It was impossible for the Eleanor's mind to register the flash of silver inexplicably flying from the native's hand. Not before the piercing agony ripped across her stomach. Unfortunately, at the same time a bullet tore through her side and ricocheted off a rib. The thick, grey haze blinding her and filling her nostrils from the detonated smoke bomb behind her certainly didn't help. Strangely, the sound of two pistols roared in her ears as she collapsed to her knees. She knew she'd squeezed off a shot before she was so unceremoniously brought down. Yet judging by the Indian bitch's skittering gasp, she hadn't killed her outright. In fact, she'd kicked away the filthy assassin's flintlock earlier in their skirmish.
So who in the fuck just shot her?!
Doubled over and sight swimming, she vainly reached for her sheathed dirk. However, she was shoved over to her back by the firm toe of someone's boot to her shoulder.
"I'll be takin' that," Dobby snorted, yanking the knife from her fingertips. "Though I've gotta say, this nice lookin' flintlock is more to my style. Thank ya!" she grabbed it from the ground mere inches from Eleanor's reach.
"Dibs on that there pretty 'lil dirk, yeah?" Eleanor heard Hickey gleefully inquire, the fucking sod.
"As long as you promise to shut your yap for a few minutes," Dobby snit, even as she tossed him the weapon, "Your chatter be tiresome, boy."
Craning her neck as the contents of the smoke bomb finally dissipated, the Templar owlishly blinked at the blurry sight of that traitorous bastard pulling the Indian to her feet. All as infuriatingly casual as can be, to boot. Then, instead of blowing the blighters' brains out, Thomas frowned at the assassin as she slumped against him. Eleanor's eyes narrowed at the sight of his smoldering pistol. "You?!" she squaked. Her futile attempt to lift herself up using her uninjured arm only led to her crashing back down to the icy grass. Despite her heartbeat roaring in her ears and turning her head to the side cough up the blood gathering in her throat, she fixed him with a withering look. "You dare shoot me?!" she howled.
"Looks like that's how it went down, Templar," Dobby tossed out from behind her while marching towards the other two. Leaning down, she inspected Connor's leg with careful fingers. Sighing in relief and moving back to her feet, she said, "It ain't just a flesh wound, but it ain't nothing too bad. No amputation or nothing like that," she nodded at the other woman.
"That is better than I initially assumed," Connor slowly said, readjusting her weight to balance between Hickey and the tree trunk at her back.
"Aye," Dobby replied with a grin, "Lucky for you, lass." Then, without warning, she lashed out and soundly slapped Thomas across the face.
Reeling back from the blow and cursing, he rubbed his fingers along his jaw. "Wot in the fuck be gettin' into ya-?!"
"That be for putting a leanbh na páirte," Dobby angrily exclaimed, pointing at Connor, "In certain danger!"
"I fuckin' saved yer stonewalled arses, ya ungrateful 'lil cailleach!" Thomas snit.
"Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat!" Dobby scoffed in their shared, native Irish Gaelic.
"Oh yeah?" Thomas yelled, haphazardly shoving Connor into Dobby's arms. As Connor snorted in surprised, he jeered, "Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!"
"You sonabitch!" Eleanor screamed out, causing both of them to pull up short from their verbal assault. "A bloody fuckin' disgrace! You throw in your lot with this Indian cunt and her 'lil mick whore?! A god-damned Frenchman as well? For what?!"
Hickey sneered, doggedly crossing the ground between them. Crouching down, he balled his fists in her collar before yanking her upwards. Ignoring how she grunted and clutched her side, the blood pouring from between her fingers and grotesquely staining the white snow, he growled, "You 'n ya pop be betrayin' us first! Ya went unleashin' that sick fuck Hessian on the entire McCready family," he railed. "He went murderin' the mark's wife 'n kid-!"
"Such are the consequences of crossing a Templar," Eleanor jeered.
"The 'lil tyke had but seven years to 'im!"
"Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis," she fiendishly smiled, it made all the more savage by her scarlet-stained teeth.
"What in the bloody fuck do ya be squawkin' bout?!" Thomas demanded, shaking her so hard, her head jolted back.
"Thus always I eradicate tyrants' lives," William quietly translated the Latin as he silently materialized behind the two.
"Shocking, his comprehension," Eleanor drawled. "Though I suppose even animals may learn a few tricks for their betters' entertainment," her eyes slid to where the French assassin stood at her feet. "How tragic for the McCreadys," she gurgled, coughing up more blood, "The family line ending in such an exquisite fashion, yes?" She only brayed even more as Thomas' dirk suddenly pressed into her neck. Hard enough for a fine trickle of blood to begin flowing down her collar, it dug into her jugular. "You always were a pikey git," she hurled at him, "Good for nothing but kissing Haytham's arse and getting railed by that dead, Scottish prat, Johnson."
Hazel eyes blazing with violent fury and reeling back for the strike, Thomas snarled, "Go to hell, ya demonic bitch!"
Yet his arm was yanked back in an iron grip. Fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to leave bruises, Connor's exhausted voice pierced through his frenzied wrath.
"She baits you-"
"Ya think I don't be fuckin' knowing that?!" Hickey fumed, spinning around and fixing her with a murderous glare.
"She will be put out of her misery after questioning," she quietly retorted.
"If I may?" William ventured, stepping between them.
Eyes flitting between Connor and the Frenchman, Hickey finally shoved Eleanor away, aggressively shook off Connor's hold and jumped to his feet. Ignoring the Redcoat's wheezing laugh, he stomped over to stand behind the assassin, grumbling under his breath all the while.
"I'll go take McGuire back to William's," Dobby declared, handing off Connor back to Hickey despite her glare at him that mostly translated to, You'd better be real fuckin' careful with her. "I'll swipe one of them mercenaries' horses since the coach still looks in decent repair 'nough to bring y'all back to the house."
"He requires a surgeon," Connor breathed, "Sooner rather than later."
"Of course." With that, she stole back to the carriage and was off.
Meanwhile, though bloodied and bruised, William appeared without major injury. Gaze flicking away from Connor, his stormy, azure eyes took in the Templar on the ground. A lessor person would've shivered at his predatory expression, utterly taciturn and devoid of all sentiment. Especially as he readjusted his grip on his double hooked blade and dropped to his knees over her. Instead, he paused, his weapon at his side rather than buried in her neck or heart.
"What, ya frog?" Eleanor smirked, pausing only to cough up the blood beginning to pool in her throat again, "You haven't the balls to rip my throat out?"
"Alas for you, Templar," his accented voice lilted along her ear, "We require information."
She could only darkly chuckle in satisfaction as her bloody spit landed on his cheek. Coolly removing a white handkerchief edged in lace from his pocket, William studiously wiped his face.
Eleanor screamed her throat raw, convulsing as his double hookblade plunged into her shoulder. Stars exploded in front of her eyes when William gave it the barest of twists. Just as swiftly, it was over as he jerked it from her skin. Wiping its crimson end on the grass, he flatly commanded, "You shall give us what we seek. The sooner, the better for you, mademoiselle."
Eleanor could barely register the sound of his voice above her ragged breathing. Combined with her fading vision, it was a pathetic struggle for her keep her senses. "Search her," Connor's voice warbled in her ears from above. "Not you," she shook her head at Hickey as he moved forward, "William."
"What, ya don't be trusting me?" Hickey pouted. "Hell, it obviously be a feint back there when I had you the end of me flintlock."
"You acted out of turn-"
"To stop ya from gettin' shot to shit!"
"And any one of us could have killed you at any moment!" Connor breathlessly replied, closing her eyes against the throbbing that sliced through her leg yet again.
Hickey guffawed, "Like ya would've been missin' me."
"That is not the point-"
"Oh-ho?" Hickey sent her a lazy, if somewhat lurid grin, "So ya would've been weepin' over me handsome corpse at your feet then?"
"I did not relay that in the slightest-!"
"It was plenty inferred, love."
"Quiet yourselves!" William brusquely ordered, batting away Eleanor's shaking fingers and snatching a stack of tied letters from her inner pocket. Moving to his feet, he frantically scanned their contents. A hiss of annoyance escaping his lips, he grimaced at Thomas. "Your Hessian," he shoved a letter into his hand, disdainfully adding, "He is already in the city."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Thomas huffed, sheathing his pistol as he read it.
"Likely, he's aware of where I reside," William rejoined.
"So we wait him out," Connor instructed. "It is always to better to fight on familiar ground rather than waste time searching the city for an enigma."
"I believe that will-"
The shouts and cursing of a group marching out of bushy the edge of the marsh caused William to stop mid-sentence. Glancing over her shoulder, Connor glowered, "Redcoats!"
"We gotta scram!" Hickey barked. Stuffing the letter into his pocket, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder with a grunt. "Again, girl...why do ya weigh so bloody much?!" he mumbled.
Too weary to reply, she settled for purposely digging her fingers into his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. Yet it was summarily forgotten as a bullet grazed Thomas' other shoulder, ripping open his sleeve. Apparently, the British regulars were trigger happy at the moment. That notion was reinforced as William dodged behind a tree some yards behind them. Narrowly avoiding a volley of musket fire, he swooped down to retrieve one of the mercenaries' unused flintlocks. Balancing it on his forearm, he squeezed off a shot. Fired from such a long distance, it only managed to maim one soldier. But mercifully, the trio had the hilly terrain on their side as they wound their way around its perimeter. Still, they all would've welcomed a cleaner escape.
"Should've killed the poxy bint at first chance," Thomas snapped before the carriage appeared ahead of them. "They likely be thinkin' we went attackin' one of they own."
"I prefer to not have left any loose ends," William rejoined, sprinting next to them, "Though she didn't have many more breaths to take."
"A pity, that," Thomas sniffed, Connor nodding in agreement for once.
Reaching the coach first, William nimbly swung up into the driver's seat. A few steps behind them, Thomas yanked open the door and shoved Connor inside. She nearly crashed on top of Harris. In spite of his stunned expression at the mayhem, the boy's solid reflexes allowed him to dodge out of her way. Hauling himself in behind her, Thomas smacked the back of the carriage to signal William. A shouted command sent the horses lurching forward. Despite the coach groaning in protest, it shuddered into submission and hauled them back onto the road.
Fingers spasming, Eleanor labored to raise a crimson-stained hand in signal to the regulars. But even as the redcoats rushed to her side, their voices fell about her ears in garbled nonsense. Her chest heaved, lungs drowning in her own blood. No matter her efforts, her tongue couldn't form the orders to go after the assassins. The last thing she recalled as the darkness fell across her vision was her whispered oath to end them all. Either by her own hand, or that of whoever the Order sent to tread in her ruinous footsteps.
Connor grit her teeth in utter frustration.
It wasn't that she hadn't been shot before. Rather, being hobbled at such a significant point in their current mission didn't help them. Not to mention, the high probability of infection that could settle in, considering how filthy the colonists generally tended to be. Overall, her fellow assassins were some of the few who bathed on a regular basis. It was necessary, considering how much time they spent running about in the wild. Surprisingly, Hickey also took his personal hygiene seriously. Something he mentioned in passing with being in the army for so long and realizing that the more often he washed, the less ill he generally became. There also proved his quicker recovery from various injuries.
Shaking thoughts of him from her head, she slumped back against the carriage seat, closed her eyes and took a few aching inhales. Without warning, she felt someone gingerly take her leg, lift it and brace it against themselves. She cursed in her own language as they jostled her calf. Regrettably, it had to be done as they speedily sliced away the bottom of her trousers. However, they immediately noticed her discomfort and relaxed their hold, beginning to carefully feel around her wound.
"Bloody thing went straight through, but didn't shatter no bone-"
"Excuse me?" she swallowed, eyes snapping open to find Thomas holding her leg in his lap. He didn't seem to mind how she bled all over his trousers and coat. Or how she nearly kicked him in the balls as another stinging spasm shot through her. Attempting to yank her leg away from him didn't work due to his firm grip on her ankle. If anything, it caused her to bite her tongue against the warbling ache and immediately stop her efforts.
She willed herself to stay still as he continued his inspection with careful fingers. "I ain't gonna kill ya," he quietly promised, meeting her eyes.
"Not in front of witnesses. Surely you would not be so obvious," she retorted, sliding her eyes to where Harris furiously dug through her pouches she normally wore on her belt. Seated next to Thomas, he'd taken them from Connor after she settled into her seat. Distracting him for the moment, she instructed him to locate one of the many bandages she kept on her person for precisely this reason.
"As you constantly be sayin'," Thomas snorted, "I be lots 'o things-"
"You are not brainless. No matter how much you attempt to appear such for the sake of deception," she tiredly admitted, causing him to briefly arch a brow of surprise. "A lot of your other personality failings immediately come to mind, yes. But 'stupid' is most certainly not one of them."
He chuckled and shook his head at her insult before focusing back on the task at hand.
As he probed her wound, she settled for biting the inside of her cheek. The taste of liquid copper filled her mouth again at how hard she bit down. Letting out a ragged sigh, she took in the sight of Harris frantically unrolling a bandage from her things. His dark hands shaking, he swallowed and tried to casually wipe at his tear-stained face.
"There is no shame in such feelings," Connor quietly declared to him.
"It ain't manly, miss," he rasped, avoiding eye contact.
"Yet you are not a man full-grown," she assured him, "And even if you were, your reaction is not unbecoming. Now give him the bandage," she nodded to Thomas.
Harris shook his head to the contrary. Squaring his shoulders, he insisted, "I'll help ya. Ya helped me 'n McGuire in that…ugliness."
Connor nodded and closed her eyes, waving, "Do as you wish, Harris. I can always use an extra set of hands."
"I be wrappin' it tight 'round her," Thomas warned the boy, even as he stared at Connor. She was glad he didn't explicitly say it was going to hurt, if only to save her pride. "So ya gotta go makin sure this wrap ain't got no folds in it as I go, yeah?" Frantically nodding, Harris began stretching out the white cloth. "Atta boy!" Thomas ruffled the child's hair, "Now, just make sure ya be stretching it out as I be goin'."
Cracking one eye open at the Templar's ease with Harris, Connor pressed her lips into a thin line of contemplation before saying, "Proceed."
She purposely muffled her hiccups of pain in her throat as Thomas swiftly wrapped the bandage around her calf. In order to ensure her bleeding stopped, he had to nearly cut off her circulation for the time being. Upon its completion, Connor grit her teeth while taking in Harris' bewildered expression. "Do not worry yourself," she assured him while leaning back against the seat and opening her eyes, "I have been injured worse."
"I...I'm sorry for it, miss," he whispered, wringing his hands where they'd fallen into his lap.
"Do not be," she assured him, "Niá:wenh ki' wáhi…you did well."
Thomas still hadn't let go of her ankle. Preferring to conserve her energy for the moment, she didn't argue over his physical contact. Also, while she should've blindfolded him again, the curtains of the carriage were drawn. He made no effort to peek out, so there was no point in forcing the issue.
The trio rode in silence until the carriage came to a smooth stop over the gravelled entrance way of William's home. Leaning over, Connor brushed back the curtain. Biting back a sigh, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose at the sight that greeted her. For on the front drive lay the prone body of McGuire. His top half hastily covered with a horse blanket, Dobby knelt at his side. Face twisted with anger, she argued back and forth with a middle-aged man dressed in dark clothes. Connor assumed it was a surgeon. At least judging by the heavy, black leather bag sitting next to him.
"We have arrived," she muttered.
"Good," Thomas retorted, about to hop out.
Connor's head jerking in disagreement, she stole a glance at Harris before yanking Hickey towards her by the forearms. "McGuire lies dead in the drive," she frantically whispered into his ear, "Harris cannot be allowed to see him."
Hickey blinked a few times before taking the boy by the arm and leading him out the opposite side of the carriage. Leaning out the window, Connor ordered Harris, "Head to the kitchens and have the cook give you a treat for your bravery." Thankfully, he didn't question her, leading Hickey around the back of the manor. The route allowed him to avoid the front drive entirely.
A few minutes later, Thomas returned. Connor shoving the door open, he essentially dragged her out. She initially pulled herself out of his grip once her feet hit the ground. Then again, finding her gait and balance nearly causing her to tumble, she didn't push him away when he tossed an arm around her shoulders and hauled her flush against him.
"The water pump," she panted, "Around the house. I need to clean my weapons."
"Ya need a surgeon"
"I need to clear my thoughts," she insisted, shooting him a harried expression.
"Have it be ya way 'en," he nodded making his way there.
Their trudge to the pump allowed him to take in the magnificent home of Grand-Prix. The fop was a fucking wealthy one, of that, there was zero doubt. The mansion consisted of three stories. Built in the square, Palladian style and containing a sloped, triangular roof currently popular back in England, it was the height of architectural style. Of bold, red brick with double chimneys and black painted shutters along every glass window, white trim separated each floor. The trim matched the Doric-style columns of the front portico wrapping around the entire front of the house. While it lent the structure an open-air atmosphere, Thomas immediately noted that the long drive up from the street sat behind a massive, black, ten foot tall, wrought iron fence. Also, unlike most fine homes, there was no over-grown grove of trees lending the front lawn any sort of shade. Instead, various plants and shrubs lay the neat, organized rows along either side of the drive, no higher than knee height. It made a colorful litany. And likely served a dual purpose; essentially, no one could approach the house without immediately being spotted, while the crunch of gravel drive ensured that they couldn't silently do so either.
As Thomas moved Connor along the side of the house, he snorted in disbelief at how far back the structure bled into property's acreage. It was easily the equivalent of a half-block of townhomes down in the city. Along with the stables, smoke house, and greenhouse tucked away in the gardens at the rear, it seemed more palace than home.
"All this for one bloke?" he said aloud in awe.
Connor dipped her head in his direction as he unhanded her next to the water pump near the kitchen entrance, at the rear of the manor. "He is engaged to be married," she shrugged.
"Oh, that be so?" Thomas leaned against the brick wall of the house, "Anyone I know?"
"I doubt you have been to France," Connor dismissively replied as she washed her weapons, "So, no."
"It be arranged then?"
Connor didn't reply. After a few more moments of her silence, Thomas knew that would be the only information he'd get out of her. Especially as she finished her task and holstered her sword, dagger and throwing knives.
"Your hands be bloody," he pointed at them.
"What?" she distractedly replied, having pulled her bow from her back and re-tightening its string.
"Go 'n clean your hands," he reiterated.
Bringing them up to her face, Connor slowly nodded. Distantly watching as the water turned pink upon hitting her skin, Thomas remained silent. Eventually, he handed her the towel slung over the lip of the gate that separated the stables from the main house.
"Use to havin' blood on yer hands?" he murmured as she dried them.
"And you are not?" she quietly replied, fiery gaze finally meeting his eyes.
Leaning back against the brick wall of the stable, he cast her a sideways glance. "Point taken."
Staring at him for a long moment, she briskly said, "The less we speak in general, the better this will be. For the both of us."
"So ya rather go actin' like everything's peachy?" he gave a mirthless chuckle. Seeing her confusion flash across her face in spite of her attempt to look placid, he clarified. "'Peachy' huh? It be meanin' everything's…normal. Which it sure in the fuck ain't-"
"To the contrary, I believe it is," she cut him off before turning her back on him. "Well, save the fact McGuire lost his life despite having nothing to do with this predicament."
"Man got caught in the crossfire," Hickey shrugged. "It ain't no surprise in our line 'o business."
"We always stay our blade from the flesh of the innocent!" she hissed. Despite clumsily spinning around to face him, the heated scowl and deep flush of her face proved enough to make Hickey begin backing up as she archly added, "Nor do we ever seek to pull them into our war with your kind. Then again," she poked her finger into his chest, "You are a Templar. So I am not surprised that you do not care for anyone outside of your wretched host." Sidestepping him, she started limping towards the house.
Stunned at her outburst, Hickey marched after her. "Now ya just wait one fuckin' minut-"
"Why?!" she sneered, whirling towards him again. Fists balled at her sides, her shoulders heaved with effort. "So that I may bend my ear to yet another one of your attempts to mitigate how the loss of one means nothing in the grand aim of your schemes? Perhaps I should have a seat for that, yes?" she tersely waved around the yard. "No doubt your explanations will take the better part of day in your vain attempt to justify them!"
"Sod off!" he scoffed, stepping in so close she was forced to rock back on her heel to meet his incensed gaze. Grabbing her by the upper arms, he demanded, "Listen, girlie, I ain't never said any 'o whatever insanity be fillin' ya head-"
"Spare me your empty platitudes, Hickey," she spat, shoving him away and again retreating towards the other gate separating the house from the yard. Dusting off her coat where he'd touched her, she growled, "Pardon me, but I have exhausted myself more than enough for one day."
Clumsily hauling herself up, she swung her legs over the tall gate. She normally would have lithely dropped down to the grass on its other side. But with her injury momentarily forgotten during their exchange, she suddenly let out an uncharacteristic screech of pain as she hit the ground. Although she didn't completely land on her compromised leg, the pressure was enough to incapacitate. Her breath coming in wheezing, short spurts, her fingers dug into the grass in an attempt to steady herself. She didn't move for a long time before grasping at the gate. It took a couple of more minutes before she awkwardly yanked herself back to her feet with both arms, using the fence as an anchor.
Well familiar with her stubbornness and obvious denial of the extent of her injury, Thomas pretended not to see her wipe at her eyes. Nor did he make any move to assist her. Even as she began half marching, half dragging herself towards the manor house. "Ya know, somethin' Connor?" he finally strolled after her, "Most women always be lookin' to go prattlin' on and on about they feelings and whatnot."
"I am not most people," she called out without bothering to look over her shoulder, "And neither are you, Hickey."
"Yeah. You be touched in the head," he shot back.
"Yet you appear to have the most experience with such."
With that, she disappeared into the manor.
Notes: William's house is somewhat based on Drayton Hall, a historic plantation in Charleston built around 1745 in the Palladian/Georgian style popular in England and that was heavily en vogue in the colonies as well. wiki/Drayton_Hall for more info.
Translations
A leanbh na páirte – "My dear child" in Irish Gaelic
Cailleach! – "Old hag" or "Witch" in Irish Gaelic
Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat! – "May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat!" Insult in Irish Gaelic
Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú! – "May the devil take you with him!" Insult in Irish Gaelic
Niá:wenh ki' wáhi – "Thanks a lot" in Mohawk