A/N: I really got stuck on this chapter, for some reason! I'll probably end up rewriting it, but I figured I'd just give it to you guys anyway. We're going to start getting into the interesting part (at least in my opinion... haha) so stay tuned!
Also, we now have 1000 views! Wow! Thanks, everyone! Please feel free to review! It definitely helps to know what y'all like and what you don't!
"Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean" - Maya Angelou
CHAPTER SIX
He let her sleep as long as he could, but he wanted to get an early start and it was already well past dawn. Crouching by her, he rested his hand on her shoulder, shaking gently.
"Rachel," he breathed, met only by a series of grunts as she shooed his hand away. "Rachel, we must go or we will be behind."
After letting out a lamenting groan, she sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Stretching the effects of the hard ground out of her body, she raised her hands above her, tensing as she felt her spine sliding back into place and muscles waking up. Despite being woken in the middle of sleep, she felt surprisingly refreshed, not at all groggy like she usually was when her dreams were interrupted. She glanced at Connor to be sure he wasn't watching, and began to remove her coat. Modesty was something ingrained in her since birth, and though she knew this man would not act dishonorably, he was still a man, and any sort of disrobing in front of him made her uncomfortable, even if she was simply taking off outer layers. Shaking out her dirt and leaf ridden coat, she discarded it on a nearby rock before doing the same with her waistcoat, leaving her only in a thin shirt.
Connor turned just as she let her hair out of its binds, shaking it out and letting the waves cascade down her back. The sleeves of her too large shirt fell to reveal the pale skin of her forearms as she tied her hair with a leather thong. He had thought her hair brown before, but the sunlight caught the auburn undertones. Urging to touch it, he realized he was openly staring and went back to his preparations. It was as if he had forgotten she was a woman. With her figure disguised beneath those large clothes and fair face hidden under a hat, it wasn't hard to do, but the realization of it still affected him in a way he wasn't sure he understood.
"Are you ready?" She asked, looking suspicious, as if she had caught him sneaking sweets from the kitchen. Wondering if she had seen his wandering eyes, he turned away, surprised that he was suddenly the one who couldn't meet her eyes instead of the other way around.
When they began to approach Boston, Connor cut off Rachel's horse, bringing his around the other way so he could face her.
"Listen to me, Rachel." Voice slightly ominous, he stared her straight in the eyes, his intense gaze too much for her. Her eyes darted everywhere, looking at her hands or the ground or the trees beyond him – anything but his eyes. "We need supplies and a few other items, so we will have to do some shopping. I need to know how well people may know you here."
"Fairly well," she hesitated. She hadn't considered the fact that some people in the city may recognize her despite the disguise.
"In that case, let me do all the talking. Remember that the city is dangerous," he warned, unsure if he should tell her that being with him made it twice as dangerous as if she was with anyone else. Despite their waning control, Templars still roamed the city, and to them, he was public enemy number one. "If I tell you to run or to leave me, you must promise that you will." When she didn't acknowledge his request, he spoke again, this time more forcefully. "Rachel."
Finally, she met his eyes. "You must promise."
Nodding slowly, she agreed. "I promise." Something within him told him that the headstrong girl wouldn't necessarily follow through, but he accepted her words nonetheless.
As they entered the city, Rachel was noticeably on edge. Every time he glanced at her, he could see her knuckles turning white as she gripped the reins of her horse, or he noticed the way she settled her hat lower on her head each time someone passed by closely. Silently, he began to wonder what her home life had really been like if she was this afraid of getting recognized.
The first store was easy, as Rachel had never been inside and definitely did not know the shopkeeper. Even so, paranoia was still pulsing through her. Every glance towards her seemed to be one with the intention of revealing her identity – every person that passed too close to her was going to haul her off to her father. She kept her head down, her only focus following the path of Connor's white coat. It was only when they were out in the open where food was being sold at a small market that she noticed she was not the only one who was overly suspicious and aware of the actions of people around them. Often she caught him taking in his surroundings or watching a figure pass his line of sight before moving on.
As she got comfortable in the fact that no one was going to discover her, her eyes began to wander from stall to stall, eyes drawn to pretty things she would have wanted had she been with her siblings. While Connor was securing a few days worth of bread, she found herself walking a few stalls down, picking up a hair ribbon that was on display. Rubbing the soft silk between her fingers, she found herself wishing she could have it as proof that she still was a woman.
"Have a nice lass to give that to, eh?" The shopkeeper smiled, causing Rachel to stumble out of her thoughts. Reflexively, she took a few steps back, ribbon still in hand, which apparently wasn't something the shopkeeper was keen on.
"Thief!" Summoning the guards nearby, the shopkeeper managed to draw the attention of everyone on the block. As soldiers began crossing the market, Rachel felt panic seeping through her pores, yet was unable to move. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she was acting more afraid of being sent back home than she had acted in the face of rape and death.
"Please," a soothing voice suddenly rang out as a large figure stepped in front of her. "My friend was not raised with common manners. I apologize," the man said as he passed the shopkeeper some money, which seemed to quiet him down and give the guards signal to retreat. Irritated that she had nearly given them away, he grabbed Rachel's arm, leading her away.
"We are not here to do the pleasure shopping," he whispered harshly in her ear. She would have responded with some smart comment or ripped her arm out of his grasp, but suddenly her eyes were locked on a small poster hanging on a nearby wall. Forcing Connor to release her, she made her way through the crowd, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she recognized the face on the wanted poster. Staring back at her, albeit a poor representation, was her own likeness.
Anger was not a word to describe the fire burning through him. Fury. Rage. Wrath. Those were more appropriate words for this. Dismounting quickly, Samuel strode into the house, pushing aside the soothing of his own betrothed as he stomped into his father's study. At his son's obvious displeasure, Mr. Beeson looked up from his work, closing the accounting books he had been working on.
"What is it, Samuel? What has upset you," he inquired, as if he did not know the answer. Anger rising further, Samuel attempted to steady his voice before responding.
"As you know, I have been searching for Rachel."
"Of course." Closing the book nonchalantly, he stood, face void of any concern. "Is there any news? I have been worried," William said evenly, looking his son in the eye.
"Have you?" In one motion, Samuel fished a piece of parchment from his coat pocket, unfolding it violently before slamming it on the table in front of his father. "Maybe you would care to explain this." His voice was burning as hot as his temper, and William questioned if he had ever seen his son carry such intense anger. Collectedly, he glanced at the poster depicting his daughter, the words "wanted alive" printed neatly at the top, followed by a hefty award at the bottom.
"My son," he appeased, "Did you expect me to let her go? Not only did she leave her responsibilities, but she stole my property. She must be found. We are lucky Thomas has even agreed to wed her, even after all of this."
Disgust riddled Samuel's expression. Caught in his own happiness, he had become blind to how truly greedy his father had become. "Are you telling me that all you care for is to get your things back and secure the land and status that will come with her marriage? My lord, father! You wonder why she ran off! You cared nothing for her!" Samuel was yelling so fiercely that he caused his father to step back. William was genuinely shocked. Of all his children, Samuel was the most level headed. This kind of outburst was completely unexpected. "You sold her happiness for your gain!"
His voice was low and threatening as he made the accusation, inciting anger from his father as well. How dare his son speak to him in such a manner!
"How dare you insinuate that I did such a thing," he shot back, equally infuriated. "I cared for her security, for her protection! Thomas will provide for her," he went on, despite the scowls and opposition from the evenly enraged man in front of him. "That is what sustains life, not this happiness and love you foolish children seem to go on about!"
"No," Samuel objected, tearing the parchment in half before discarding it onto the floor. "You intended to sell her heart and her body for your own profit! You treated her with will ill and contempt! Even now, you care more about returning your property than your own flesh and blood! It is no wonder you sent James off to his death in order to prove a point."
At this, William had had enough. He would not stand for his elder son to be brought up in such a way. Crossing the room fluidly, he punched his son hard across his face, leaving him to stumble backwards in a shocked stupor.
Caught by his brother, Samuel let out a cry of anger.
"What is going on," John asked, obviously unsure of what had happened.
"Our father has admitted it," Samuel pointed at his father, who was showing the beginnings of defeat in the way he had slumped his shoulders and backed away again. "He has put a price on our sister's head for her return, but that is not the first time he has equated her with simple monetary value! First he disowns one son, abandons another to certain death, and now he sells his daughter like a common prostitute!"
"Get out!" Voice ripping through the air, William pushed his sons out the door of his study. "All of you!" One final time, Samuel crossed the hall, getting increasingly close to his father's face. Grabbing his cravat, he drew his father close.
"I can assure you, until you come to your senses, you will neither see nor hear from me again," he spat the words in a low voice, wrath evident in his dark tone. "I can assure you, I will find Rachel, but when I do, I will not return her to this life. Nor will I return to this life." After pushing the man away, Samuel stomped out of the house, leaving his father completely alone.
"Don't you dare join them," he called, to ears that did not hear him. William knew he would, though. He would join the two of his other sons that had betrayed their family – betrayed their cause. Taking a calming breath, he went back to his desk, straightening his clothes along the way. Opening his accounting books, he began work again.
As Rachel snatched the parchment off the wall, scowling as she crumpled it into a ball, Connor noticed unnatural movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could even tend to Rachel's situation, he turned and saw a group of men walking towards them, determination in their eyes and familiar insignias about their necks. Templars.
Not now, he groaned as he grabbed Rachel's arm again.
"Run to the horses," he urged as he turned to face the men. "Wait for me beyond the city walls." Not watching to see if she had followed his order, he turned, making for the closest man. His tomahawk made contact with the first one easily, slicing through the thin skin of a neck before coming down on the shoulder of the next one. By this time, the citizens of Boston were screaming and running every which way, women screaming and men calling for soldiers. As Connor noticed the groups of descending troops bent on apprehending him, he fled. He knew a smart fight from a foolish one, and this was not the time to be taking chances.
Just as he had predicted earlier, Rachel had not heeded his words, and was simply waiting a few streets down, frantic eyes searching for him. In one fluid motion, he swung himself onto his horse with ease, nudging it forward. Riding hard, the two dodged Templars and soldiers alike, making their way out of the city and into safety without any harm. Tucked unseen in the woods, they dismounted to let the horses rest. Unspoken tension high in the air, the two attempted to avoid each other in hopes of evading an argument, but in the end, Connor could not hold his tongue.
"You promised you would run if I told you to," he began, voice a little sharper than he had intended. "The city is especially dangerous, and you could have been killed! I would rather not explain why I am delivering a corpse to your brother instead of his sister." Silently, he wondered why he had even gone with this girl. All she had done was cause him problems, make him known to the Templars, and distract him from his goals of finishing them off so all could live in peace.
Tired of his constant talk of how everything was just so dangerous, she raised her voice. "I am fine, am I not?" Eyes narrowing, she could almost feel the doors opening to her caged emotions. "Besides, what does it matter to you if anything happens to me? The only reason you are here is due to some misplaced need to be a hero. I would have been fine on my own!" Even though she knew it wasn't true, her anger led her on. "I do not need your weapons and skill to survive. I could leave right now so that you can get back to whatever it is that is so important to you."
Seething, she stalked off, suddenly wanting to get as far away from Connor as possible. For a moment she felt bad for taking out her anger on him. Perhaps her anger was misplaced. Connor had done nothing but help her, and despite insisting she didn't need him, she knew she would be long dead if he had not stumbled upon her in the woods. No, she was not angry with him, he was just taking the brunt of her emotions that had long been kept caged. Anger. Disappointment. Grief. Guilt. Loneliness. So long they had eaten at her from the inside out as she had put on a careful facade.
It was as if all of these emotions had suddenly been dropped over her shoulders, forcing her to feel the full force that she had never before had to bear. Yet she was too proud to admit them and to frustrated to deal with them. Still, though, she held out hope that when she arrived in Virginia, she would find healing.
"Rachel," an irritated voice called out to her. "I know you are upset, but-"
"No!" Swirling to face him, her face was red with frustration. "You know nothing about me! You know nothing of what it is like to live my life," gritting her teeth, she realized how close in proximity she was to him. She could feel the heat his body gave off, could almost sense his lungs draw oxygen from the air.
"Do you think you are the only one who had a tough life?" Tired of her whiny, selfish comments, Connor let his temper roam. "You grew up with people who loved you, Rachel. You had a roof over your head and were protected from the evils of the world. Even now, you have those who care for you, even if you have decided to throw that away."
Rachel scowled in response, tossing her head in exasperation, lips pursed to keep her from saying something she would regret.
"I fought for everything I have. My childhood was taken from me when I found my mother burning and I could do nothing for her!" At this, Rachel felt her heart soften. Stopping her hand from moving to touch him, she stepped back, almost shrinking beneath the realization that he was perhaps right. Despite her reaction, though, Connor kept on. "Do not complain because your father is trying to make sure you are provided for. Do not whine because your siblings chose their path and you had less choice. You act like you have nothing, but you are simply a foolish girl who has thrown away everything she had."
Stepping back again, Rachel looked as if he had slapped her. For a moment, she was vulnerable, pride having been stripped from her. She regained control, then, eyes narrowing as her brows furrowed in anger.
"Go to hell," she said icily. Tears threatening and pride wounded, she had to get away. She had to go anywhere but here, had to be with anyone but Connor. As she rode off, leaving his still figure in the dust, she came to the hard realization that she truly had nowhere to go.
