Chapter Four;
Out of Place
"I fear a cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds has gone beyond recall or desire."
Éowyn in J.R.R Tolkien's Return of the King
The house was quiet when she woke – frighteningly so. It was a silence so still, so void, that it took her a full five minutes just to get to her feet, for fear that someone would hear her. She had slept restlessly, waking often, tossing in sleep, bursting into short moments of consciousness in the midst of sweat and heat. Finally, though, with the room beginning to lighten, she forced herself to get up.
Throwing her arms back, she stretched, letting each vertebrae fall back into place after a night spent with tangled limbs trying to fit like puzzle pieces on that small cot. Her feet were light on the wood of the floor, but still she couldn't stop the boards from creaking as she crept down the stairs, praying with all of her being that the Assassin would not hear her and come to investigate. A few moments to herself was all she needed to prepare herself to begin to play nice with him.
When she finally felt the dampness of the morning air on her skin, she breathed a soft sigh of relief. Just as she had began to pull the door closed behind her, she turned back and glanced at the stairwell, imagining what was beneath those stairs. Regrettably, though, this was not the time to indulge her curiosity. The Assassin would surely wake soon, and if he caught her, there would be hell to pay.
Cora wasn't sure where she was going as she wandered around aimlessly, trying to awaken her still sleep fogged brain. Oddly, she had lacked focus lately. Normally she had such a clear mind – a rigid list of tasks and an obvious way to achieve them. She had become comfortable with the consistent expectations of her life in Boston; be assigned a job, plan, carry it out perfectly, doing whatever it took to be successful. Whatever it took... Yes, she had done things that would seem unspeakable now, among this little homestead where people lived and worked and kept their families. It was all so normal, so enticing, so frighteningly inconsistent...
At least back in Boston, she knew what to expect at all times. If she was successful, Oliver would perhaps leave her alone. If she brought back extra information or did exceptionally well, sometimes he would even give her chalks and pastels or extra paper for her sketches. The delight that filled her when she would receive this seemed to linger weeks, sustaining her sanity more than she would have liked to admit. Sometimes, he would even allow Henry to come and spend time with her. He worked as a guard in the place she was kept, but he was a good man, and Cora often wondered why he was working for the Templars, though she never questioned his intentions or how he came to be there. He was kind to her from the beginning, always sneaking her more food or exchanging a joke when no one else was looking.
Sometimes, he would sneak in at night when he was bored and the guards were having dinner, and try to make her laugh with his poor attempts at sketching. He always said he felt out of place with the other guards, and on breaks he would seek her company instead. Once, they had sketched each other out of boredom. Her drawing of him was immaculate, almost as if it was a reflection in a mirror – as soon as he had seen hers, he had clutched his paper to his chest, shaking his head as she tried to snatch it from him. When she finally took it from him, she couldn't help but laugh – her eyes were lopsided and her lips looked like a pair of fish. Embarrassed, he had almost become frustrated with her, but eventually he had joined her in uncontrollable mirth.
Yet no matter how content and maybe even a little happy she felt sketching and spending time with Henry, it could never make up for the horrors she endured when she failed. First there would be the beatings, then the threats. Oliver would bring up her family – those who were not dead, that is – and would threaten he would harm them. He would tell her she had nothing, was nothing, could be nothing. All she was was his to use as he wanted, any way he wanted. Even if she escaped, no one would want her – with no family, she would never receive a proper dowry. Scarred, she would be considered ugly. No longer a virgin, she would never be good enough to marry. Perhaps she was so damaged she could never bear children, a thought that destroyed her at first. The first few years with the Templars, all she had dreamed of was to escape somehow, to marry and have a family. Eventually though, Oliver had taken that away from her, too.
Those weren't even the worst things he had said to her. It hurt at first, but over time she had accepted most of his words as truth and blocked out anything else. After the threats and demeaning words, he would beat her again. If she was lucky. Other times, he would rape her. At first, she had thought it was for his own pleasure, but then she realized it was nothing more than a tool to keep her in her place. He reminded her of that often, telling her how he could never find pleasure in her ugly face.
Hannah and Jane would care for her afterward, just as she would care for them when the roles were reversed. When they were gone, though, she was often left to suffer alone. Once, she had fallen unconscious on the unforgiving stone floor of her room, and had woken days later, tucked into the little cot she had. Head pounding, limbs aching, she had hauled herself to her feet, looking around the room. The pool of blood was larger than normal, and she immediately ran her hands over her body, looking for the source. Instead, she found herself bandaged and clean, a perplexing thing to discover since Hannah and Jane were no longer with her. Her sketch book lay on the drawer, open to a drawing she had made just before going on the mission. It was one of Henry, unfinished, only eyes, a nose and lips. An astounding tenderness filled her as she imagined him peeling her off the floor, wiping away the blood gently, bandaging her. For the first time in a long time, she had felt tears wet her eyes.
The next time they had met, she kissed him. Their relationship turned quite serious after that, though neither would acknowledge it to anyone else. It was conducted in secret, their liaisons dangerous and therefore even more exciting. Often, she wondered if she loved him, but decided against it. He could not love her, and so she held herself at an emotional distance. Now, though, so far away from him, she couldn't help but wonder if he missed her or worried for her.
Sighing, she turned her attentions away from that... She wouldn't go back there, not even for Henry, if he even had ever wanted anything else but the pleasure her body gave him. Part of her still held out hope though, that perhaps there was even the smallest sliver of Henry that wanted to love her.
But those thoughts were useless. They would do nothing to her but give her more pain, more disappointment... They were best left unthought and not dwelled on. All they would do is more damage, anyway.
"Hey, you!"
Startled, Cora jumped, mind scrambling as she was forced out of her memories.
"Hey!"
Eyes still wide with shock as her brain struggled to make sense of this man, Cora did nothing but stare at him. He was a stout fellow, bearded, with a kind look in his eye. Cora guessed he was a craftsman of some sort, what with the apron he wore around his waist.
"Hello, miss! I don't think I've seen you around here before!"
Cora shifted her feet uncomfortably, unsure how to answer.
"I am staying in the manor," she said finally, voice unusually timid.
"Ah! So you know Connor, then!"
"Well... Yes, I suppose."
"Do you happen to know where he is?"
"No," she said, still trying to take in the man's bluntness in coming up to her. "I apologize."
"Ah, no need. He's probably still asleep. Exhausted, most likely, from all the things he does in his spare time," the man said with a small chuckle, as if sharing some secret between friends.
Furrowing her brow slightly, Cora looked at him, trying to hone in on the man's intentions.
"Oh, forgive me! My name is Lance O'Donnell! I live just up the way." Sticking out his hand, he looked at her, eyebrows raised in expectation.
"Cora Anderson." She returned the gesture, doing her best not to give too hard a grip.
"So you're the girl everyone has been talking about! There have been rumors, let me tell you, but everyone is eager to meet you."
Cora opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, but a gruff voice interrupted.
"Good morning, Lance," the old man said, his voice just beside her. Startled, she almost jumped away as she wondered how long he had been there.
"Good morning, Achilles! How are you on this fine morning?"
"Well enough." His voice was monotone and disinterested, but that wasn't too odd for the old man. "I see you have met Cora."
"Yes! I was just going to ask if she wanted to come to the inn. The girl looks like she could use some breakfast, and I'm sure the others would enjoy meeting her. Corrine will surely be glad to meet you," he said eagerly, acknowledging her.
"No, I really must get back to the house," Cora said, holding up her hand. "Besides, I am sure that Achilles would not like me to-"
"She would love to," the old man interrupted, leaving Cora's mouth agape. She had been sure he would decline the offer for her! She had been counting on it, and now here he was telling her to go! Impatience rose within her as she narrowed her eyes, looking at him harshly. "It would do you well to get out of that old house," he said, defiantly ignoring the obvious displeasure in her gaze.
"Wonderful!" Lance, pretending to be oblivious to the contemptuous look they shared, attempted to lighten the mood. "Everyone will be so pleased!"
He began to walk away, expecting Cora to follow him, but she stayed put, feet glued to the ground as she wondered what she had just gotten herself into.
Rolling his eyes at her stubbornness, Achilles pushed her forward with his cane, making her stumble forward slightly. She shot him an icy look as she began to walk forward, but he gestured for her to keep going, ignoring her displeasure as she sulked away.
Lance kept up a one sided conversation as they walked to the inn, sputtering some nonsense about folding chairs and flying machines, both of which would supposedly make him rich beyond belief. Cora nodded politely, humoring his overzealous ideas, but inside, her patience was wearing thinner than she thought possible. Hopefully, this would not take long. As they approached the doors of the inn, she took a deep breath, telling herself that being accepted by those who lived in this place would help the Assassin to trust her. With renewed focus, she stepped through the door, game face on as she prepared to put up with what would likely be a bunch of simpletons. Holding in a sigh, she wished now more than ever for Henry's company...
The tavern attached to the inn was quaint, nothing special, but nice nonetheless. At the early hour, few were inhabiting the room. Two men sat across from each other at a table, boisterously arguing over some board game. At the bar, two women conversed, sharing a joke as one picked at a small plate of food, the other wiping down a mug.
Lance led her towards the men first, slapping one on the back in a friendly manner as he took a seat next to him. Despite their obvious presence, the two men continued with their argument, too involved to notice anything else.
"You can't move there, ya dolt!"
"Wha! Yes I can! You said so yourself last time," the younger man, a redhead, protested, defending his move as he moved his hands wildly.
"I did no such thing!"
"Lies! Donae make me knock sense into you!"
"Oh yes, I am so worried now. Wouldn't want you to give me a little scratch when you poke me with your tiny little fist!"
"I'll show you a poke!" The younger man nearly lept out of his seat as he spoke, obviously enraged, and Cora had to stifle a laugh at how ridiculous the men were being. Now that the shouting had become nearly impossible to shut out, the two women had scurried over, and by the looks on their faces, Cora figured this type of thing happened often.
"Now now, Godfrey," the younger woman said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Wouldn't want a repeat of last time! No need to send Terry back to Diana all bloodied up, she's got enough to worry about with the new baby!"
"Yes," the other agreed, turning back to the redheaded man. "How is the little darling? Are Diana and the boys adapting well?"
"Aye," Terry said, obviously calmer at the mention of his family. "The spuds are all doing just fine, she's much calmer than the boys were, lucky for Diana."
Clearing his throat, Lance stood again, gesturing to Cora.
"Forgive my rudeness, but let me introduce Cora. She is staying in the manor with Achilles and Connor."
"Ah!" The older woman enthusiastically turned to Cora, a smile wide on her face. "I've been so dying to meet you, dearie! I'm Corrine, and this is Catherine, Terry and Godfrey."
"Please to meet ya," Godfrey said loudly. "What was your name, again?"
"Cora," she said, voice finally finding its confidence again. "Cora Anderson."
"Sorry lass, I've never been good with names!"
"Not a problem, I have that trouble as well," she lied politely. Of course it was part of her training to remember every detail, but it seemed to fit the situation that she agree with him.
"Welcome to the homestead! We're glad to have ya!"
"How about an ale to celebrate!"
"Oh, of course," Corrine said, clapping her hands with excitement. The woman seemed a bit eccentric, but for some reason Cora already felt slightly fond of her.
Catherine offered her a chair and Cora took it as all fell back into conversation. Lance seemed to be speaking enthusiastically to Terry and Godfrey about his inventions, the two men feigning interest as he told of all the improvements he had made.
"Sorry you had to witness that," Catherine laughed, leaning in close. She was a slightly plump woman with a pretty face, her demeanor much more reserved than Corrine's. "Terry has quite the temper, and Godfrey secretly enjoys bringing it out, so they always seem to be getting into a row about something." Chuckling, she glanced over at him. It was hard to mistake the fondness in her eyes.
"Is he your husband?"
"Oh yes," she nodded. "Nearing twenty five years now! Terry is married to Diana. They've got three children, two boys and a newly born girl. We all live in the same house, so it gets quite crazy oftentimes. The baby had a rough night last night, so the men decided to take some time out. I wanted to stay, but Diana insisted I get out, as well."
"Do you have any children," Cora inquired, trying to keep up the friendly conversation.
Catherine looked down, an odd look crossing over her face.
"Sadly, we were not able to conceive."
Instantly, Cora felt guilt wash over her for bringing it up. Somehow, she almost sympathized with the woman – often she had mourned the children she would never have, the husband who would never love her.
"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"It's nothing, dear. I have long since made peace with it, though I cannot deny it still brings sadness to me from time to time. I have Diana and the children, though, and in some ways I have been able to mother them."
Nodding, Cora twisted her fingers in her lap, suddenly uncomfortable. It had been a long time since she had such normal conversation, and even when she did, she couldn't keep her mind from wondering at the hidden motives of people.
"Here you are, dearie," Corrine said, setting a mug of ale down in front of her. Cora took it graciously, taking a sip to be polite. She didn't mind the taste of ale, but she never had been one to drink in excess, hating the feeling that she wasn't in control of herself.
"Is Achilles treating you well," Corrine asked, laughing slightly. "He can be such a grouch sometimes. I'm sure Connor is treating you nicely, he's such a nice boy."
Cora had to resist telling her that it seemed to be the other way around... She laughed, unsure of how to respond, deciding to let Corrine take her laughter in whatever what she wished.
"Indeed," Catherine agreed, turning back to Cora again. "He saved Terry's life you know. After that, he invited us all to come live on the homestead and we have been here ever since!"
The discomfort was rising in her throat as she listened to the two women praise him as if he was their own son. Mostly, it just confused her. He had been so harsh and impatient with her that it was hard to imagine him doing anything nice.
"Oh, I do hope he will find himself a nice girl soon," Corrine sighed.
As the woman's eyes descended on her, Cora downed half of her ale to keep from having to respond. Catherine could sense her discomfort and gave Corrine a disapproving look. The older woman simply shrugged and winked before getting up and heading back to the bar.
"Look at her," Terry laughed, throwing a hand in Cora's direction. "She can take her ale better than you, Godfrey!"
"Awh, shut up ya fool," the older man said, whacking his friend on the side of the head. "She's scarce been here a few days and you're already going to scare off the poor lass!"
At that, Cora got up, admittedly overwhelmed by all the new faces and personalities to deal with. Before, in her secluded life, it was only Oliver and Henry she really had to learn, and even that took years for her. Yet here she was now, forced upon a whole handful of people. It didn't help her much that so many of them had such... colorful personalities.
"I should be off," she muttered, setting her mug back on the table and wiping her mouth in a most unladylike fashion.
Catherine rose with her, laying a gentle hand on Cora's shoulder. It was all she had not to jerk away, not used to such casual touches.
"Don't mind them, dear," she said with a kind smile.
Forcing the corners of her mouth up, Cora managed to return a half smile, but she had a feeling the woman saw right through her.
"Ah, there you are, Ollie! I was wondering where you had gotten off to!" Corrine's raised voice echoed through the room as all heads turned to the door.
"Cora, let me introduce you to my husband! This is Cora, she is staying in the manor with Connor and Achilles."
The man stuck his hand out and Cora took it, trying not to judge him by his weak grip.
"Nice you meet you. Any friend of Connor's is a friend of mine!" The sentence, meant to be reassuring and welcoming, almost made Cora burst out in laughter. Oh, the irony...
"The name's Oliver."
The blood went cold in her chest. Her stomach knotted. She tried her best to keep her face calm, but by the look in Catherine's eye, she knew she had done a terrible job.
"Would you mind if I called you Ollie as well," she muttered, eyes locked onto a loose nail in the floorboard.
"Why, you have gone white as a sheet!" Catherine rushed over to her, lifting a hand to the girl's face.
"I am fine," Cora insisted a little too forcefully, taking several steps backwards. "I just... I knew someone with that name once who wasn't very kind to me."
"Sorry to hear it," Oliver said, looking slightly uncomfortable at the situation. "Ollie is just fine."
"It has been most pleasant to meet you all, but I am afraid I must go now."
Her voice was too polite and she knew it, but suddenly there were half a dozen pairs of eyes on her and the room was seeming a little too warm...
"I hope to see you all again, good day," she said, speaking quicker with each backwards step she took towards the door.
When her form disappeared, those remaining in the tavern looked at each other as if they had just seen a dog riding a horse.
"Strange woman," Godfrey muttered, receiving a disapproving look from his wife. Despite her distaste for the comment, though, a few others echoed his sentiment.
"Strange indeed."
Once outside, she continued her quick pace on the road back to the manor. Overwhelmed, she wanted nothing more than to climb the stairs and lock herself away in her makeshift room, to perhaps sketch and get her mind off things.
Instead, she found herself at the stable, stroking the neck of a chestnut mare as she tried to gather her wits.
The morning had gone completely wrong. She had meant to make them like her, to woo them in a way, to gain their affections so perhaps Connor would be more apt to trust her. Instead, she was sure they all thought her mad.
At the moment, she wasn't sure she didn't think herself mad.
It was a sickening reminder of Oliver, of the words he had said to her. It wasn't so much his shared namesake as the words he had told her resurfacing from the guarded place she had stowed them.
You will never be accepted. All will think you out of place, strange. The only place you can survive is here.
The truth of his words was cold and unforgiving, dragging her down like a weight clasped around her ankle. It seemed that even if she covered her scars, if she was free from bruises in the shape of his fingertips littering her body, she would never truly get away from him.
"How was your morning?"
An already familiar voice approached from behind, but Cora was too consumed with her thoughts to look back.
"Quite pleasant."
The old man chuckled, not buying her monotone voice one bit.
"Some of them can be a bit overwhelming, but they are good people."
Nodding, Cora focused on the soft texture of the horse's neck. Achilles shifted behind her, drumming a finger on his cane as the lump in his jacket pocket began to feel even heavier.
He had planned to talk to her, to take the time to tell her gently, but he was doubting that she could handle it; especially now when she seemed so overwhelmed.
Uncertainty was not a feeling the old man was accustomed to, and he could feel himself growing frustrated as he wrestled whether to tell her now or keep it for a better time.
"I just need to know what you want from me," she said suddenly, fingers stopping their motion as she turned her head slightly. Her voice was hauntingly vulnerable, lacking any of the fire and stubbornness that had been so evident in her before. "Why didn't you force information out of me long ago?"
"I simply didn't think that forcing you to talk would be in anyone's best interest."
She didn't respond, instead furrowing her brows as she tried to understand what exactly he meant by that.
Yawning, Achilles took another look at her, finally deciding that the contents of his jacket pocket could wait.
"These bones of mine tire easily these days," he said, tapping his cane on his leg. "I will retire for a nap. Connor has gone off to speak to Lance, and I am sure he will try to find you when he gets back."
Nodding, Cora resumed her attention to the horse. When she finally turned to say something, he was long gone, his figure visible in the distance, hobbling up the path to the front door of the manor.
She needed to stop wallowing in self-pity, and suddenly the perfect remedy entered her mind. Connor was away, and the old man would be asleep in no time... A perfect opportunity for a little reconnaissance.
The basement was musty and humid as she descended the stairs, doing her absolute best to keep from making even the slightest peep. The room wasn't exactly what she thought it would be, but then again she wasn't even sure what she had expected in the first place. In the center was a makeshift mannequin, dressed in what was likely Assassin robes. Along the wall were many other outfits, and Cora had to laugh at the fact that this Assassin seemed to own more clothes than she did. What really caught her eye was the table on the opposite wall, paintings with familiar likeness hung above it.
Upon approach, she made out a few familiar faces – Lee and Haytham, along with Johnson, Hickey, Biddle, Pitcairn and Benjamin Church. She had only met Lee and Haytham, but had heard enough about the others, and how they had met their end at the Assassin's hands.
So foolish he had been, killing the very men that were trying to help his people, to free the colonies from Britain. The Brotherhood had corrupted his mind, had made him turn against his own people, had made him commit unspeakable atrocities. For that, she would never respect him.
Sighing, she began to rummage around, looking for any kind of information that would be useful to her or the Templars. To her dismay, there was nothing. Frustrated, she left the shrine to madness that he had set up and went to study the weapons. There was a vast array – guns, war clubs, tomahawks, bows... She was enticed, picking up each one and giving it a swing or pretending to aim. They were all beautifully made, and she fought the urge to take one. Surely the Assassin would notice if she did.
Setting the gun she had been looking at back where it belonged, she sauntered back to the table, picking up the trinkets that were carefully set. With horror, she started recognizing them as belonging to the dead men.
What a psychopath, she thought as she set them back down, wiping her hands on her skirts as if to rid them of dirt. Cora would be the first to admit that she could be a little crazy at times, but even she wasn't that insane. Who does that kind of thing, anyway?
Crossing her arms, she sighed, figuring it was time to head back upstairs. The Assassin would likely be back soon, and she didn't want to think of what would happen if he found her down here.
Studying the paintings one more time, her eyes fell on Haytham's. He was a handsome man, even for his age, and if he ever came around, Cora had done her best to look as presentable as possible. He had always seemed a bit cold to her, though, distant, as if so focused on his goals that he could not see the world around him. The Assassin reminded her of him in that way. He, too, was so obsessed with finding Lee and stopping Templar influence that he couldn't even see the truth of his actions. It was sad, in a way, but it was a life he had chosen. No amount of logic or reason could change a man like him.
Out of nowhere, it suddenly dawned on her. Henry had told her of Haytham once, how he had a short lived relationship with a native woman years ago, how she had given him an illegitimate son who had somehow joined the Assassins.
She should have realized it before – she knew the notorious Assassin was Haytham's son, but even when she had been sent to kill him, she hadn't put two and two together. It was an odd realization. Of course it didn't change her feelings towards him, but it was interesting to think of Haytham being his father. She found herself wondering if they had met, if perhaps either of them could find any love for the other.
Cora couldn't imagine being so at odds with her parents, especially her father. Though she loved her mother fiercely, she had always been her father's daughter, like him not only in looks but also in spirit. Her mother would often joke that the two wished to be like heroes in story books, and Cora admitted that it was true. Her father, the master storyteller, had thrilled her with tales of princesses and warriors and great queens. Always, he had told her that she had the capacity to be a truly great woman, that she would do great deeds. While Aoife and Maebh may have been content with being wives and mothers, something her father held with great respect, he knew that his middle daughter would never be content with such a life. He always had such high hopes for her future, and it had given her inspiration, strength, and hope.
It would have broken him to see how far she had fallen. For all of her life, she had always held onto hope that someday she may escape Oliver, that she may be able to be valiant, to earn honor for herself. Slowly, though, she had somehow released the thought, realizing that there was no such future for her.
Lost in her the melancholy of her thoughts, she didn't hear the creek in the steps that signaled she was no longer alone.
Connor crept down the stairs, anger building as he caught sight of the woman. How dare she come down here! What a foolish girl... It was as if she wanted to draw forth his fury. Connor was tired of her, of her blatant disrespect. Achilles had seemed to think she could help them, that perhaps she would come around and cut ties with the Templars, but that was obviously not going to happen, and he was done being patient with her. Clenching his jaw, he wished he had just let her go back to the Templars when they had first met. He had been a fool to bring her here.
He had been about to yell at her, to tell her that he was done playing her game, but suddenly he stopped. She had raised a hand, putting it to her face as if to wipe away a tear. The woman was holding herself, as if to keep from falling apart. The distress within her was obvious even in the way she stood, and despite Connor's wishes, he felt his heart soften. Cursing himself, he suppressed a sigh and tried to rein in the remaining anger. Yelling would do no good here, and he knew it.
"Do you think that if there were important documents I wished to keep secret, I would leave it in such a conspicuous place?"
Cora jumped, twirling around to face him. For a moment she was vulnerable, but then the cold defiance entered her eyes again. It was almost as if she saved the look just for him.
"You never know," she shrugged. "I never pegged you to have much wit."
Rolling his eyes, Connor sighed. He didn't have the patience today to indulge her insults.
"Why are you here," he asked flatly, done playing games.
"Why am I here?" She laughed bitterly, but when she saw he was serious, she threw her arms up. "You are the one who dragged me to this godforsaken house and threatened me into staying here! I should be the one asking you why you have done nothing but stare at me with that idiotic look on your face or act as if I am not here! Dear God, Assassin, what the hell do you want from me?"
"Information."
"Oh, alright. Well let me just tell you all of the plans of the Templars, because a little bitch like me is obviously going to be told so much."
"Do you know where Lee is or not?"
"No!" While the Assassin maintained a somewhat level voice, Cora was shouting, and she wouldn't have been surprised if the old man joined them soon. "I don't know why you and your pathetic excuse for an Order have such an obsession with Lee, but I have no information. I haven't even seen his damn face in months! He could be somewhere far across the sea for all I know. It is none of my concern. I get my orders, I kill Assassins and their sympathizers, and that is all I need worry about."
What an idiot he had been. Of course she never knew anything! Rubbing his temple, he sighed, cursing his own stupidity. He couldn't let her go now that she knew where the homestead was, but he couldn't kill her, either.
"Why do you hate the Assassins so much," he asked, regretting the words the moment they flew out of his mouth.
"What does it matter to you?" Brows meeting in the middle of her forehead, she made a face at him, confused why all of the sudden he was so interested in her intentions.
"Curiosity."
"I told you before," she snarled, looking at him with the purest hatred he had ever seen. Even in his confrontations with Lee, he hadn't felt so completely hated. "You have destroyed families, ended the lives of innocent people!"
"I doubt this." He shook his head, regretting that he had spoken. If there was one thing he could understand about this woman, it was that she hated those she believed hurt the ones she loved. "Killing innocents is not our way."
"The bodies of my family say otherwise. I have seen what your little band of assassins do. You kill for no other reason but to further your own interests, misusing the name of freedom in the process."
He was getting awfully tired of her accusations, backed by nothing but word of mouth.
"That is untrue. The Templars are no better, anyway. I can tell you this from personal experience." His words made no effect on her expression, and so he continued, irritation rising. "How do you not see this from yours? Did the Templars not sell you into what is basically slavery?"
"That was my uncle, not the Templars themselves. If anything, they have given me strength." Connor scoffed in response, shaking his head. "They gave me resilience, capability, intelligence. They showed me that the world is not kind to people like me. I must find my means to survive in any way possible. This way of life is my means."
"It doesn't have to be," he said, his voice softening with pity. "The Assassins can help you. The Brotherhood was created for people like you."
"The only good Assassin is one whose body lays cold at my feet." Throwing his hands up in defeat, Connor sighed.
"You are insufferable."
Irritated, Cora approached him, getting in his face as she spoke, her voice low and malicious. "I apologize that I am not some meek woman you can twist and bend to do your will. I know how disappointing it must be for someone like you."
"You claim to be bold and empowered to decide your fate for yourself, but how can you not see? The Templars' sole vision is one of power, one of control. It is what they strive for. And they have twisted your heart with lies and hatred. They have power over you. They control you. I see no gallant heroine before me. All I see is a pawn, something used and discarded with ease."
The truth of his words was almost painful. She was expendable to them, and she had always known it. Even Henry, one of the few that had shown her compassion and kindness, would have sacrificed her if Oliver had commanded so.
But she could not let the Assassin know it. Letting out an exasperated yelp, she pushed him out of the way, running past him and up the stairs, ignoring Achilles as he stood listening.
Once in her room, she slammed the door, kicking the table for good measure. Pain shot up her foot and she cursed loudly, letting out her frustrations in a scream. Flopping her body onto the cot, she groaned and buried her face into the pillow.
Connor stomped up the stairs, intending to go after her and finish the conversation. Instead, he was met by Achilles' cane across his chest. The old man said nothing, simply shaking his head after he had gotten his point across.
Not in the mood to listen to his scolding words, Connor walked away, rage and regret for bringing her here festering within him. Never in his life had he been made to deal with such an insufferable person. In the moment, he wasn't sure that he hated Lee more than he hated her. And Achilles! What was it about the woman that had him in such strong defense of her?
"I am going for a ride," he muttered, following with foreign words that Achilles didn't understand. The door slammed behind him and Achilles rolled his eyes.
He was too old to deal with such youthful pride. At least now they were separated from each other. As he heard frustrated screams coming from upstairs, he sighed, making his way back to his bed to finish his interrupted nap.
A/N: I'm not exactly sure how I feel about this chapter, but as always, I'm too eager to post it rather than slave over making it perfect, something I am likely incapable of. ;) I've fully outlined this story and it looks like it will be a few over 30 chapters, but since the chapters tend to be a bit long on this story, it will still probably be quite a bit of content.
I'm also tentatively looking for a Beta on this story, but I haven't been able to find anyone that suits my needs. I'm looking for someone to basically let me know how things flow/if things are awkward. I'm pretty set on my plot, and don't have a significant problem with spelling/grammar. What I need is someone who just tells me when things seem off, but surprisingly I can't seem to be able to find someone who fits that. If you think you may be up for it or if you know someone who is, PM me! :)
And THANK YOU to my first reviewer, Assassin27! Your words mean a lot to me!
Please let me know what you all think! :)