Chapter 12: Rain
I do not own Assassin's Creed 3 characters. I do own MaryLynn, Madam, and the Maverick brothel.
"When your lips are burning mine
And you take the time to tell me how you feel
When you listen to my words
And I know you've heard, I know it's real
Rain is what this thunder brings
For the first time I can hear my heart sing
Call me a fool, but I know I'm not
I'm gonna stand out here on the mountain top
Till I feel your
Rain
Feel it on my finger tips
Hear it on my window pane
Your love's coming down like
Rain
Wash away my sorrow
Take away my pain
Your love's coming down like…
Rain"
- "Rain" by Madonna
The early morning mist veiled the city like a bride in waiting, creating a slithering mysticism amongst the shabby brick buildings. The sun was peering over the distant horizon, a silver of its radiating body visible. It seemed as if the sun did wish to rise today, and neither did MaryLynn. She did not sleep a wink at all.
The bedsheets were tangled, coiling around her shapely legs like serpents. They were tightly wound from the constant tossing and turning of her body. Her eyes burned from the lack of sleep, yet she did not feel tired. Her anxiety over this morning's departure had not eased her body, but startled it greatly. How could she possibly sleep undisturbed knowing that there was no coming back to this place?
Sitting up, MaryLynn sluggishly hunches over her lap, her blonde waves flopping over her face. She inhales deeply, extending the suckling of breath to feel a stretch in her lower back. With a deep sigh, she straightens up her posture to fetch the pocket watch lying on her nightstand. Five forty five a.m. Finally, it was time to start this day, only to end it and the anxiety as well.
Saying goodbye was never easy. Waiting to utter the word "goodbye" was pure torture. MaryLynn combs back her messy hair with an unoccupied hand as she continues to stare at the pocket watch, willing time to stop altogether.
Tossing the watch towards the foot of the bed, the blonde woman forces herself to stand up, her body heavy as lead. 'Get dressed,' she scolded herself. 'They'll be here soon, and you cannot make them wait.' A part of her did not want to get dressed and meet with Madam, Sam, and Elizabeth. She wanted to remain in bed and stay there until the end of life. She felt stressed over the changes to come and the heaviness of bidding goodbye, not just to Madam but also to an old life. A part of her identity died this past night, making way for a new identity that she had no clue how to acclimate to. She did not even know what this next role was. Did it have a name? Was a name necessary? What were the expectations? Was freedom truly liberating, or just plain frightful?
As welcome as positive change was, there was still mourning over a self that was not needed anymore, having outlived its purpose. 'These people are going out of their way to help you. The least you can do is try.'
Reluctantly, MaryLynn dresses herself, starting with her undergarments. Her movements are slow, dragging her limbs to perform and pull up her cotton petticoat. Eventually, she was fully dressed in a white blouse with a tie string at the collar, a black bodice with corset strings in the front, and a long emerald green skirt. Tying a black handkerchief scarf around her head, she makes her way to the door. The exit was quick, her eyes closed as she entered the hallway.
There. The hardest part was over.
'Why did I have to pack my whiskey flask? Damnit!'
Ten minutes passed as MaryLynn stood outside her bedroom door, clutching her sides, simulating a tight embrace from another. To descend that staircase would confirm the beginning of her departure, her next life. It was terrifying. And so, she stood there, hugging her waist tighter and tighter as the minutes tick-tick-ticked on by. She left behind that damn pocket watch for a reason. Tick-tick-tick. Time is running out.
Heavy footsteps scuff the floorboards as they ascend the staircase. MaryLynn's head darted toward the noise, her blue eyes wide as a startled doe's. Silly girl. She knew someone would come fetch her sooner or later. Loose red curls bopped up and down as Madam came into view. She was fully dressed in her day attire, not bothering with taming her hair. Her small eyes find the blonde woman standing painfully still, her eyes refusing to blink as they stare back at her.
"It's past six a.m., dearie," says the older woman, her voice husky from grogginess...and possible emotion.
"Already?" she says in what could be determined as disbelief, her gaze lowering to her feet.
"Yes. Sam and Elizabeth aren' here yet, but I suspect they'll be he-"
Four knocks could be heard rapping at the front door.
"Speak o' the devil. They're here," she says, smirking.
MaryLynn bites into her lower lip hard, her eyes rising up to Madam's face. Normally, the older woman would throw her hands up in the air, threatening to drag her girl by the wrist (a curse word or two mumbled under her breath). This time, however, she sighs aloud, a sympathetic smile spreading across her thin lips.
"It's not the Reaper, MaryLynn. C'mon, take my hand."
She offers a plump hand to the blonde woman, who clutches it desperately as she rushes for the human contact. Madam pats the back of the young woman's hand as she leads her to the steps. As the women descend the staircase, their grip on one another tightens with each step surpassed. MaryLynn's heart pounded against her bosom, her bodice visibly pulsing. The descending of the staircase felt like a prison sentence. Will the wench live or die another death of heartbreak? Madam could feel her girl shaking. Her heart swelled, knowing that the blonde woman was afraid of being rejected in a new home. In all her years, never once did she believe with all her might that a girl under her roof would escape the confines of society's underground and find a road to peace.
Until now, that is.
The older woman was giving away what could have been her only daughter. However, Madam was proud to see MaryLynn stare down a demon, even if she was petrified of the unknown. Once the pair of women reached the bottom of the staircase, Madam gently told her girl that she had to let go of her hand in order to open the door. MaryLynn was afraid of letting go of that warm, plump hand.
Alas, she knew that she had to let go of Madam.
Another set of knocks could be heard.
"Keep your knickers on, you impatient bastard!" drawled Madam as she made her way down the narrow entrance hall and to the front door.
"Madam, please don't shout at Sam. He means well."
"Heh heh, clearly you didn' know Sam in his younger days. He's tame now, but when he was a lad, his mouth was jus' as mean as mine."
The older woman opens the heavy red door to reveal Sam and Elizabeth. The statesman was dressed in his favorite navy blue coat, freshly cleaned and pressed. His wife shared the same well groomed demeanor, wearing a lavender plaid dress with a white mob cap tucking away her brown curls. The married couple looked simply perfect in MaryLynn's eyes as she stared awkwardly at the pair from her stance at the staircase.
"You do know I can still hear your loud mouth through this door, you old bat," Sam smirks, his voice of the mischievous sort.
"Since when do I care?" chuckles Madam, gesturing for the long time couple to step inside. "Mornin', Elizabeth dear. As always, I'm happy to see you've kept this ol' dog tame all these years."
"I do try! He did not come this way, mind you," the woman tittered, her smile as bright as her husband's.
"Don' I know it," Madam mumbled, rolling her eyes.
MaryLynn stood at the bottom of the staircase, feeling out of place and beyond alien. She knew that Madam had known Samuel and Elizabeth Adams for quite some time. However, the laughter and smart alleck remarks made her feel as if she did not belong in this merry group. She never did feel that she belonged anywhere, despite mastering the art of thieving attention from crowds. If it was for the sake of entertainment, she felt that she reigned anywhere she went. If it was a social setting where she did not understand the jokes or the already established friendships, she experienced embarrassment and simply forgot how to act like a person, not a projected fantasy.
Rubbing her forearm profusely, the blonde woman continues to stand there, looking around with wide eyes, her pupils dilated.
"Oh, the poor thing is nervous," cooed Elizabeth, who appeared to be on the brink of middle age or so. "MaryLynn, no need to stand there."
"I-I'm sorry," breathed MaryLynn, slowly making her way to the small group.
"MaryLynn is jus' nervous, tha's all," Madam explained.
"It's more than understandable," chimed in Sam, always bearing that comforting smile that never seemed to falter in the face of adversity.
"Of course," Elizabeth agreed, opening her arms towards the nervous woman. "MaryLynn, it will all be fine. Once you step outside, you feel right as rain."
MaryLynn nods, trying to force a small smile on her lips. Elizabeth embraces the blonde woman, hoping to ease her nerves with affection. Sam thinned out his lips, squirming whenever his wife was overly affectionate with people. MaryLynn did not expect the hug, but reciprocated nonetheless with a shy hug of her own. The Adams' were lovely people, and she had always admired their marriage. They had several children, had been married for twenty years, and treated Surry as if he were another son despite being owned. MaryLynn did not favor slavery in the least, but she did admire how lovely her former showmate was treated.
"Now, MaryLynn," Madam began, rushing to the podium to retrieve a hidden treat. "You'll get hungry on your trip, so I put together some food you could nibble on. Should this not be enough, you make tha' man buy you dinner at a tavern. No excuses."
When Madam pulled out the care package of dried berries, nuts, and dried strips of meat. The food was bundled up in a red plaid napkin, tied in certain ways to simulate a small purse. She looked up to see a teary eyed MaryLynn. The older woman remained silent, cradling the care package in her plump arms as she thinned out her lips. A sting pricked at her eyes as she embraced the blonde woman with one arm. MaryLynn wrapped her arms tightly around Madam's neck, burying her face in her left shoulder.
"Don' cry, dearie," whispered Madam, rubbing the younger woman's back in circles. "This is a happy time. I think…I know tha' I'm going to miss you most of all."
"Promise you'll never forget me," she whispers in haste, almost embarrassed for having uttered this wish.
"How can I forge' you? You cry at the drop o' a hat and drink more whiskey than a sailor."
This remark made MaryLynn laugh, chasing away the tears. Madam was relieved for the laughter; she was close to shedding tears.
"Now, c'mon," says Madam, gently breaking free of the embrace.
Escorting the blonde woman to the married couple, Madam tells MaryLynn one last thing before the group of three depart into the morning mist.
"Now, MaryLynn, I put a letter in with the food. Don' read it until you're settled in at the homestead, you hear?"
"Yes, Madam," MaryLynn speaks quietly with an eager nod. She felt a child whose mother was shooing her away in order to get to school on time. This simile brought about more temptation to sob.
Smiling warmly, her dark eyes crinkling, the Madam of the Maverick brothel waves goodbye, watching her best girl, her daughter, disappear into the mist and down the cobblestone streets.
The city itself was drained of colored on this morning. The pale hues of orange and lilac in the skies had done nothing to liven up the dirty streets and the sleepy inhabitants of Boston. It was a perfect day to retreat to bed and forget that the sun ever rose. MaryLynn and the Adams' s pass by merchants setting up their stands for the day, their movements sluggish and drooping faces begging for another hour or two of slumber. However, the day had to begin despite objections. Gold clouds littered the skies, beginning to clump together into larger blobs. No sun today? Where has the sun gone? Was She hiding too?
It felt odd to walk between Sam and Elizabeth. They were such pleasant people. She was out of place, yet she seemed to belong in between them. Guardians. Pillars. Preventing her fall. The transition from city to the frontier was a drastic change. The grass was plush and wild. The trees loomed over her, spectating the new life that has entered their wild domain. The dim light of the sun peeked through the branches, casting shadow stars on her face and hands. The dim hues of orange and lilac began to wash away in the skies, making way for an ashen grey.
Suddenly, MaryLynn was not as frightened as she previously was to leave the city. Being surrounded by nature seemed to comfort her, encourage her to venture into this new life with curious eyes.
"Not much longer now," said Sam, his strides long and relaxed. "I must admit, this early morning walk feels good."
"Yes, my love," agrees Elizabeth, heartily breathing in the scent of pinewood and musk. "It gets the blood pumping, and it is so nice when people are not crowding the streets. More peaceful this way, I say."
"The city is nothing like it is out here," the blonde owman finally speaks up, surprising both Sam and Elizabeth. "It's almost…magical out here."
"You don't get out very much, do you?" laughed Sam, amused by the blonde woman's childlike wonderment.
"Not really, no," she admits, flushing at the cheeks with embarrassment.
'I love these tress,' she quietly gushes. 'Standing tall and oh so green. Like jewels, almost. I want to pluck them and weave them into my hair like a crown. It's quiet. I hope to see animals. Maybe this trip will not be as stressful as I thought. Why have I not come here before? A place so close to the city and yet I never bothered to venture out here. I guess I never had a reason to until now. Then again, I would probably get lost. That sounds like me.'
Connor rested his back against the stout bark of a tree as he sat atop a thick branch several feet above the ground. One long, muscular leg stretched out along the length of the branch while the other leg dangled over, swinging back and forth. This past night's to-and-fro with the wagon containing MaryLynn's belongings did not take up most of his time. He returned to the manor in the middle of the night, the moon past the mid-point in the velvet skies. He was able to spare a couple of hours to sleep before having to venture back out into the frontier to meet with Sam, Elizabeth and MaryLynn.
Little sleep was not as burdensome as it once was when Connor began to embark on multiple missions, relocating from destination to destination without rest. His circadian rhythms became accustomed to the sporadic schedule, and his body was able to function with as little as two hours of sleep. An uneventful routine was not common, but when he could savor such time, Connor enjoyed it very much…until the idleness drove him to madness.
The Native assassin was not one to remain idle without purpose for long periods of time. He was driven by revenge and perseverance, and sitting still was not his forte. Achilles had lectured him time and time again that there would be periods of time when not much could be done, and waiting for a lead on targets was the only option. "Enjoy the time now, boy," he would say. "If the universe grants you some time alone for peace, you should accept instead of spitting on it like a spoiled child." 'The old man may be right, but this gives me no gratification. What good comes from waiting for something that may or may not come?' Connor's musings settled down. He did not need nor want a distraction right now. At least his idle times would be shared with another person who did not whack him with a cane. 'I swear, the old man does it for his entertainment sometimes.'
His trip with MaryLynn would take a little longer than usual when compared to traveling alone. When alone, Connor would free run amongst the tree branches at high speeds, even when caught in a storm. Yet, he was aware that MaryLynn was not accustomed to traveling long distance, especially to his methods of travel. An easy pace was required, hence him telling the blonde woman the previous night that they would arrive at the manor by sunset. He accounted for a break or two along this trip when estimating their arrival time. This did not leave him disgruntled, mind you. He looked forward to taking her through the forests and open fields, somewhere she had never been. He could relive the excitement and joy MaryLynn had exhibited when he had taken her to King's Chapel last year. Nature was not exactly a beloved chapel, but Connor hoped that she would find the outdoors just as precious and sacred.
The sun was hidden behind clusters of thick grey clouds. 'A rain storm is coming today,' he thought, assessing the humidity levels. 'Of all days.' Judging from where the most light collected in the skies, he determined the time of day by the sun's position. 'They should be arriving here soon. Hopefully, the red coats have not stopped them for questioning. This would be the only time I don't disagree with Samuel Adams' ability to lie to people though his teeth with honeyed words.'
Connor continues to swing his leg over the tree branch, enjoying the rest. However, his dark eyes never ceased their scanning of the environment below, his vigilance of yellow hair never ending.
"I think it's simply sweet how this young man is taking you to a nice, quiet place. So many trees and flowers. Sharing the quiet peace of the outdoors on the front porch. Goodness, MaryLynn, you give me this sense of regaining my girlish youth!"
Elizabeth had been gushing over MaryLynn moving in with the Native assassin since leaving Boston. She had only met the young man twice, but, judging from his manners and stern demeanor, she could tell that he was raised well. The blonde woman would merely nod, her cheeks reddening at the honeyed comments. The woman made it sound as if Connor had proposed marriage to her! MaryLynn had insisted that Connor was only a good friend and that he was just being kind. This did not dampen Elizabeth's emergence in a fantasy, mind you. Not in the least bit.
"Elizabeth," moaned Sam, rubbing his eyes of frustration, "must you romanticize everything? You make it sound like Connor is waiting with a bouquet of flowers and a sonnet to recite. He isn't a romancer. Even if you were to get him drunk off his arse, he wouldn't have a clue."
"Why don't you like to have fun, Samuel?" Elizabeth shouted, her fists balling at her sides. "MaryLynn, I can have fun, can I not?"
MaryLynn flushed a deeper shade of red, her heart racing with social anxiety. She wrung her small hands together, not wanting to participate in the married couple's banter.
"W-well," she began in a quiet voice, "having fun isn't so harmful, really."
"See? She agrees with me!"
"Of course she agrees with you. Women remain loyal to one another if it means proving a man wrong. I don't blame you, MaryLynn. My wife can be a she-beast when she is crossed."
"I am no she-beast!"
The blonde woman had to admit that Sam and Elizabeth were lovely distractions from her indistinguishable plethora of mixed emotions. Excitement. Anxiety. Hope. Dread. However, she did silently agree with Sam: Connor was in no way a Casanova of a man, so to speak. If told to bestow a bouquet of flowers to a woman, he would simply ask, "Why?" If told to recite a sonnet, he would first ask what a sonnet was. And then, he would remark on how silly and nonsensical the words sounded. The Native assassin would most likely say, "A woman is a human being, not a flower," as if the simile were completely berserk to even consider. "Why, she would think you have gone mad if you claimed that she was a plant." MaryLynn tittered at the thought. She could easily hear Connor speaking with this logic in mind.
In all honesty, it was his lack of skill and finesse with women that enchanted her. It was honest behavior. Any man could bring her flowers and shower her with flattery on her beauty. However, it was all done with a motive in mind. I'll give you something if you give me something in return. A fumbling fool with his tongue tied…that was honest. That was what a woman such as herself found precious. She smiled to herself warmly, stroking the leather bracelet delicately at the thought of the Native assassin.
What was also nice was that he did not care if she was six years his senior; a spinster, no less. However, what did he truly think of her, knowing that she has been intimate with dozens of nameless men over the years for survival? The blonde woman did not know if their relationship would surpass friendship and delve into something more, but she could not prevent herself from thinking of the possibility. What if living together led to a moment of intimacy? What then? Would Connor be disgusted to know that other men have touched, caressed, savored her skin before he could? MaryLynn suspected that he was celibate, but was he a virgin?
She could not determine this! She could not even ask the poor man without him having a nervous breakdown over such things and storm out of the room. Physical contact had left him startled, and it took almost two years of knowing MaryLynn for him to at least cease his shakes whenever she touched his arm. What was so wrong about human contact? About sex? Then again, sex was just as natural as breathing to MaryLynn. She could not speak for her dear friend in this department.
If Connor was a virgin…Oh dear Lord, she had her work cut out for her. Like an artist facing a blank canvas, she would feel overwhelmed with where to even start, especially if she was well acquainted and emotionally attached to the metaphorical canvas. 'You don't even know if you will ever be intimate with him! He probably just wants to remain friends and nothing more. He probably has his eyes set on someone else, for all you know. He has a life outside of you. However, my sexuality is what I know best. Goodness, he would think me filthy if he ever lay with me! He seems so innocent…Why take a whore for a lover?'
"MaryLynn, are you alright?" queries Elizabeth, rubbing the blonde woman's shoulder. "You are so quiet. I hope we aren't making you feel uncomfortable."
MaryLynn flushed from embarrassment over Elizabeth thinking her and her husband's company was unwanted.
"Oh, no, no, no!" she shouted frantically, her palms pressed together as if she were about to pray. "It's nothing like that, Elizabeth. I'm just nervous. I tend to live in my head when I'm nervous. It's a circus in there, really. I'm sorry."
"I understand," says Elizabeth, her hand leaving the blonde woman's shoulder to squeeze her hand lovingly. "No need to worry. This walk has been pleasant. You'll see Connor very soon. Is he courting you, if I may ask?"
"Elizabeth!" shouts Sam, his face reddening.
"I am just asking, Samuel! Christ Almighty.."
Once the group had reached the meeting point where the sleepy town of Lexington came into view, Sam had instructed the women to stop at a particular spot near the cornfields.
"Well, here we are," he sighs, straightening out his navy blue coat. "The ranch is in sight in the east. We wait near the cornfields close to the forests. Yes, this sounds like what Connor had told me. However," the statesman pauses to look up towards the treetops, "Connor doesn't seem to be here."
"I don't see him either, my love," Elizabeth confirms as well, looking to the treetops for a man in a white coat. "Wasn't he supposed to be meeting us here? Did you confuse his instructions?"
"I certainly did not confuse his instructions! He'll be here. Just you wait."
"I still don't see him," Elizabeth insisted, her head darting about from tree to tree, glancing at the cornfields occasionally. "You said that he wore a long white coat, correct?"
"Yes, I wear such clothing."
Elizabeth squeaks in surprise at the unexpected voice. MaryLynn and Sam were desensitized to Connor's quiet appearances. It was nothing new to them, really. All three individuals turned about to find Connor walking in long strides past the towering oak trees and wild flower shrubs, a spot where they all had looked just moments ago. MaryLynn smiled widely in relief at the sight of the Native assassin.
"Good God, young man! You scared nearly twenty years off my life!" shouted Elizabeth, laughing as she clutched her bodice where her heart would be residing.
"I'm sorry to have frightened you, Mrs. Adams. It was not my intention."
"Don't worry yourself over the Misses," Sam waved his hand, dismissing his wife's hysterics. "We have raised a few boys over the years, so she's used to surprises."
The statesman extends his large hand to shake Connor's in greeting. Connor accepts, shaking the older man's hand firmly.
"Even in that white coat you blend in with the background and nearly disappear," comments Sam, inspecting the rather noticeable white and blue attire with a red sash tied around the Native assassin's waist, a silver Assassin insignia adorning the crimson material.
Connor nods, not entirely sure how to respond. Achilles had trained him well in the Assassin art of blending in with crowds and scenery to the extent where the assassin could be an illusionist. However, even as a child, he knew how to time his departures and arrivals so that no one would sense his presence. He preferred to hide as a child, and only be seen when he had wanted to be seen. Too much attention was uncomfortable to him. Some people despised solitude in the shadows, but Connor required it sometimes in order to recuperate from his day. Forced conversations and social gestures were a personal pet peeve of his. It all left him drained of energy as if he had run the circumference of the frontier five times in a row (he would much rather perform this activity instead of striking up a casual conversation!).
Connor knew when he was comfortable with someone when he did not experience stress over having to say something in order to put the person at ease. The silence would be pleasant for both of them, and neither would be required to say or do anything at all. Coexistence. Two separate individuals comfortable with just pure, unadulterated silence. A lot of people felt nervous over silence, Connor observed. Talk, talk, talk…Just to chase away the silence. It wasn't threatening. It was peaceful.
Dismissing his unspoken opinions on social gestures, the Native assassin proceeds to shake Elizabeth's hand, his grip gentler compared to his grip on Sam's hand. He apologizes once more to the woman for having startled her, his dark eyebrows knit tightly. The woman chuckles as she insists that no apology was needed at all. Her cheerful disposition was very similar to that of her husband's.
Connor finally sets his eyes upon MaryLynn, who can be seen tightening the handkerchief scarf around her head.
"MaryLynn, are you ready?" he inquires, his voice beginning to rasp from a dry throat.
The gentle look in his eyes had a tranquilizing affect on her. Those familiar dark eyes were still visible despite the shadow cast by the pointed lip of his hood. She stopped fiddling with her handkerchief scarf and allowed her hands to slowly drop to her sides, the makeshift handle of the care package held tightly in her right hand. The blonde woman smiles through her fear, entrusting her wellbeing with the man standing tall before her.
"Yes," she says, her shy voice that classic breath of air. Her quiet, feminine voice would barely meet Connor's ears, but, nonetheless, it would enchant him all the same how much he had to listen in order to hear her.
Connor merely nods at the blonde woman's response, suppressing a smile that managed to tug at least one corner of his full lips. MaryLynn walks over to him, only to turn around to bid Sam and Elizabeth her gratitude. Her facial features softened as she gazed at the lovely, kind couple. Sam stood tall, his grin proud and his dark eyes twinkling as he stood beside his partner. Elizabeth, with her open heart, radiated love as she smiled, curls of brown hair poking through her white mob cap.
"Thank you both for escorting me. I'm terribly sorry for my poor company…and this early hour."
"It was no trouble at all, MaryLynn," assured Sam as he wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I could use some more activity in the morning to get the blood pumping. Happens when you get old!"
"Besides, it's rather nice for my husband and I to walk together without the children chasing our heels. You might have given us a new daily routine to share."
"I'm happy that you are all safe," Connor joined in the conversation. "You have my utmost gratitude for protecting her."
"She's a treasure!" gushed Elizabeth, motioning to MaryLynn with downturned open palms. "Don't lose her now, young man. You might need her."
"Elizabeth!"
"Oh shut up, Samuel!"
Connor looked to MaryLynn with raised eyebrows. She shrugged her shoulders, communicating to not interfere with the banter. Departing from the married couple, Connor and MaryLynn set off into the woods, the blonde woman immediately grabbing onto his muscular bicep for comfort. His upper body visibly stiffens, only to relax after a moment or two. He was becoming more and more accustomed to her touch, his bodily reactions tampering down at a quicker pace. The care package was safely in the possession of the blonde woman's unoccupied hand, gently swinging the makeshift purse forward and backward like an excited little girl. Sam and Elizabeth leave in the opposite direction, deciding to cut through Lexington.
"She's in good hands," says Elizabeth, nodding her head with the affirmation. "I wouldn't have picked anyone else to take that young man's place."
They had been walking side by side for about an hour and a half. The humidity levels did not improve, and the skies were becoming a darker shade of grey. A storm was inevitable by the looks of the weather. Yet, this did not seem to dampen their enjoyment of the other person's company.
Every sound emitted from an animal startles and intrigues the blonde woman simultaneously. It was entertaining for Connor to watch every little reaction she staged towards the vibrant life of the forest.
"It amazes me how you have never left Boston to venture into the woods. Is nature truly alien to you?" he asks, folding his hands behind his back.
"Yes. I'm sorry," she looks away bashfully, eyeing a shrub of yellow flowers. "You probably think I'm strange."
"I do not think such a thing about you. I'm just amazed at the fact that you have not walked in these woods before. I can never imagine myself living in a city and not know the feel of the wind, the rays of the sun, the whispers of the trees, the mannerisms of the animals that live here. It is no wonder that you felt trapped in Boston."
"You're very chatty, you know?" MaryLynn titters, surprised by how much her dear friend had overcome his usually reserved nature.
"Sorry. I'm just trying to make conversation," Connor apologizes as if he spoke too much. In actuality, he never spoke enough.
'Plus,' he thought to himself. 'I am happy to take you away from that old lifestyle.'
"No, no need for apologies. You usually speak few words. I like that you are sharing your thoughts with me more often. It makes me feel special."
Blue eyes capture sight of a light brown hare poking its head through a shrub. Startled at having been sighted, the hare dashes away, its cotton puff of a tail bopping up and down. Her gaze follows the small animal, her feet stopping in place to watch. The little hare stops in its quick paced tracks to look back at the woman, only to continue its retreat to a small burrow in the ground. 'Huh…I wonder that hole leads to, Mr. Rabbit.'
"You're lucky to have been raised outdoors," she gushes, rushing to keep up with Connor's long legged strides. "It's open ground for imagination!"
The Native assassin nods, pleased to see that MaryLynn did indeed enjoy nature the way he had hoped for.
"That is why I fight with all my strength to preserve these lands," he confesses, his subtle joy dissolving. "British forces have been attempting to purchase land that already inhabits people; people with homes and families. My people. I only hope that other tribes besides my own are not driven out by British law."
"I can't imagine losing a home, esepcially a home I loved."
"I do what I can to fend off men with greedy hands from purchasing these lands. Clan Mother can only remain passive for so long before the village is attacked as it was in the past. She does not believe in exhibiting an aggressive force against these men, but she does not want casualties either. She has spoken of yielding to British forces and moving out west should our people be threatened. If this is so, the chiefs and the village must respect her decision."
"Is Clan Mother in charge of what goes on in the village?"
"Yes. She possesses authority over certain aspects of the village."
"Like what? Her role sounds fascinating. Please, tell me more!"
"Umm…As you wish," he hesitantly accedes, not accustomed to such enthusiasm over his culture.
Her questions were queried out of pure curiosity and a desire to know. Did she find his world enchanting like the world of Shahryar, the Persian king of the Arabian Nights tales? A subtle pride began to well within his chest at the very thought.
"Our tribe is matrilineal," Connor resumes to his explain, "meaning that our descent is traced down by maternal heritage. The clan mother is a woman chosen by the people for her wisdom and for her ability to remain calm and put the tribe's needs before her own. She is also responsible for selecting chiefs to be part of the tribal council, representing our tribes in the Iroquois council. She is the one who watches these nominated men as they grow from boys to men, judging their character. The chiefs are counseled by the clan mother when making decisions that affect the tribe, especially during times of threat."
"She sounds like the foundation of the tribe. Without her, the tribe would be lost. She sounds like Madam; without her, the girls would be lost and directionless."
"I guess you can make that similarity. Women are highly respected in my village…Even my mother."
"You sound as if you are implying that she deviated from the tribe."
It becomes hard for him to speak. Even the mentioning of "mother" thieved him of the ability to speak, to experience emotion. A sense of numbness overcame his facial features, a defense mechanism towards the underlying guilt and pain of his mother's death. He clears his throat as he continues to walk forward. MaryLYnn could sense that he inched just tad away from her, his eye contact close to nonexistent.
"Due to her bloodline and the current Clan Mother's nomination, my mother was meant to inherit the position of clan mother when the time came. However, her actions and beliefs in dealing with these opposing forces had changed the minds of the people and Clan Mother. My people are peaceful, and do not intend on fighting. My mother was not one to sit idly by and remain passive, though. She bore the spirit of a warrior. She fought for what she believed was right. I remember the arguments she would have with Clan Mother when I was a boy. I do not remember the exact words, but I do recall my mother's flaring passion to fight those who threaten our wellbeing. She had a temper."
MaryLynn hums as she smiles with morbid undertones.
"She sounds like you. Or rather, you sound like her."
"She was a brave woman."
He is sullen and quiet now. He turns his head to face MaryLynn, but finds that he cannot look at her. An old wound was beginning to crown, and his body's instinct was to dash away from the blonde woman. However, Connor struggled to remain in this place, in the present moment and walk alongside her instead of dashing away. He found it more difficult to conceal his vulnerability with someone present. However, to abandon MaryLynn in the woods was selfish. He swallowed his pain, chasing away the sight of wildfires and the scent of burning flesh from his mind.
How strange that, after all these years, his senses could still register this particular sensory feedback. There is no fire. This is no burning flesh. And yet, he can relive the tragic scene easily as if time was irrelevant. He could still revert to the age of five within a heartbeat should he be triggered. He struggled with these demons every time he smelled smoke; every time he lost men in battle; every time he witnessed wildfires. Sometimes, he thought himself a masochist for fighting in this revolution that oh so threatened to flare up his trauma tenfold. Whether or not Connor was indeed a masochist is up for debate.
"I don't wish to speak of this anymore," the Native assassin mutters in a voice deeper than usual. It birthed from deep within his throat, which threatened to close.
"I'm sorry if I brought on painful memories," MaryLynn desperately atones, rushing to Connor's side. "If it's any consolation, I think she would be proud of you. I admire her already."
Connor is still distant. MaryLynn feels immensely guilty. How did his mother die? What had happened that left Connor believing that he couldn't save her? Was she murdered? She couldn't ask him in fear of depressing him further. 'Damn you, you just can't keep your curiosities to yourself!' she silently scolded herself. 'At least his mother loved him. At least she wasn't crazy.' She would have been honored to meet the brave Native woman. She acted against her family, her people's views to pursue her own beliefs. How did she do it? Was she afraid? MaryLynn imagined her to be like Connor: stern, intimidating, but kind. 'I wish I could meet you.'
The blonde woman granted Connor some time to remain silent and mull over his troubles. She respected his current mood, and did not want to push him to dismiss what he felt. After an appropriate amount of time had passed, she deemed it to be safe to speak again and ease his mind.
"You know, I've never climbed a tree before?" she changes the subject, the silence becoming much too painful to bear. "Perhaps changing the subject would lighten Connor's mood.
Now who was comforting whom on this trip?
"You kid me," the Native assassin blurts out, his eyes regaining a sense of life once more. "Am I saying this phrase correctly? You kid me?"
"Ha ha! You mean to say, 'Are you kidding me.' And no, I am not."
'There you are, Connor,' her thoughts revealed joy over having seen Connor's mood lighten a tad. She knew that this subject would distract him. 'It is nice to have you back.'
"You haven't even climbed a tree in that small back area of the brothel," he persists in interrogating her, "or a tree near those vegetable gardens? I've seen them before, I know they exist."
"No. I never bore the urge to climb a tree, I do apologize," she says sardonically, which was out of character for her.
The blonde woman did not see the huge significance in climbing a tree, according to Connor. A lopsided smile stretches across the Native assassin's lips, finding this fact the strangest he had ever heard.
"I will teach you tomorrow," he declares, "in the afternoon. By then, you will know how to climb a tree."
"What? Why?"
"I insist. It is not up for discussion."
"To climb a measly tree? You are mad, mad as a hatter!"
"I've been told such things before. I was once compared to a march hare, I believe. I can understand, since they tend to be restless and sporadic. A hatter, however, I do not understand this phrase."
Connor feels somewhat ashamed in admitting his ignorance. However, as he aged, he began to dampen his pride in such things. If he did not understand something, he simply asked for an explanation so that he could understand. There was no shame in asking to understand something foreign.
"March hares are restless? I can see the resemblance."
Connor shakes his head at the blonde woman, smirking.
"A hatter," she explains, "is a different story. I was once told by a former client about the origins of this phrase. Hatters work with some type of material that contains a substance that can poison one's mind. Over time, if exposed long enough, the poison causes the hatter to suffer from delirium." ++
"So you say that I suffer from delirium?"
MaryLynn sighs deeply. 'I am tempted to say this, but I am just being grumpy.'
"Nevermind. Benjamin made it sound more fascinating. He claimed that the substance in the material is most likely mercury, which I've never heard of. He said that it has been in existence since the ancient Egyptians roamed the earth. Then again, what in the world do I know?"
"Who is Benjamin?" Connor asks, not even bothering to ask more about this "mercury" substance.
"The bespectacled gentleman who gave me the Arabian Nights books."
"Oh him. Would his surname be Franklin, by any chance?"
"How did you know?!" her blue eyes shot open, sparkling at the mention of dear Benjamin.
"I have heard of Benjamin when I attended George Washington's induction of becoming Commander in Chief for the Continental Army in Philadelphia. Benjamin was supposed to attend this meeting, but was called to other duties. I was told that he is beyond intelligent, surpassing the average man even. He has done quite remarkable things for this revolution for years, apparently."
"Yes! That's him!" shouted MaryLynn, a pep in her step as she slightly bounced. "Oh, I wish you could have met him. Maybe you still can. He is a chatter, and has so many interesting stories to recount."
A raindrop plops onto the tip of her nose. Wrinkling her nose, she looks up at the skies for answers. The ashen clouds had grown in numbers, blending into one cluster of colorless gloom above their heads.
"I felt a rain drop," she says, standing very still.
"Did you?"
Connor looks up along with her. Nodding to himself, he confirms his earlier prediction of a rainstorm.
"I hope you don't mind getting wet."
"It's just a drop. Why would I mind?"
"No. I'm referring to the storm that is coming."
"A storm? Today? Should we stop walking now?"
"We will seek shelter when the time comes. There is no use in worrying about something that has not occurred just yet."
Twenty minutes later, on the dot, a storm comes pouring down in thundering sheets of rain. MaryLynn squeaks in reaction to the chilling rain as it collides against her skin. She wraps her care package in her arms, shielding the plaid cnapkin with her limbs and bosom from getting wet. The grand trees towering over them could only do so much in sheltering her from the storm.
Connor quickly grabs her wrist as he seeks shelter.
"Come this way!" he shouts in the loud storm. "I know of a cave nearby!"
She squeaks once again, this time in response to Connor's firm grip and quick pace. One arm bore an ironclad grip around the care package. She found it difficult to keep up with him, but the chase was actually enjoyable.
She laughed heartily as Connor pulls her by the wrist to a nearby cave. The adrenaline of being caught in the pouring rain gave her a thrill. The cold, wet sensation was exciting. She did not care if her clothing became matte against her skin. The feel of Connor's large hand gripping her wrist was a different sensation altogether. He tried not to cut off her circulation, repressing his full strength. He worried over hurting her small wrist as he pulled the blonde woman along with him. Yet, the desperate pull to shelter gave her shivers all over her body. There was a sense of living. MaryLynn was living in the moment. She felt alive for the first time.
He does not understand why she is laughing. Regardless, the Natice assassin was able to locate a cave he knew of and pull them both out of the storm. His white coat became heavier when wet. Releasing MaryLynn's wrist, he could see that she was soaking wet, her laughter never faltering as she stumbled over to the wall, dropping the care package to the floor. Thick strands of blonde hair stuck to her face, framing the curve of her cheekbones and sticking to her wet lips.
"What is so amusing?" questions the Native assassin, catching his breath.
"This!" she laughs in between words. "This is fun, ha ha. Getting caught in the rain. Running around like animals. It gives me goosebumps all over!"
Combing back her wet hair, MaryLynn's laughter eases down. Staring at the woman, Connor captures a glimpse of a happy girl with not a care in the world. The laughter was contagious, for a smile spread across his lips. Then, something unexpected happened.
He chuckled audibly. It lasted only a few seconds, but Connor openly showed amusement. The way his eyes crinkled with the expression was precious, his chuckles deep and soft as a summer breeze.
"See?" calls out MaryLynn. "You think it's fun, too! All it took was a rainstorm to get you to laugh."
Connor quickly composes himself, peering out of the cave's wide mouth to watch the rain batter the ground. MaryLynn embraced herself for warmth, her teeth beginning to chatter.
"Oh my, it's freezing! If it's not hot outside, it sure is cold."
"You are soaking wet. Here, take my coat. The inner lining is not as drenched, and it will keep you warm."
He proceeds to remove his quiver, bow, and belt of weaponry in order to remove his coat, the assassin's hidden blade the last to be discarded. Once he is free, his belongings in a neat pile, Connor advances towards the blonde woman to drape it over her shoulders.
"What are you doing? What about you?"
"I'm fine. You are shivering."
The white coat was large on the woman's body, drooping rather hopelessly around her smaller form. Connor made sure to close the coat without buttoning it shut. He made sure to close the coat shut at her collarbone, careful not to brush his hands against her wet bosom. The thought made him nauseous despite his arousal.
She was close enough to his body for an embrace. He stood several inches taller than MaryLynn, her blue eyes staring at his broad chest. She then looked up into his focused eyes, the rain soothing in the background as it cleansed the world of its sorrows. Connor shifts his gaze to the heavy hooded eyes staring up at him.
Her lips were full and parted slightly, her breathing barely audible. He froze in place, unsure of the position he was in. His hands remained on the coat, holding it closed in front of MaryLynn's torso. Before he knew it, the enchantment of the rainstorm and the pounding thunder brought the blonde woman's lips to press against his own.
She stood upon the tips of her toes to reach his soft lips. She could feel his hands leave the coat's lining, so she held it closed with her own hands. Connor's breath came in spurts against her kiss, surprised and pleasantly aroused by the skill of her rosy lips enveloping his lower lip. Slowly, sensually, she sucked on the tender flesh, evoking a suppressed moan from deep within Connor's throat. The rumble of the thunder was as loud as his heartbeat, throbbing in his chest and reverberating all the way up to his reddening ears.
The blonde woman pulls away, unabashed by her kiss. He did not kiss her in return, but her lips remained close, her hot breath tickling his mouth. A moment passed before she decided that he would not reciprocate. Before she could register the emotion of being rejected, she felt his large hands nervously settle upon her upper arms, preventing her from moving away. His touch was hesitant, yet eager as his wet lips came closer to her own. He pressed his lips against hers, soft and chaste as he brushed the tender skin for permission to touch it.
He relished in how warm and inviting the kiss felt. He wasn't quite sure of any techniques, but he mimicked MaryLynn's movements and enveloped her lower lip gently, afraid to suckle too hard or too soft. Her lips were famished, hungrily chasing after his own, evoking another small moan from the Native assassin. She whimpered gently against his lips, her arms wrapping around his thick neck. The white coat fell to the ground with a heavy "plop" and pooled around her feet.
The moment he felt her wet clothes against his torso, Connor shivered. The beads of the rosary beneath his military shirt dug into his taut skin as she pressed into him. Suddenly, he was afraid of where his hands would roam, so they remained hovering by his sides. She smiled at his reaction, loving how new he was to a woman's touch. It made him even more beautiful.
The kiss became a little too intense for Connor when MaryLynn nipped at his upper lip…her breasts pressing too closely against his chest…her hips grooving along his own…her thigh painfully brushing against his crotch. The wet clothing made her body more detectable against his form, and the sensation overwhelmed him, excited him. The soul searching kiss. The wet body molding up against his physique. The pouring rain pitter-pattering against the earth's soil. The roaring thunder shaking up the heavens. All of his senses were engaged, leaving him ecstatic to the point where an erection swelled in his navy blue breeches. The moment he realized his body's reaction, he pulled back abruptly. Connor silently begged that the blonde woman did not feel his manhood swell against her thigh. To his dismay, she did in fact notice his manhood.
"I-I-I should g-gather decent tinder for a fire. A cold is th-the last thing either of u-us n-n-need."
His sputtering and stuttering was pathetic, his eyes refusing to look at the arousing woman as he fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. He seized his fallen coat from the ground with haste, desperately trying to thrust his arms through the sleeves. He assembles his gear back onto his body, dropping his quiver now and then as if he ad never touched the damn thing before. Hastily, Connor turns around, pulling the open coat over his crotch area as best as he could to conceal the bulge. Once he composed himself with thoughts of prepping the cave for shelter, he was able to speak properly. However, his gaze still did not fall onto the woman standing before him, bemused by his terribly odd behavior. He refused to even face the front of his body in her direction, only turning his head over his shoulder to speak to her.
"Actually, I will inspect this cave for any trace of animals first. It is better to make sure that this shelter is clear of inhabitants and not the home of a mother bear."
"You do that," MaryLynn sighs, tucking a wet lock of hair behind her ear.
'Well, that answers my question,' thought the blonde woman as she watches Connor walk several paces away from her. He finds a particular spot in the far right corner. He kneels down on the ground, looking for some indication of an animal living in this cave. Swiping his fingers along the ground, he sniffs for any trace of markings or natural scent of an animal. 'He's a virgin, alright.'
She looks down at the care package on the ground. She had shielded it from the rain as best as she could. It was not in fear of soaking the food, but in fear of soaking the letter that lay amongst them. Kneeling down, MaryLynn widens the opening of the package, fishing for the folded letter. She finds it, safe and dry. As tempting as it was to open it and read it now that their trip was on a temporary hiatus, she felt that it was not the right time yet. If she was going to read Madam's letter, then she would read it alone. As much as she trusted Connor, this moment she wanted to experience alone. Tucking the letter back into the makeshift purse of a red plaid napkin, she taps the bulge of food lovingly. 'I'll read you soon. I just have to be alone.'
++: "Mad as a hatter," is a phrase that was originally used to describe a hatter's prolonged exposure to the metal mercury in the felt material in which they worked with. The mercury poisoning would cause them to experience delirium. Although it is famous for referring to the character "the Mad Hatter" from Lewis Carroll's "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" (my all time favorite piece of literature, next to the Millenium/Dragon Tattoo Trilogy), it is not where it sourced from since this classic book was not published until 1865.
Author's Note: Being the chatter box that I usually am, I am going to keep this A/N short and sweet. They kissed! Finally! And yet, poor Connor retreats. Give him time, everyone. He will come around. ;)
As for the future sex scenes: is strict on graphic sexual material, so please refer to my account on Archive of Our Own (my penname is MarilynMunster) when the time comes. I will leave a notification in updates when a sex scene was taken out and was added to the chapter in the AO3 update (since the rules there are a little more liberal.)
I can never say "thank you" enough! All of your support and enjoyment of this story is beyond flattering, and I am very grateful to have such feedback. I will update as best as I can.
~take care