Boston had proved to be a prosperous and well-to-do town for the most part. Civil unrest grew more violent and my father was called away to keep the peace more and more often, leaving me in the manor alone with my mother with nothing to do but sip tea and make polite, lady-like conversation. It seemed every passing day my tolerance as well as my patience grew shorter. I began to dismiss myself early from tea time and dinner, going to my room to do nothing but sulk in my nightgown and gaze in wonder out the window. What a petty thing to do, so childish and uncouth, but I didn't care. That red brick cage kept me from the wonders of the new world it seemed only my father was allowed to experience. It wasn't lady like for a girl to be out alone nor was it lady-like to go horseback riding in the hills. Mother said it wasn't worth getting dirt under my nails and rats in my hair. Being proper was more important than living my life how I wanted to.
One fall day, after I had dismissed myself from tea time, I wandered about my room, picking up and placing down fine silver jewelry, combs and treasures most women my age would kill for. To me, they were just silver shackles to go along in perfect, unjust unison with this prison of a house. My hand pressed gently against the frosted over glass of the window. I thought my touch was light, but it was enough to have the pane pop open and swing slightly in the breeze. My eyes scanned over the beautiful landscape and I breathed in the fresh maple air. It was beautiful, shame not to be explored. At that moment, I concurred that it was time to take action.
Not without a short beat of hesitation, I threw off the cushy, feather comforter of my bed, grabbing the thin blanket and sheets from underneath. In frantic haste, I tied the ends together and secured the top of my woman-made rope to the post of my canopy bed. Carefully, after tossing the sheets down the side of the manor, I made my trek downward, only to drop from a few feet above the ground, getting dirt all over my dress. But I was too happy to care; I was free to do whatever I pleased, for that moment at least. However long it may have been.
I shivered slightly as I traveled towards the town of Boston that seemed to glow in the distance. The air was bitter and cold yet refreshing; it seemed to heighten my senses. Soon enough, dirt roads turned into cobblestone as I passed through the Boston Neck and into the warmth of the town. Merchants bustled, criers yelled, prostitutes flaunted, drunkards stumbled and soldiers marched. And yet, with all this chaotic town rush, I never felt more at peace. This everyday life felt so natural and casual. I didn't have to suck in my gut and flutter my eyelashes. I could finally let go.
I darted in and out of stores and bakeries, eating small treats until my corset was almost at its holding limit. I even purchased leather boots to wear and threw my heels into the harbor for the fish to admire. I was shorter in the boots and I wasn't able to carry myself as proudly as I had with the heels but frankly, I didn't give a rat's arse! I giggled each time I thought of that word. Mother would have a conniption fit if she heard me using such language.
Sign me up for the rebellion.
An hour had past and I found myself wandering into a tavern. Candles on iron rod chandeliers dimly lit the place and created a more mysterious mood. Men shot spiteful glares my way as I walked to the bar, some even spat at my feet. The more dauntless fellows, however, clicked their tongues and called me like a dog over to them, patting their alcohol and vomit stained laps. It took all my being not to gag at their bile and to just simply take a seat at the bar.
I placed a shilling on the counter and placed my hands back into my lap, sweetly smiling as I ordered. "An apple cider, please," I told the bartender, who nodded with a toothy grin that sent shivers down my spine, "Th-thank you…"I murmured and glanced around the pub. It was apparent to everyone, judging by the looks they sent me and whispers they carried, that this was not my neck of the woods. I awkwardly cleared my throat and turned back to the bartender who placed a pint of foaming amber liquid in front of me. With a soft smile, I grasped the mug and took a delicate sip only to recoil in horror. The drink made its way down my throat in a blazing, fiery path, drying out my whole mouth instantly. I coughed and sputtered, attempting to use the roof of my mouth to sand away the bitter, salty taste from my tongue. I pushed the mug away from myself in utter disgust. "That was cider?" I stammered, looking incredulously at the scrappy bartender who was currently wiping down the counter with a wicked smirk.
"If ye be wantin' to prove yer self to these bilge rats, ye may want to finish that there grog" he smirked and pushed the mug back to my chest; a little too close to my chest if you ask me.
"Sink me…" I cursed, gritting my teeth. But I knew the crude little man made a valid point. There was no way I would earn a name for myself, much less get any respect from these shady gentlemen if I coward away from finishing a simple beverage. These wankers would not get the best of me. I muttered, "When in Rome…" then, with an iron will, grasped the handle of the mug once more and downed the drink. I had finished the entire pint in victorious splendor (though most of it had spilt down my chin and onto my chest) and slammed the mug down onto the counter. Wiping my mouth, I looked wearily at the bartender.
"Another." I ordered, followed by a chorus of spirited hollering from the other patrons in the tavern. Three mugs later, I sat slumped against the bar, my vision blurred, words slurred. Whenever I tried to leave my legs would give out and a kind waitress would help me back to my seat. Seeing my struggle to stand on my own, a man walked over. He was scraggly and lanky, with crazed eyes and a crooked nose - obviously a sailor. He gave me a toothless grin before wrapping his arm around my waist.
"Don't worry lass," he practically breathed in my face, "I'll get you home to your mum," he paused and smirked "with the exception of a few stops along the way…" The man grinned and began to pull me out the door. I struggled and groaned in protest, but the alcohol had taken its toll, my limbs were as useful as noodles. Suddenly, a figure blocked our way, a broad figure at that. I managed to loll my head up to see a hooded man glaring down at the man who had almost taken me away. The white hood he wore cast a shadow upon the mysterious strangers face, restricting his features from my vision.
"I'll see to it that this young lady gets home alright, sir." The man said flatly before scooping me into his arms and carrying me outside. In the pale moonlight, I could now see past the shadow of the man's hood. His skin was a beautiful tan tone that was warm in color and in touch. Eyes that were deep brown mesmerized me and although I could not see his hair, a braided dark brown lock came down the side of his face, beaded with colorful clay beads. The man was tall and I could feel his toned chest beneath the unusual garbs he wore. What would such a handsome man think of a young woman seduced by the sin of pride and left writhing in alcohols painful grip? He must think me a fool. I bowed my head in shame, looking to the side with a soft blush on my cheeks.
"Thank you…" I managed to utter under my breath. The man glanced down at me and smiled softly. His smile was so welcoming, nothing you would expect from his intimidating stature. Snapping myself out of the daze the handsome stranger put me under; I looked back down at my dress, fiddling bashfully with the fabric of the bustle, "I apologize for being so much trouble, you don't have to do this…"
"It's no trouble at all" He answered with a soft smile. I chuckled softly in embarrassment.
"You must think me a silly girl…"
"Not necessarily" He said, adjusting me in his arms, "I understand why you'd want to prove yourself. Was it wise? Of course not, but you can certainly learn from this, can't you?" the man grinned softly.
I parted my lips to speak, and then closed them only to open them again to inquire him. "What is your name?" I asked, raising my chin to look up at him.
"Connor Kenway."
Yay! Connor to the rescue! Sorry if he's a little OOC, I can't help but be a little corny sometimes :3
Hopefully I'll have Chapter 3 posted by tomorrow night.
Btw, Grog means alcoholic drink
Sink me is 1700 slang for fuck me, oh shit, etc.