Chapter 4: Never Asked for a Savior
I do not own Assassin's Creed 3 characters. I do own MaryLynn, Madam, and the Maverick brothel.
Italics: Native tongue, retelling of tales, and memories.
"Madame did not let you through, did she," MaryLynn suspected aloud, smiling at the idea of the burly Scottish woman tossing Connor over her shoulder like a rag doll.
"No, she did not. I had followed your instructions, and she did not believe me. She said that I looked too dangerous to be near you and these women."
He bit the inside of his lip, looking away. The recollection of the older woman telling him that he was "too dangerous" rather insulted him. Looking at his attire and the weaponry adorning his waist, Madame had written him off as a threat. Soldiers frequent this place, do they not? Had they not muskets and knives strapped to their bodies?
Connor had meant no harm, and suggested nothing of the sort with his proper speech. The blonde woman noticed the irritated expression knitting his black eyebrows and tensing his jaw.
"She did not mean to insult you. Please understand, Madame has to be cautious concerning which clients are harmless and which could pose a threat. She didn't know that you weren't a client. Not all men mean well."
MaryLynn fiddled with the beads of her rosary as her eyelids became heavy. She muffled her thoughts, trying not to recall certain situations. It had been quite some time since she was assaulted and almost raped, but the memories never wiped clean from her mind.
"I'm sorry if you felt uncomfortable," she continued, looking to Connor intently.
Somehow, the softening of Connor's facial features had put her at ease from the little monsters dancing in her head. He could appear so stern and serious to people. And yet, when his jaw was not tense and his eyebrows were not tightly knit, the Native assassin was a sight to see. A pure, unadulterated air danced around his otherwise intimidating appearance. 'Such a paradox. What else does he hide?' MaryLynn pondered, releasing her hold on the rosary beads.
"It is fine," Connor had assured her, his deep voice snapping the blonde woman out of her mental stupor. "I think I understand why she must...Wait, you refer to her as 'Madame'?"
"Yes," she replied with a soft laugh, knowing where Connor was going with this all-too-common inquiry.
Connor hesitated with his following question, his plump lips remaining slightly parted. He was still rusty with some colonial customs and terms, and he despised feeling embarrassed over his ignorance. Scratching his cheek, he forced the words out of his mouth.
"Forgive my ignorance, but is that not a formal addressing of an older woman? What is her real name?"
"No one knows. She never reveals her real name to the girls, including myself, so we simply address her as 'Madame.' I understand, it sounds rather odd."
"Not at all. I think I understand why she does not reveal her name...and why she is overly protective of you and the other women that work here."
There. There it was. Time to face possible lectures and words of pity. MaryLynn never thought that the Native assassin would actually accept the offer of visiting her! And yet, here he was; just as he said he would. It was not his opinion of her that would bother her. It was a possible lecture and a look of judgment that she was much too tired of dealing with, especially after dealing with a needy client a half hour ago.
"So, you know of my other profession," the blonde woman presumed, looking him dead in the eye.
Connor merely nodded, preferring this gesture over speaking. The noises of ecstasy from the other windows; the eagerness of the dark haired woman for him to come into her bedroom; the rather harsh assessment from Madame; and the clandestine nature of the household in general alluded to what went on in this two-story building.
MaryLynn sighed softly, fingering a bead or two of her rosary. Her next utterance was sputtered out in one breath.
"Please, do not judge me, I know there are prejudices about this profession, but I am an honest woman and I must survive and I do not need your pity or judgments or-"
He interrupted her one-breath reasoning with a raise of his palm, signaling her to desist from her frantic explanation. She obeyed, her lips sealing shut into a tight line.
"I do not judge you," Connor said slowly, intently.
The blonde woman nodded, now holding both the beads and the glittering silver crucifix in one hand for comfort. Up climbed the anxiety in her pounding little heart. Her eyes flicker to the tomahawk strapped to his side, swallowing hard.
"I know what you do…with those redcoats, I mean. I have not seen you do it, but people have been talking for quite some time..."
The air suddenly became thick as it collected within their lungs, coiling around their throats. Should he tell her about the Brotherhood of Assassins? The Templars? No. No, he could not. It was not appropriate to share this information with her. Yes, she could be a possible ally, and a friend, but MaryLynn was safer if left in the dark about such things.
Connor had done what he had to on his mission, and was not about to stop anytime soon. It was his business to slash down Templar influences, to protect his people and their land from grasping, greedy hands. This woman's reaction would not change his chosen path, a solitary sort of path. However, he observed the blonde woman's anxious behavior. MaryLynn spoke of the facts regarding his "profession," if one could call it that, but she appeared to be uncomfortable actually speaking of them.
Her voice was barely audible, like a gentle summer wind, and her right hand fiddled with the rosary draped down her torso as it were her final lifeline in this world.'Why does she touch that necklace so much?' Connor mused over the significance of the rosary. 'I wonder if it is a blessed object.'
Unfortunately for Connor, he had mistaken her anxiety for fear of him when, in actuality, she was nervous in general.
He wondered if she feared being killed. He would never hurt a woman. Ever. He sighed aloud, feeling guilt over having made her feel uneasy. Before the Native assassin could allow the nipping subconscious mind to question him if MaryLynn's opinion would affect him, she spoke up.
"I do not judge you either, nor am I afraid of you."
Connor released a strained breath through his nostrils, watching the blonde woman intently. Although they lead different roles in life, they were both considered unconventional. Neither person would consider chatter over sex and death to be casual chatter! Perhaps Connor was overthinking her body language. It was different from the body language that he was accustomed to studying whilst in battle and eavesdropping.
"I want to propose something," MaryLynn announced calmly, her fingers leaving the glossy texture of the rosary beads for good.
The Native assassin nodded as he crossed his arms, his unwavering gaze alerting her that he was listening. MaryLynn was not ashamed of how she earned a living, but she still worried over losing a friend due to negative judgments. Connor did not seem to care. He was still here, was he not? She did not bother fretting over his interest in her services. Being a woman with experience in dealing with men of all types, MaryLynn could discern right away that Connor was untouched, and far too uncomfortable to reach out and touch her. Somehow, the blonde woman found this quality of his attractive. 'An untouched, beautiful man. Quite lovely. I would never take that away from him. It is too precious.'
"Let us not speak of our...line of work," she continued. "I presume neither one of us wants to, and neither one of us should have to. We keep our secrets, yes?"
"I-I suppose so," he sputtered, his crossed arms beginning to come undone.
Slowly removing his white hood, Connor revealed his entire face before speaking to her in a promising tone. Even though he had heard this woman claim that she was unafraid of him, Connor wanted to make his good intentions clear to her. His acute hearing sensed the blonde woman's breath ceasing. Was she nervous? Did she judge his appearance?
No. Not in the least bit. The sweetly oblivious man just did not recognize when a woman found him attractive. It was the freckles embedded into his copper skin and the deep set dark eyes that seemed to captivate MaryLynn.
"Please know this," Connor began, his tone softening now that his entire face, his identity, was revealed to her. "I will not harm you, nor will I ever."
"I know that."
"Do you truly?"
His eyes were sincere in their dark brown color, his brows framing them heavily. Copper skin illuminated with gold sheen from the candlelight. Admiring his softened features, she noticed a narrow braid brushing along the left side of his face, green and red beads adorning the braid. She had never seen such a fashion on a man before, and found herself fancying the thin braid. Secretly, MaryLynn wanted to finger the smooth braid, wondering how soft his hair was.
She chuckled softly to herself, knowing that she was only looking at the braid to distract herself from Connor's inquiry. 'My, my, I must stop acting like a young girl! He is so oblivious, it tickles me to no end!'
"I do. It's just that the thought of blood makes me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable."
"I have been trained to deal with blood. I do not blame you for not wanting to see such things."
"Thank you for your words. I hope your night serves you well."
MaryLynn made her way to her unmade bed, climbing beneath the linen sheets that would cool her aching back and pelvis from her sessions earlier tonight. She picked up the book that she had tossed aside on Connor's unexpected visit. Feeling uncomfortable with the silence, Connor made his way to the open window, about to depart. He turned his head to look at the woman once more before the book's title had thieved him of his intention on leaving.
"A Thousand and One Nights," he mumbled to himself, his brain flickering wildly with recognition over the title etched in gold lettering.
He recalled the words MaryLynn had said to him on the night of their reunion.
"You look like you have a thousand and one tales to tell me."
"So that is what you meant!" Connor's voice raised in volume, his eyes widened.
"Pardon me?" she muttered with an arched eyebrow.
"You had told me on the night we spoke at the tavern that I appeared to have 'a thousand and one tales' to tell you. I did not understand this at the time, and yet here is the answer before me: the book you are reading."
She flushed at the cheeks, looking away as she placed a hand on the book's leather visage.
"I said that to you?" she questioned, peeking up at him through lowered black eyelashes.
"Yes, you did," he stepped forward, so pleased over simple things.
"Oh my, I cannot remember much these days! Um, yes, this book is the culprit of that silly phrase I told you. It's called, 'A Thousand and One Nights: The Arabian Nights Entertainments.' It's one of my favorites. Sadly, I only possess a couple of volumes of the collection."
The blonde woman seemed bashful all of a sudden as she buried her face in the book. Her wide blue eyes began to peek over the edge of the book to look up at Connor, who stood there with a curious expression on his face.
"What is this book about?" he questioned with the eagerness to know more.
During his three years of training with Achilles, he was required to read dozens of books on combat techniques, the history between the Assassins and the Templars, and the potpourri of philosophy shared across the world. Sometimes, if Connor had done well with his tasks, the former master assassin would permit the young man to take pleasure in fictional books. Truth be told, Connor loved tucking himself away in the treetops, holding captive a book or two to read. He failed to hide the small, subtle smile on his lips.
"Well, it is hard to say," began MaryLynn, looking up to the ceiling in thought. "There is a main plot written with miniature plots woven in. The main story consists of an angry sultan, King Shahryar, who executes each new wife after one night alone with her. He does this before she is able to betray him with another man. However, he is a paranoid man, imagining such scenarios. His latest wife, Scheherazade, is a clever young woman who is the daughter of his royal advisor, the Vizier. She recounts tales each night they are together to postpone her execution. These tales are fantastical with all sorts of characters and lessons learned, even magical beings who grant wishes! O-oh, I'm sorry. I'm rambling on and probably bor-"
"No," Connor interjected, his eyebrows raised. "I am curious to know more about these tales, and why this king feels the need to kill his spouses. What reason does he have to dishonor these women?"
She cocked an eyebrow as she smirked, amused by the emotions peaking through his usually stolid face.
"I could read it to you, if you are that curious," she said with mischief twinkling in her eyes, a playful idea dancing around in her mind like a small child.
Connor became bashful, picking at his gloves as he peered down at the book in her lap.
"I would not want you to return to the beginning of the book if you have already progressed."
"It's no trouble! I don't have many friends to speak about these tales with. The gentleman that gave this book to me a couple of years ago...Well, I promised not to reveal his name. Reputation and all. Anyway, his visits with me did not last long, but he gave me these books. I spent some time with him after my services. He was just so knowledgeable that I wanted to listen to him speak for days and days on end. Luckily, this man was amused by my incessant curiosity, so he humored me with personal stories and books. He was a bespectacled man of many talents. He was rather gentle with me, too." **
While MaryLynn meant that the older gentleman was mindful in touching a woman, the Native assassin thought that "gentle" referred to the man's manners. 'It's nice to know that she had known at least one nice man in her profession.'
"I expressed an interest in reading about foreign cultures and lands far away from here that he would tell me about. So, he gave me this English translation of this book of Arabian folktales."
"What happened to this man?"
"He had business to attend to in Philadelphia," MaryLynn said in a quiet voice, forcing a smile to chase away the sadness that lingered in her eyes.
Connor listened intently, leaning his back against the wood paneled wall. He felt his heart warm slightly over learning about her love of different cultures and far away lands. If he ever spoke of his own customs and village folktales, would the blonde woman be as excited as she was over these Arabian tales? 'I hope so. It would be nice to feel accepted.'
MaryLynn could not stifle a warm smile gracing her lips. He did not speak of disapproval over a woman reading and educating herself. This man was worth having as a friend in her life, and she intended on keeping him.
"Thank you, Connor."
"For what?"
"Your words were all I ever wanted to hear. This is a discrete business, and people look down on women in my line of work. Women are looked down upon when wanting to educate themselves, too. I speak my mind, and although you may not agree with me, you do not berate me. I may be breaking many social rules, but I am surviving. I'm not someone's wife. I'm not someone's mother. I'm not even someone's child."
The last line had pierced Connor's heart. He was no one's child either. Connor lowered his head, remaining quiet.
"However," continued the blonde woman, "this gives me freedom in my own right. I answer to no one. I thank you for listening without judgment."
He nodded his head in understanding as he quietly said, "I am showing the respect I know I would want."
"Would you still like me to read you the beginning of this book?"
"Yes," Connor immediately answered, his upper body leaning forward from the wall like a wooden puppet brought to life with a tug of his strings.
She adjusted her bottom over to the side of her bed to grant him space to sit down. He didn't feel comfortable sitting next to a woman on her bed, so he located a nearby chair to sit on. Before easing himself down, he checked the sturdiness of the chair with the tip of his moccasin. Even years after breaking Achilles' old chairs in that ancient home of his, Connor was still concerned over breaking furniture in someone's residence. MaryLynn found his behavior peculiar, her head cocked to the side. Connor sat down, only to cross his muscular arms before his chest. He was several feet away from the bed where MaryLynn sat.
"Why do you sit all the way over there?" she questioned with a soft giggle lacing the inquiry. "I am not going to touch you or anything."
"I am comfortable here," he stubbornly affirmed, jutting out his lips in a pout.
The blonde woman shook her head as her eyebrows raised up. 'Such an odd man.' She opened the maroon, leather bound book, turning the pages back to the very beginning.
"The king was devastated to hear that the wife of his brother was unfaithful. How could this be? Why would a queen do such a thing as betray her king? He sympathized with his brother greatly. It seemed fate had a cruel sense of humor, for the king had discovered his own queen bedding another man not too long far hearing of his brother's marital woes. Fueled with betrayal and rage, the king has his queen executed the next day, so that she would never betray him ever again. After the gruesome event, the king embarked on a sequence of marrying virgin and virgin, shortly executing these women before they had the chance to betray him.
"Stressed over his king's daily executions, the vizier, his royal advisor, had done everything in his power to arrange for a decent woman to be the king's loyal, pure wife. He had done everything, except offer his own daughter. The young woman stood up to offer herself. The vizier, her father, had pleaded and begged for his only daughter to desist from her risky decision. She eased his tensions, assuring him that she had tricks in store for the ruthless king."
Connor's crossed arms had come undone.
"And so, on their first night together, the king withheld a stoic expression, expecting to waste his time with yet another virgin. The young woman would smirk at his proud demeanor. She offers him a tale to spend the time. He acceded, his frown easing just a tad."
His shoulders began to relax, hunching forward in his seat.
"To his surprise, the king had followed her every word, his eyes growing wider and wider with intrigue. As the hours passed, the beast within the king had been lulled into a childish glee, eager to mow what was to become of the heroes and villains alike. The next morning, to her relief, she was not executed. In return, she promised another tale for each night she spent with the king."
His elbows had rested upon his knees as his chin was placed in his palms. His dark eyes widened by the minute.
Every gesture and change of voice that she exhibited with each new character throughout the reading had entertained him greatly. He wanted to hear more and more. She became each character that she read about, almost taking on their personas with soft voices, low voices, varying facial expressions. MaryLynn looked to him occasionally, seeing his once stiff body lean over to listen intently. She smiled to herself, her eyes looking up from heavy hooded eyelids. The boy that had she met years ago still existed inside this grim man.
"And from then, she told the king marvelous stories for a thousand and one nights."
Blue eyes flickered to the man who once bore a stolid face, only to be reverted back to an enthusiastic child.
"Still interested in a tale or two, Connor?"
Between missions (both liberty missions and naval missions) and business at the homestead community, Connor would visit the blonde woman a couple of nights a week for more Arabian tales.
His body language had begun to change, little by little, as his enthusiasm for the blonde woman's recounting of the stories grew.
After two weeks, the chair had inched closer to where MaryLynn sat upon the bed. Another two weeks, and it had inched even closer. By week six, he was comfortable enough to sit atop the bed beside her, retaining a respectful distance from her body. Connor would sit up against the headboard, his legs hanging over the bed's edge as to not soil the bedsheets with his worn out moccasins. His long white coat, his assembly of weapons, and his moccasin leggings would hang over the old chair shortly after his arrival. The musky scent of the frontier was both potent and lovely. MaryLynn could almost picture herself running through the woods whenever she smelled that musky scent of his.
On this night, Marylynn was about to begin the tale, 'The Third Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor.' Connor was bewildered over the story-within-a-story format, so he ceased her telling of the next tale with his eager questioning.
"Why does the woman start a new tale each night? It is clear that she will not be executed. Why not tell just one tale and claim her rights?"
"Well, you see, the sultan was known to execute his wives sporadically. You remember this impulsiveness of his, don't you?"
Connor nodded.
"The woman is more than aware of this. So, to be extra cautious, she devises a new story within a story each night so that the tale lasts longer, therefore her life lasts longer. This can be considered trickery, but I happen to see it as quick wit and survival."
"I feel sorry for this woman. She should not have to be married to a man who does not respect her time. He is not an honorable man."
"I understand what you are saying. She deserves much more, and he is a coward. However, there are reasons why he is the way he is."
"No reason would ever justify his actions. I do not care that he was not the actual person to behead these wives. The blood still stains his hands."
"True, but listen first before you speak. He is afraid that he will be betrayed once again by a woman. His actions are overzealous and unforgivable, yes, I agree with you. They are all done in fear. The pain of betrayal would simply kill him. Tales such as these are exaggerated to teach a lesson. He kills women before they can kill his heart."
"Of course. My people have their own tales to instill morals. However, he frustrates me very much. I do not know why. He does not learn. He remains the same, yet these people in the tales are the ones who gain wisdom."
She laughed softly. If she didn't know any better, MaryLynn saw the similarities between Shahryar and Connor. Fear of betrayal. The immediate dismissal of those who pose a threat. He killed possible bonds without hesitation rather than killing the person as did the sultan. However, he did not kill this bond that he shared with her. He did not dismiss her, just as Shahryar did not dismiss Scheherazade. The blonde woman tucked away this observation in the back of her mind.
"My goodness, you despise the king very much! Answer me this question: why do you return to my bedroom for more tales if he bothers you?"
The Native assassin shrugged his shoulders. He selected his words carefully before speaking. It took him a few minutes to answer, MaryLynn patiently waiting with her hands splayed atop the yellowing pages.
"Because I hope to see him change," Connor admitted quietly as he looked down at his large hands.
"I hope so too," she agreed with a gentle sigh, not wanting to give away the ending.
She then started to recount 'The Third Voyage of Sinbad,' resisting the urge to pick Connor's brain for more of his thoughts and questions.
"The call of the deep sea was made undeniable by Sinbad's restless need for adventure. Sailing out into the unknown, he and his crew found themselves in an unfortunate predicament when cast on an island. As ill fate would have it, a beast with eyes like coals of fire and teeth like a boar's husks captures the crew, eating them one by one. The captain was the first of the men to be devoured, being the fattest of them all. With no time to spare over fear, Sinbad had to strike down the beast before any more of his crew suffered a terrible death. He felt it was duty to rescue these unfortunate souls. And so, intending to blind the beast with two red-hot iron spits, Sinbad ran towards the hideous beast with a battle cry, not a single care for his possible demise."
Two Weeks Later
February 1774
Her back collided against the wall as they engaged in a heated kiss. Her fingers slid through his loose dark hair as she leaned her head back, granting his traveling kisses more access to her neck. A shapely leg wrapped around his calf, her heel rubbing up and down the muscle. Her soprano moan enchanted his ears, evoking a flicker of wildfire in his groin.
Ohh. She could feel his manhood swell against her thigh. This man was not well-endowed, sadly. What a bother.
She whispered empty encouragement in between kisses, her lips nipping at his jaw now and then. Hopefully this won't take too long. Didn't he have children to go home to? A lonely wife?
'Here we go again,' thought the blonde woman as she crooned an affectionate pet name or two.
This was nothing new from the usual performances. This man was just another nameless client looking for the sultry vixen to make him scream for the night.
The rough kisses soon led to the ripping away of clothing, falling to the ground like pooling puddles in a rainstorm. She pulled him to the bed by his thick wrist, her plump bottom bouncing on the mattress as the man climbed atop her pale body. The next ten minutes were a blur.
Count five seconds.
Fake a moan.
Count another five seconds.
Fake another moan.
Whisper a perverted utterance.
Moan once more before beginning a consistent rhythm of loud breathing.
It was all a lie, her performance. The man would never know, though.
Growing tired and rather irritated by the man's incessant humping, the blonde woman presented the finale in what she deemed to resemble a "mind-shattering" orgasm cry. He ended up pulling out of her wet entrance to climax onto her stomach. Great. More mess to clean up. Once he was fully dressed, MaryLynn bid the man goodbye in a breathy, feminine voice. She closed the door rather hastily, sighing aloud. The payment was safe with Madame, and she would receive her dues tomorrow morning. Carefully removing the sponge from her vaginal canal, she disposed of the used contraceptive quickly, glad to be rid of the thing. It was rammed flat up against her cervix, and the feeling was damn painful!
MaryLynn did not want to perform sex anymore tonight. Sometimes, in the middle of a session, she would be too tired, too worn out to carry on. However, she had to. The show must go on. Luckily, her clients were egotistical enough to be satisfied by hearing a prostitute climax before him. This trickery served her well, but her body had had enough. Little did they know, she faked her orgasms, perfecting the body shivers and the desperate gasps for air. She mastered the whispered encouragements, the flying of golden hair over her face, the parted lips in the shape of an "O." It was all an act, and they'd never know. Truth be told, MaryLynn Mortenson had not had a true blue, genuine orgasm by a man in years. By this point, she had entertained the possibility that she would never experience an orgasm by a man ever again. Only her slender fingers would give her the release she needed from time to time, and this was deemed satisfactory enough.
She did not mind the act of kissing. Enveloping bruised lips. Tongues flicking playfully. Nips at the neck. Sometimes, this was very much enjoyable. Other times, MaryLynn compared the kissing techniques of some of her clients to that of a slobbering dog. Nasty. Greedy. Just sloppy, plain and simple. It was the business, unfortunately: you please the client, not the other way around.
Slowly making her way to the copper basin, the blonde woman grabbed a nearby rag and a bar of soap with a slim rope attached to it from her vanity desk. The water would be tepid by now, having been left to sit for quite a while. However, it would have to do. 'Anything to wash off this sticky mess. Honestly, why do men feel the need to squirt their juices onto me? I am not a tree to be marked! Animals, they are!' She irritably sighed aloud as she kneeled before the basin.
She dipped the rag into the water, rubbing the bar of soap into the fabric to create a thick foam. Once she began rubbing the rag over her stomach, ridding herself of the sticky substance, she moaned sweetly at the comfort of the touch. It was the simplest of things that made MaryLynn forget for just a moment how hard the nights were on her body and mind.
Dipping the rag in the basin once more, she dragged it over her thighs and around her womanhood. She had already removed the sponge from her vaginal canal and disposed of it, so the tepid water and foaming bubbles were welcomed. A hum left her lips, taking pleasure in the intimate moment where she could pamper herself.
Not a moment too soon, Connor arrived at the window, finding himself watching the blonde woman bathe. He quickly adjusted his position. From the tip of his head to his shoulders, he was visible in the window glass. Thankfully, MaryLynn's back had been facing him, so she did not see him watching. 'No,' he silently scolded himself. 'I should leave. She is not dressed. This is wrong of me to...watch...'
He could not deny what his body had communicated beneath his suddenly heated clothes, feeling much too warm. Connor was aroused by the smooth curve of her tiny waist, shooting out into wide, full hips. Her supple, pale skin glistened like translucent pearls, thin streams of water falling down the dramatic dip of her lower back. Connor swallowed hard, his manhood further swelling to an aching point.
He quickly took to the roof, overwhelmed by his body's reaction. He felt as if he had betrayed MaryLynn by being aroused by her body. She was a friend, a kind friend, and she did not extend her services to him. However, he was still a man with needs, a virginal man fascinated by the blonde woman's natural lure and sensuality. He forced his thoughts to dwell on images of bloodied corpses and the portraits of the Templars he had intended to kill. After ten minutes of this grueling process, his arousal had eased down. Although, a remnant of the ache was still present. He would have to take care of that himself later on.
Carefully, Connor scaled down the building, back to MaryLynn's bedroom window. He was relieved to find that she was dressed in her linen nightgown, her onyx beaded rosary thrown around her neck. Hesitantly, he knocked on her window with the back of his knuckles, praying to the spirits that his manhood would not give him away.
The blonde woman looked up and smiled at her nightly visitor at the window. Her footsteps were strained, but she managed to work through the ache in her pelvis and lower stomach without a flinch.
"Oh hello, Connor," she sounded chipper, masking her depleted energy as she granted him entry. "You came at a good time."
Her slow movements did not escape the Native assassin's alert senses. She was tired. Very tired. The swollen flesh under her eyes had also given away her physical state, the violet shadows framing her freshwater blue eyes. And yet, why did MaryLynn force herself to spend time with him? Didn't she wish to sleep the night away and move on to the next day? How many men did she entertain tonight? 'Enough!' Connor forced his questions away. 'No talk of business. She speaks for herself. And yet...she's clearly tired. I don't know if..'
"I do not want to disturb you if you are tired," a semblance of his thoughts came to life through his words. "I can return another night if you wish."
"Nonsense. You have been coming here for how long now? And have I turned you away even once?"
He shook his head, "No."
"There is your answer," MaryLynn sighed softly, carefully strolling over to her bed as Connor removed his long coat and collection of weaponry.
"In all honesty, your company is a lovely ending to my day. You have no clue."
The Native assassin was not sure how to respond to her confession, busying himself with the unstrapping of his moccasin leggings and leather pouches. He scratched at the navy blue breeches, shooing away a dull ache with his fingernails.
"My mind fails me tonight," said MaryLynn, tucking herself beneath the sheets as she retrieved the leather bound book from her nightstand. "Which voyage of Sinbad are we on?"
"The seventh one," he recalled immediately, having developed a liking for the sailor.
"Ah ha. The final one."
Connor was left in his white military shirt, navy blue breeches, and worn out moccasins. His hair always remained partially tied back, the bottom layer of his shoulder length hair whisping the back of his neck. Making his way over to the bed, he sat down, his legs swung over the side. The pillows felt pleasantly cool against his back, a light groan reverberating in his throat.
"Long day?" MaryLynn asked, her lips stretching into a sympathetic expression.
"You could say that," Connor responded, blinking his eyes to chase away the strain. "You look as if you have had a long day as well."
"Do I look that bad?" she chuckled, cocking an eyebrow at the man beside her.
"You do not look bad at all," he sputtered, becoming nervous. "I did not intend to insult you."
"No, no, I am not insulted. I just speed through my days and don't even realize how tired I am. Anyway, let me find the right page...Ah ha, here we are."
Bending her knees to prop up the book against her thighs, she began to read 'The Final Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor' as Connor eagerly awaited. In the corner of her eye, MaryLynn could see him leaning his head towards her to see the illustrations a little bit better. 'I thought he hated to be touched, no less being this close to a person. Well, I guess if he isn't fretting, it's fine.'
"In need of his youthful spirit, Haroun al-Rashad requested for Sinbad to carry a gift to the king of Serendib. Infamous for his thirst for adventure, for purpose, Sinbad was deemed the perfect man to execute the task. Alas, after all the hardships of loss and death, the Sailor had become weary. Apologetic, with the flames of his passion flickering out in his eyes, Sinbad responds with, 'By Allah the Omnipotent, O my Lord, I have taken a loathing to wayfare, and when I hear the words, 'voyage' and 'travel,' my limbs tremble.'"
As the tale progressed, coming to an emotionally relieving end, Connor found himself with mixed emotions. He wondered if his own missions against the Templars would be written down. Perhaps not written in letters of gold, like that of Sinbad's voyages in the tale, but nonetheless written down. It was an interesting thought, but this journey was not to be done in glory. It was to be done with passion. The ones who live history are the ones who make history.
"He was looking for something on these voyages," Connor contemplated aloud. "And yet, his hands remain empty. Does he find what it is he was looking for? Is he satisfied?"
Worry knit his brows and downturned the corners of his lips. No, he was not slaying mythical monsters and seeking gold, but the thought of a man looking for purpose only to find nothing...it was unsettling. Connor's weary mind would not grant him permission to contemplate such things. Besides, it was just a tale to teach lessons. Nothing more.
MaryLynn smiled sadly at the Native assassin, wishing she knew more of his days in order to give him the proper comfort. She hummed to herself, patting the yellowing pages with an open palm.
"That is for you to decide, Connor. Some people would be satisfied with this ending. His tales were shared in letters of gold. Whether he would be satisfied by this or not is up to the reader. Others would not be satisfied. It depends on what you seek in life and what it takes to satisfy you."
'She sounds like Clan Mother. Cryptic messages,' Connor mused, shaking his head. Not wishing to dwell on the ending of the tale, he decided to share a piece of his life, an uncharacteristic action indeed.
"Sinbad's voyages sound like my own on the sea."
"You've sailed the seas?" the blonde woman gasped, filled with glee. "Why didn't you tell me before, you silly man!"
He shrugged his shoulders bashfully.
"You have never asked me."
"Tell me a story, Connor. Please?"
"A story?"
He was caught off guard, but Connor managed to assuage his hesitance.
"Well...I embarked on a naval mission not too long ago."
"Did you? What did you do? Are you the captain?"
He seemed to fancy the title. Captain. With a twitch of his lips, a lopsided smile made an appearance on his distinguished face.
"Yes. However, I captain the ship alongside another man, my first mate, who bears far more experience than I."
"What is his name?"
"William Faulker. He is an older man who has seen very much in life. He drinks too much, though. Promise me you will not become a drunk."
"Oh, Connor. Don't worry about me. I drink enough for myself. Now tell me, what was this last naval mission like?"
"It was...I do not know which English word to use to describe the feeling. I-I apologize. It is my second language."
"No need to apologize. You know more languages than I do. I sound so boring sometimes! What about the word, 'thrilling'?"
His lips twitched into another small smile.
"Yes."
"What is your crew like?"
"Dutiful. Rowdy, but they are good men nonetheless."
She noted that Connor was a very introverted man, not one to tell stories about himself. MaryLynn presented her questions with a soft voice, her eyelids drooping in a dreamy expression. This gentle approach seemed to alleviate Connor's social discomfort.
"Have you taken down ships? Are the cannons loud?"
"Yes, we have taken down ships. The explosions are 'thrilling,' as you say."
"I bet! The cannon fire blinding your sight, the explosion deafening you, the hard winds crashing against you. Connor, you truly are Sinbad, huh?"
This woman bore the enthusiasm of a child. Connor was befuddled by the two faces that MaryLynn seemed to bear. Amongst the rowdy men in the tavern, she was a curvaceous siren with puckering lips and a voice sultry enough to pull men in close like helpless puppets with gaping mouths. With him, she was wide-eyed, even shy. She welcomed him every time he visited, and always gave him a warm smile. Do not mistaken, her feminine allure did not falter when she was herself with Connor. If anything, Connor found the blonde woman precious when she spoke to him in a coy, breathy voice. The innocence she still possessed despite her wild nights was astonishing to him. He fancied this version of MaryLynn better than the vixen. Plus, she only seemed to reveal this side of her to Connor. He enjoyed not sharing her with other men who he deemed undeserving. This woman was his lovely little secret.
What was she like with her clients? The Native assassin did not wish to know. He did not wish to know what kind of men touched her. The thought bothered him. Was Connor jealous? He was not sure. All he knew was that these men possessed the chance to hurt her. It was not his business what happened in this bedroom, but he wanted to make it his business that this woman was not hurt.
"Are you satisfied here?" he questioned her, no longer able to remain quiet about his thoughts.
MaryLynn looked away with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Are you?" he attempted at the question again.
Her body thieved the reins of her control, taking her out of bed and to the vanity desk where her looking glass and trinkets resided.
She sat before a small oak wood desk, shabby with age and in need of a good polishing. Staring into a wooden framed looking glass, she brushed her fair colored hair with her fingers, trying to tame the short waves. A sensitive nerve had been plucked, and her emotions threatened to seize control of her actions. The blonde woman had moved away from Connor as if to move away from his questioning. If she was distant, then she wouldn't have to give an answer.
He knew that he was crossing a line. He knew that it was none of his business what MaryLynn did and did not do with her life. However, he could not desist from caring about her well-being. The thought of this kind woman giving herself to men who did not deserve her attention had bothered Connor very much. Even if it was all done for survival, she still deserved more.
"Why do you remain here? You deserve more than what you receive."
"It's what I know, Connor," she retaliated, peering down at her looking glass with a morbid expression, the hardships of her youth prancing like demons in the glass. "I make the best out of it to survive. I've told you this."
"But you can leave, can you not?"
"Connor, please stop."
He did not listen. If Connor could bring people in need to the homestead community where he lived with Achilles, then maybe...just maybe she could live there, too. She would be well fed, clothed, happy, and even tell him stories when he returned from the day's duties.
"I live in a small community not too far from here. There is more than enough room for you, and you would not have to serve anyone but yourself. If you leave, you know that I will take you there the moment you tell me to."
She bit back her angry tears. MaryLynn had already accepted her fate for the past decade. She was assaulted, labeled impure and unwanted, even told by her own mother that she was born out of sin. Why was this man insisting that she change her life when she had finally settled her path, satisfied enough? Just for his comfort? For his pity for her? She did not want nor ask for his damn pity.
Change. He made it sound so simple. MaryLynn found a routine to stay off the streets and live her life in her own way. Who was he to tell her to change her lifestyle?
"You're sweet. Really," her voice was bitter, her eyes fixed on her melancholy facial features in the looking glass. "But, I am not asking you to save me. Some people don't want to be saved. I am getting along just fine and have made peace. I thank you for caring, but please, let me make my own decisions such as this when I am willing and ready."
'Stop giving me hope! I have accepted my fate. Leave me be, you pestering man! It's not as simple and romantic as you think it is!' The blonde woman managed to ride a wave of panic by steadying her breathing. Her eyes closed as her hand was placed on her heart. Fetching the flask from her vanity desk, she unscrewed the lid to savor a loud gulp of whiskey. With anxiety stepping aside, anger began to fester beneath the surface as memories of her struggles to gain freedom in her profession arose. The filthy men. The loss of friends to jealousy. The lack of a home. She finally perfected this clandestine life, and no one, no "hero," was going to tell her what to do.
"Why are you upset?" Connor questioned her, noticing the tightening of her lips and lack of eye contact.
She demanded a moment to calm down. Her breathing rhythm was broken. The blonde woman couldn't communicate her angry thoughts at him. It frustrated her why she could not do so. MaryLynn had no trouble scolding him in the alleyway all those weeks ago. Why hesitate now? Did Connor's proposal tug at least one heart string?
A gasp here. A choke there. Another gasp, this one louder than the first. 'Not tonight. Not tonight.' She drank down the whiskey, her gulps audible.
Ok...Ok…
The anxiety was shooed away for now.
"Demanding change from me is unsettling when I do not plan it. Please, let me handle my life in my way and when I am ready. Don't you dare pity me!"
"But-"
"Just stop!"
Connor was silenced by her outburst. She had turned away, her short blonde waves bouncing with the motion.
"Fine," he huffed, disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm for his offer. "Should you change your mind, when the time comes...you tell me."
He began to dress himself in his outer attire, planning to leave. He figured that MaryLynn did not want him in her presence any longer. He had upset her when all he wanted to do was to help her. Perhaps it was not what she wanted right now. Perhaps she wasn't ready to be forced out of her lifestyle. It sounded all too familiar.
Flipping up the white hood over his head, the Native assassin looked to her once more before departing through the open window.
"You remind me of the woman from the Arabian book," he said, his voice deep and calculating. "You offer so much, just to survive. And yet, you ask for nothing in return but your freedom. If you possessed the chance to alter your life, such as that Aladdin man had done, what would you desire?"
Silence met his ears. MaryLynn's body did not move from the vanity desk. Connor sighed aloud, pulling open the window panes. Before he could step onto the ledge, he had heard a soft voice make itself known.
"To return to King's Chapel," whispered MaryLynn. "I haven't been there in so long."
The blonde woman's body remained idle, sitting at the desk as she stared into the dead reflection of her color-drained face in the looking glass. She was done with him for tonight, her breathing having returned to a normal pace and her emotions wearing thin. He withheld a gaze of MaryLynn's body one last time.
'Why doesn't she want to be saved? I don't understand it! It's not hard to leave this place; there is nothing of value here for her. She doesn't truly thrive here. She is not satisfied.' It killed him inside to hear that the blonde woman would not leave with him for a better life. However, he knew very well that nature had to take its course when the time was right. The spirits would move her, not he. And he knew this. Still...he wish he could give her something worth giving.
'I must ask Sam where King's Chapel is.'
**: The man that MaryLynn referred to was Benjamin Franklin, who was known to fancy prostitutes, especially if they were French. I can see him as an older gentleman type that ML would warm up to. He would educate her and tell her stories, charmed by her femininity.
++: Actual line from "The Final Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor." There are different versions of this ending, but I felt that this ending served the chapter well.
Please note: The chosen tales in this chapter were paraphrased. I did not want to copy word-for-word the chosen tales, so bear with me. In the 1700's, there were actually different versions of this collection of tales, boycotted in different languages. Little historical tid-bit there. ;)
Author's Note: Hello, everyone. I guess you now know what the number 1001 referred to in the first chapter! :) I truly enjoyed the idea of Connor being tamed by this lovely book. Arabian Nights is one of my favorites.
Please know that my updates will be slower than the initial weekly update plan. I have had to take a second job, and it will take time for me to settle down. So, I will write and edit when I can. Thank you in advance for your patience! The next chapter will be charming, and I look forward to finding time to sit down and organize it.
Thank you so much to those who have supported and enjoyed this story! Sorry I cannot reply to you at this moment, so I hope this general "thank you, thank you!" is alright! :) I feel so bad when I can't reply right away, so I hope these words are enough. Your encouragement is amazing and swells my heart, truly. Thank you, every one of you.
~take care