I led Weeks through the streets of New York, stopping by Ippolita's home to grab my things from my ruined coat - mostly papers and money - and throw them in a small bag. We were forced to backtrack more than once on our way to he inn - I wasn't quite as familiar with this city as I was with Boston. The sun still loomed high in the sky by the time we reached the inn Connor and I had stayed at. It crossed my mind that Connor might not be here, as I'd been locked up by Ivanov for a good few days before my attempted execution. There was only one way to find out.
Weeks gently grabbed my wrist when my hand reached for the door handle. "Be careful. A lot of people know who you are, and I can promise you that more than a couple want you and Haytham dead."
I nodded. "Thank you, Weeks. I appreciate all this - getting me patched up and not, y'know, letting me be hanged." A wry smile .
He returned the smile, nodding and patting me on the back. "Take care of yourself, Lynn. And take care of Haytham, too, if the need arises."
With that, the secretive man walked off into the crowds of New York, leaving me to enter the inn.
The innkeeper informed me that the room Connor and I had checked into was still very much in use. A peek into the tiny space we'd been sharing only confirmed it - our bags were still there, and there was the faintest scent of gunpowder and metal. He must have been cleaning his weapons a lot at night, which meant they must have been used a lot in the past few days.
Gingerly, I lowered myself onto the bed. Surely he'd heard something of the botched execution and subsequent murder. High profile murders were a popular point of gossip, if past experience had taught me anything. Hopefully he'd get back soon; my arm still throbbed in pain, and I wasn't all that comfortable letting my guard down when I was alone - especially not when any number of my associates might try to slit my throat.
I reached for my bag - with my injured arm, I realized too late. A pained grunt left me when I dragged it closer. Yeah, this would take some getting used to. My hands fumbled around inside the pack, removing a clean roll of bandage. It was always wise to keep some medical supplies on hand in my work.
I carefully rolled my billowy sleeve up my arm enough to examine the area covered by white gauze. Spots of red were starting to show through, a few looking closer to brown. The wound had to have reopened in some way earlier and in my sleep, and probably again just now from reaching for my bag. Looks like the bandage would have to be changed.
My hand ran gently across the edges of the bandage on my arm, looking for where it was fastened or tucked or tied. When I found where the free end was securely tucked into the side, I tugged on it. Once it was free, I unwound the bandage, hissing when I got down to the last layer and it stuck to the dried blood. Bolts of pain shot through me as my fingers worked at the parts of the bandage that stuck, and a particularly loud string of curses left me when the cloth finally tore off, taking bits of scab along with it.
Blood welled up in the recently opened areas, and was dabbed away with the used bandage as quickly as it came. I reached into my bag again, grabbing a bottle of alcohol. I wet a cleaner portion of the used bandage with it, and took a breath.
And by God did it sting when it touched the open parts of the cut. I groaned lowly, letting out a string of swear words. My hand was shaking, forcing me to stop for a moment. It wouldn't do any good to try to clean it with unsteady hands.
Just as I prepared myself to try again, the door creaked open. My head whipped up at the sound of my name.
Connor stood there, eyes wide beneath his hood. He quickly shut the door and moved to me, crouching to look at my injury.
"What happened? Where were you?" His hand took the alcohol-covered bandage from mine.
"The task I came here to take care of took a complicated turn. I, ah, I was almost hanged." I explained.
He glanced up at me, then sighed irritably before he went to cleaning my wound. "That does not explain the wound."
The hiss that I made had Connor glancing up at me. It was all I could do to speak through clenched teeth. "I got into a fight. My opponent had an axe."
His head shook, though he seemed satisfied enough with the answer. "Why were you almost executed?"
I took a deep, shaky breath - the wound stung badly from the alcohol. "My opponent had a bit of political sway, I suppose. She was targeting Templars," I paused, considering my words as carefully as I could when the urge to swear like a sailor was greater than ever. "I just so happened to be one."
His lips formed a tight line. "How did she know you were a Templar? And why does she wish to see those in your order dead?"
As much as I would have liked to, I couldn't tell him the truth. He was an Assassin, and this was a Templar problem. I could at least be honest about that, I supposed.
"I'm afraid I need to keep it between myself and others in my Order. At least until I have Haytham's word that I can share it with you." I said apologetically.
Finished with cleaning the wound, he grabbed the fresh roll of bandages setting aside the dirty ones. "Are you in danger because of what is happening?"
I chuckled, the sound cut off with a wince at the feel of the bandage touching my wound. "We're always in danger. But yes, there are some people who want me dead."
He didn't look up from his work as he spoke again, quieter this time. "I do not want anything to happen to you."
My expression softened. "I know. I don't want anything to happen to you either, but this is what life is like for us."
He secured the bandage and rose up. "I'm aware. Just know that I'm here for you."
A smile, strained though it may have been from pain, stretched my lips as I stood up as well. "Long as you know that I've got your back, too."
He enveloped me in his arms, careful not to . Mine wrapped around him in return. We remained like that for a few moments, savoring the rare moment of closeness.
He pulled away. "I finished what business I had here yesterday. Today I was looking for you."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Sorry I made you worry." I looked back to his eyes. "I suppose we should go our separate ways for a while, then. I have to head to Virginia." I said.
His brow furrowed. Wonderful, he was going to be stubborn about this. "So soon?"
"Hayth needs to hear about what's going on, and then we'll decide what to do about it." I told him.
His lips twisted into a frown. "Are you certain traveling alone is a wise idea when you are injured?"
I sighed, sitting back down. "Con, I need to go there. Don't worry about me so much."
"You were almost executed and now you are injured. I have ample reason to worry." He said wryly.
"Haytham needs to hear what I have to say, and you have a Brotherhood to manage." I argued.
"Achilles can handle it, just as he has before." One of his hands reached up to stroke my hair, and I didn't respond thanks to the lump that seemed to form in my throat from the action. He continued to talk in response to my silence. "If you get attacked on the way there, you may be unable to defend yourself with your injury. Who would take over your duties then?"
My eyes rolled and I reached to lightly slap his hand away ignoring the heat in my cheeks. "I'll hire a mercenary - I'll be fine."
His eyebrows rose, marking how unimpressed he was with my idea. "Because a man whose loyalty belongs to coin can always be trusted." He slid onto the bed next to me.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "So you'd propose I let you waste over half a month of your time and escort me over there and back to the homestead, rather than let you get back to the Assassins now?"
"Yes." He said simply.
"Con." I groaned as he wrapped an arm around me. "Connor."
"Please?" He asked quietly. And damn it all, he was looking at me with those big brown eyes, just pleading with me like a sad puppy.
I let out a breath. "Fine, you stubborn old goof." I muttered.
He smiled. "Thank you."
I turned, snuggling into him while minding the tender area of my arm. As we sat there cuddling (friends cuddled, right?), I ignored the fluttering of my heart in my chest. Seeing Ippolita, sweet as she was, had me confused about my feelings for both her and Connor.
Over the past year of writing to her, the letters she and I exchanged had been peppered with more and more words of what couldn't just be brushed off as simple desire, the two of us growing more emotionally attached than we had been. Certainly, I considered her attractive, but her sweetness had me appreciating more than just her appearance.
That said, I felt no less for Connor. He'd certainly been around me longer than Ippolita, and whatever it was that was going on between us, it was most definitely not entirely platonic anymore. My mind worked to remember at what point things had turned from playful teasing to something a bit more. Maybe it was before we began sharing a bed - maybe it was after. I couldn't remember at this point, and it hardly mattered at any rate.
Choosing to pursue either of them would be a bad idea; Connor was an Assassin, and this era's attitudes towards two women in a romantic relationship were less than tolerant, to say the very least. Either way, I'd have to sneak around with the person I cared for.
Damn this entire situation.