A/N: First and foremost, let me thoroughly apologize for how long this chapter took! It's been a crazy few weeks with school, prom, personal things, and the craziness of all that happened this past week. I kept sitting down to try to write this chapter, but I have also been suffering from a terrible, pessimistic bout of writer's block, where I don't even like much of what I write. We all know that never leads to anything productive... Hahaha. And of course, I sat down yesterday, put on some theme music and basically wrote this whole chapter in a night. A small disclaimer, I didn't go back and read this chapter because I figured I should just get it out to y'all ASAP. I also don't really know where I'm going with this story right now, so bear with me. I have the next few chapters planned out, but every time I finish a chapter, I feel like I'm straying off course. Sigh. There goes the pessimistic side of my writer's block again... Hopefully this chapter is much better than it is in my mind. Plus, it doesn't help that my mind has been distracted with two other stories that keep running through my mind... I already put one thing on the back burner for this story, though, so I figured I should finish this before I move to anything else.
Also, a huge thank you to all who reviewed, followed and favorited this story since I last updated. Y'alls support is a huge reason that there is even a chapter right now.
And a huge apology for this immensely long author's note.
Now on to review responses!
Nenoka & Vica: Hopefully I didn't keep y'all waiting too long... :)
madameHunter: Thank you! Hopefully my writer's block will subside and I will be able to write more! :)
GiveItToMeSlowly: Thanks for the compliment! I have to tell you, this review made me force myself to attempt to write this chapter... So congrats! Haha. ;)
Please feel free to drop a review! They really are encouraging, and help motivate me to make myself sit down and write, therefore getting you updates faster. ;)
"Pursue some path, however narrow and crooked, in which you can walk with love and reverence." Henry David Thoreau
CHAPTER EIGHT
The pair stood with a river at their feet, staring across its broad expanse to the opposite shoreline. Rachel looked around urgently, praying she would spot a bridge. To her dismay, Connor conveyed her fear with his words.
"We will have to cross," he said simply, beginning to lead the horses along the shore.
"There must be a bridge," she said urgently, running after him. "Please, Connor," she begged as she grabbed his arm. As soon as he felt her hands encircle his arm, he stopped, turning to her. When he saw the fear in his eyes, he stopped himself.
"What is it?" His eyes bore genuine concern, yet Rachel still hesitated for fear that he would think her foolish or weak if she told him why it was she didn't want to go into the water. Although her fathers and brothers knew of the reasons for her fear, even they made fun of her when she abstained from swims or fishing trips.
Realizing she was still clutching at his arm, she let her hands drop, suddenly embarrassed. Silent for a few moments, she collected herself as Connor waited for her to speak. He could tell she was hesitating, as if holding back some dark secret, and though he wanted to reassure her, he kept quiet, letting her tell him in her own time.
"I..." Should she tell him the whole story? Should she tell him of what she had done, of the life ended because of her foolishness? Surely he would condemn her, blame her, loose respect for her. It's what everyone else had done. No, she could not tell him. Not everything.
"I am afraid of the water," she admitted, looking down in embarrassment.
Connor was surprised. From the look in her eye, he had expected her to say something else – anything else besides that. It was a silly thing to him, to be afraid of such a harmless and often pleasurable thing such as water, but he didn't chastise her – he had no right to, for he knew he had his own fears hidden away within him.
"Rachel." His voice was gentle as he said her name, making her look up again. She had expected to see disdain or amusement in his eyes at her silly fear, but instead he looked at her with patience and understanding. "Do you trust me?"
The question caught her off guard, and she nearly stepped back. Did she trust him? She hadn't thought about it before, but now that she had... Of course she trusted him. He had not ever given her a single reason for her not to trust him.
"Yes," she said confidently, meeting his eyes with a sudden strength. It was then that she realized she was no longer intimidated by his intense gaze. How silly it was before that she couldn't even look him in the eye! And how much she had missed out on... A dark chestnut brown, they held all the emotions that his face and demeanor lacked. Not only did they seem to bear his secrets, but they seemed to give back to her a level of comfort and steadiness that gave her strength. Realizing she had been staring at him for a moment too long, she glanced away again, cursing the blush that crept up her cheeks. She had never so much as reddened before, yet this man made her flush so easily.
"Then trust me when I tell you nothing will happen to you." His voice was serious and commanding, yet also held an air of gentleness and sincerity that made her believe him. She nodded, and upon seeing her agreement, Connor began searching the trees intently.
"What are you looking for?"
"A symbol," he said through his focus as he ran his hands across trees, searching. She prodded no more, not wanting to distract him, but he discovered what he had been searching for not long after. Crouching down, he stuck his hands inside the large group of bushes at the foot of the tree, face showing a triumphant look as he dragged a huge object out of the leaves. To Rachel's surprise, it was a boat.
"Who stashes a boat in a bunch of bushes," she wondered aloud.
"It's a long story," Connor answered. "Let's just say that some friends of mine leave this here in case anyone has need for it."
"What about the horses?"
"Someone will be along to collect them soon."
"There is no way I'm leaving them alone here! Someone could steal them!"
"I promise you, they will be looked after," Connor said. Rachel sighed, stroking her mare's neck before sighing in defeat, knowing she didn't have much of a choice.
She helped Connor push the boat into the shallows of the river, reminding her that she wished she would never have to exchange these breeches for a skirt. He motioned for her to get in, but though she did believe him, she still couldn't bring herself to swing her leg over the side of the boat. All she could think of was what had happened last time she was in a boat. The burning of water in her lungs, the hands pushing her up, then sliding off of her, sinking unmoving into the depths.
"Rachel," he called out quietly. She had been staring into the water, a mix of sorrow and fear in her eyes. He wondered what had happened to make her so nervous, but decided if she was ready to tell him, she would. "Rachel." Finally, she looked up at him, brown eyes meeting his. "Trust me." He held his hand out, beckoning, and though she hesitated momentarily, she slid her hand into his.
For the first moments, both of them thought only of the feeling of the other's hand in theirs. She marveled at how his hand seemed to dwarf hers, despite the fact that she had always believed herself to have large hands for a woman. They were rough, battle hardened, yet gentle and warm, leading her. His thumb landed on the back of her fingers, and she took a deep breath before letting him help her into the boat. As her hand left his grasp, he secretly mourned the loss of the feeling of her warm, soft hand beneath his.
As he pushed the boat away from the shore and hopped inside, she gripped the sides, silently praying for strength. It was at least a few minutes before she dared open her eyes. Eventually, her death grip on the sides of the boat slackened and she began to relax. The boat was sturdy and the current wasn't strong. Connor had no problem getting them across, moving the oars with ease.
He noticed her watching the movement of the oars as she relaxed, tension flooding out of her body. "Would you like to try," he asked suddenly. She looked at him with the slightest raise of an eyebrow, and even he was surprised at himself for asking. He hadn't even thought before he spoke.
"Sure," she agreed, drawing out the word.
Connor shifted back on the large bench, making room for her to sit in front of him. She sat on the edge, doing her best to touch him as little as possible, as he put the oars in her hands, showing her the correct motion. Though she tried to put her focus on making the boat go forward instead of spiraling around, all she could think of was how close she was to him. His strong hands guiding hers, his breath in her ear.
Shaking off the thoughts she shouldn't be having, she tried to focus on propelling the boat to the shore, but only succeeded in sending them into circles.
"Keep your hands steady," he advised. "Be sure to give the same strength to each side."
Rachel attempted to take his advice, but only ended up turning the boat completely around so that she was staring at the shore from which they had come. Laughing, she got up, turning to sit on the bench opposite him. "I am getting us nowhere," she laughed as she lowered herself down. "I seem to be incompetent with a boat." She looked up at him with a huge grin, the smile gracing her features.
His face broke into a smile at the look of her, a broad one that touched his eyes. He even gave a laugh in response. When the smile crept onto his face, she looked away, finding herself blushing furiously. She wasn't sure why a simple smile and laugh had made her react so, but perhaps it was because the moment just seemed so intimate. Never before had he truly smiled at her, and she hadn't even let herself dream of hearing his laugh, even wondering if he could laugh! How she wished he would laugh more...
A silence fell between them, but it was a peaceful, comfortable silence. The two lost themselves within their own thoughts as Connor guided the boat nearer to the shore.
"You are good with this boat," Rachel commented as they got closer to landing.
"I have a ship back home," Connor shrugged in response. Rachel raised her eyebrows in surprise, trying to imagine what one would look like.
"Do you live near Boston?"
"I live on a homestead a few hours ride northeast of the city."
"I have never set foot on a large ship," she thought aloud. "Nor have I seen the frontier. I have only heard stories." She looked off into the distance thoughtfully, as if caught in another memory.
"Perhaps one day I will show you," he responded. She looked back at him, curiosity in her searching eyes.
Unless angered, Connor always thought his words through before letting them slip past his tongue. Long ago, he had become a master at concealing his thoughts by sharing only long considered words. Yet this woman seemed to draw his thoughts from him before he even had a chance to consider them himself.
Though Rachel had been surprisingly relaxed, she was grateful when they reached the shore. She nearly flew out of the boat, dragging herself to dry land as quickly as possible. Surely, though, she had not even remembered the last time she was in the water while Connor had been with her. He had seemed to give her strength, had seemed to quell her fears with only his presence. She was more than thankful.
As Connor drug the boat onto the shore, Rachel fiddled with the hem of her shirt, words caught in her throat.
"Did you really mean it," she asked in a small voice, forcing the words out only to regret them as soon as they passed her lips.
"What?" He turned for clarification, but just as she opened her mouth to give it, Connor saw movement just beyond the nearest trees.
She noticed the change of his body language instantly. His curious, gentle look turned into an array of anger, tension and blood lust. He grabbed her arm and drug her behind him, pulling his tomahawk from his side as over a dozen men crept from the trees.
He took down the first man almost instantly, swinging his tomahawk into his shoulder. As the others descended on him, Rachel stumbled backwards, tripping and falling onto her back before flattening herself against the boat. This was not the way she had ever expected to act during a fight, but something about the blood lust in Connor's eyes made her shrink back, fear gripping her.
He was a monster. A slice here, a hack there, and soon there were only six. Two men cut him off, one approaching from the front and one from behind. Rachel's breath caught as she realized he had nowhere to turn, but to her astonishment, he made quick work of them, too. He buried his hidden blade into the throat of the man in front of him, snatching his gun as he fell to the ground.
The gunshot rang through the air, jolting Rachel as she stared, wishing she could look away, but unable to. The bullet hit its target in the abdomen, sending him to lie in a pool of his own blood before the man behind him was impaled with the bayonet. Three left.
They all descended at once, and in the blink of an eye, Connor was disarmed, tomahawk thrown just out of his reach as one of the men tackled him, struggling to have his blade reach his throat. Connor fought against him, gritting his teeth as he tried to push his hand away. The other man's hands got leverage then, and he was able to use it against Connor, who's hands began to give way. He stretched his neck, trying to create a longer distance between his skin and the blade, but at this point nothing would help him.
Rachel panicked. She knew it was not going well, and she had to act. Standing, she looked around frantically for anything to use as a weapon, but not only could she find nothing, she realized even the weapon forged of the greatest steel would not help her if she did not know how to use it.
"Hey!" Shouting at the three remaining men, she flailed her arms. "Don't forget about me! I give a good fight!" All three looked up at her, which gave Connor his chance. His blade slid easily into the chest of his enemy, and as he kicked him off, he called for Rachel to run.
The leader of the group was a large man, and though he could easily best Rachel with the strength of his bare hands, he was slow on his feet, and Rachel used it to her advantage, darting around him each time he got close. Frustrated, the man spat insults and threats at her, detailing the things he would do with her once he got to her. Somehow, she wasn't afraid of the threats. Perhaps it was because she had heard them so often in the past week, but no matter the cause, she suspected it was empty threats meant to mess with her head more than anything.
She could only outrun and outwit him for so long though, for soon he was beginning to corner her by the water. Yet before she had a chance to cry out, Connor was already there, pulling him downwards, breaking his body over his knee before depositing him onto the floor. The crack made Rachel shudder, and the man screamed in pain before Connor pinned him to the ground.
"Who sent you," he demanded, fury in his voice. "Tell me!"
The man only laughed maniacally, spitting in Connor's face. It was the last thing he did. Rachel looked away as he snapped his neck.
When she finally opened her eyes, Connor was cleaning his blade, almost seeming to be completely unfazed by what had just happened. She stood there watching him, mouth open with shock. She had known he was dangerous, knew he was deadly to those who opposed him, but this... He was... She couldn't bear to look at him, and Connor knew it.
He couldn't meet her eyes either, not wanting to see the fear and fading trust that he was sure they held. Fear of him. He wasn't sure he could bear to see it.
"Rachel," he said finally, softly parting the silence with a pleading voice. For a moment, he thought she was going to run from him, leave him, make him hear out loud what he knew he was.
She looked at him, turning her head but not her body towards him. Instead of seeing fear in her eyes, though, Connor saw only sorrow. He took a step towards her, beginning to reach out to her subconsciously.
"Rachel," he called again.
She shook her head slowly, a million thoughts swarming through her head. This man was no ordinary man, and though she had suspected as much before, it still was still a shock to witness. Only once before had she seen such skill in battle, and it was not a memory she liked to revisit.
"Who are you," Rachel insisted, finally turning towards him. "What are you?"
Her words were sharp, and stung Connor more than he wanted to admit. He sighed heavily, seeming to slump over the air. He couldn't tell her about the Order. It would only drag her into something she didn't need to be involved in. It would only bring her to harm. It already had, and she didn't even know of it!
No, he could not tell her. But there was something he could tell her. He stopped himself then, surprised at his own willingness to share such an intimate part of him. Trust wasn't something he felt easily anymore, especially not for someone he had scarcely spent two weeks with. Yet here he was, about to devolve part of himself that he had kept so close. Rachel would listen, he was sure of it. No judgment, no assumptions, no favors in return, just the simple gift of a patient, listening heart.
"My name is not Connor," he whispered. Instantly, she turned her body towards him, the sorrow in her face turning to concern. She saw the way his face changed, as if only saying those words pained him. "My mother gave me a different name."
Her footsteps were silent, and he almost didn't notice that she was right in front of him until her hand touched his arm. Fingertips gently brushed over the exposed skin of his wrist before resting on his forearm. So light was her touch, so faint and gentle, yet the comforting warmth it sent through him shook him to his core.
"My mother named me Ratonhnhaké:ton." The name was so odd passing through his lips. Years had passed since he had last uttered his own name, and saying it now was almost freeing. "It means life that is scratched." He paused, closing his eyes. "And it has been." His voice was nearly silent as he spoke those words, soft with mourning, mourning of both people in his life and a potential life lost.
Now that was something Rachel understood. Considering his words, she tried to think of what to say in response, something that would be more than the expected, empty words. She had had enough of them in her own experience, and she didn't want to give them to him now.
"What has been does not have to be." Sliding her hand down his arm, she put her hand in his, eliciting his eyes to open and his fingers to close around hers. "Your past has no bearing on your future, as long as you choose your own way. A different way."
It was true, she thought to herself. If only she could learn to take her own advice.
"Thank you."
Though the pair of words were simple and commonplace, Connor hoped they would convey to her that he really was grateful. Not only for what she had said, but also just for being present, for listening and speaking only words that needed to be said. Though it was only a small, seemingly meaningless thing that he had told her, it felt monumental to him, and as he squeezed her hand, he hoped she understood how much trust and respect he had for her. He hoped she realized that under any other circumstance and with any other person, he never could have let even that small piece of himself out of its cage, yet with her, it had been so effortless, so natural.
In the way that she smiled up at him, genuine and complete trust reflecting back at him in her eyes, he knew she understood.
