past few days.
Oh well, she thought smugly. They asked for me, they can have me, in all of my glory.
After fashioning her hair in a quick braid down her back, she made her way downstairs, trying her best to look warm and docile, but failing terribly.
"Ah, Cora," the old man said warmly, motioning with his cane to an empty chair at the table. The Assassin looked almost as uncomfortable as she, but Cora pretended not to notice.
"Thank you," she responded with feigned kindness, voice strained.
As she took her seat, Connor gave a heated look to Achilles, who in turn gazed back at him with a reprimanding look, as if to tell him to behave himself.
"I hope to hear that your stay here has been pleasant," Achilles said, eyes focused on his food. Shaking his head slightly, Connor turned his attention to his own plate, picking at his food as he wondered why the old man was being so pleasant with that woman.
"Of course," she muttered, hands mindlessly pulling her bread apart. "I apologize for keeping myself away for the past few days. I... had to think some things through."
Connor eyed her suspiciously. There was something off about her, something strangely insincere even about the way she placed the bread in her mouth. Perhaps he was being too hasty in his judgments, but something did not sit right with him. Frowning, he again glanced in Achilles' direction, wondering how he had managed not to notice. Usually it was the old man who had these hunches, not him.
For the rest of the meal, all three ate in an uncomfortable silence. Cora excused herself before either of the men, claiming she was tired. The old man, to Cora's dismay, finally decided to call her in for a talk though, and made her promise to come down again the next day. She agreed.
About what they would speak, though, she had no idea. Would he finally press her for information about the Templars? And if he did, what would she say? How much could she give up without compromising herself or them, yet still gain their trust?
It was enough to make her head hurt, and she crawled into the little cot promptly, hoping to occupy her mind with sleep instead of such thoughts. Instead, her body was as restless as her mind, and the only way she could think to calm it was to walk around, perhaps try to find a drink of water.
Cora had always been light of foot, but she felt as if she was romping down the stairs like a monster with the amount of creaking the steps made. Luckily, it seemed like all were asleep, and so she continued into the kitchen, checking everywhere for the pitcher of water she had seen at dinner. As her hands fumbled blindly around the kitchen, she heard footsteps and froze.
When she finally turned, she saw just enough of the figure to know it was the Assassin. Frozen where she stood, she stared at the corner of the wall, waiting to hear a door open or see him come into the kitchen. Instead, he seemed to have disappeared. After what sounded like footsteps on stairs, she heard nothing more. Stepping lightly, Cora made her way across the room and peered behind the wall.
What she saw left her mouth agape.
Indeed, he had disappeared, into a basement that was obviously meant to be secret. The candlestick was ajar, the wall flung open as if it was a door, a staircase descending into dull light. Her curiosity beckoned, but obviously it was unwise to go there when the Assassin was there. Being alone with him in a small dark space did not seem like a very safe idea.
Still, though, she wondered what was so important to be hidden in that room. Assassin secrets, perhaps? It was likely, and she knew she would have to go down there eventually.
Perhaps she should wait for the Assassin to take her there on his own, once he trusted her, but that could take weeks, and if Cora found valuable information, perhaps she could get word to Henry or one of the others whom she had befriended. Cora almost laughed as she considered how careless the Assassin had been, not even bothering to be sure the house was secure before potentially exposing things his Order tried to keep hidden. Perhaps there were even plans, plans that could be... misplaced.
As she crawled back into the cot, feeling quite satisfied with herself for finding the secret of the house, she fell into an easy sleep, looking forward to the opportunity to further destroy the Brotherhood through ways they would never even see coming.