-I'm skipping the Battle of Lexington and Concord, and yes I know I'm a masterful wordsmith genius (vomits sarcasm) but that's a long battle, and I frankly do not believe either of us would have the patience to read/write that.
-Speaking of skipping, there's a lot of that around this chapter, sorry! The next should be better.
-Fast updates because hnnnnng I want to continue this so badly!
"We choose those we like; with those we love, we have no say in the matter." –Mignon McLaughlin
-o-
The water was clear and chill. Jacqueline could hear weapons above her, yelling. Beside her, squinting through the water, she could see Connor swimming to the other side of the river. He caught her eye and nodded. She smiled and burbled bubbles out her nose. An explosion of white foam next to her made her whirl away, but it was only Revere, jumping in after them. His eyes were scrunched closed, hands floundering aimlessly. Jacqueline sighed, a deep and impatient sigh of concentrated exasperation directly from her soul, and grabbed his sleeve to drag him to the edge.
The air was cold in comparison to the water when she surfaced, gasping. Revere coughed violently, spitting water onto the grass. Connor jumped to his feet and helped Jacqueline up. "We're not out of the woods yet, are we?" She grabbed up her pistol and looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, the scrabbling British were leveling their weapons.
"Not yet. Come on!" Connor heaved Revere to his feet and they ran.
"You don't know how to swim, do you?" Jacqueline panted, keeping pace with Revere as Connor led.
He laughed breathlessly. "I am a silversmith by trade, Jacqueline," He stumbled and continued on. "Swimming has little place in a silver shop."
Once they reached the road, having fought through the brush, it seemed that the redcoats had dropped their pursuit. Revere looked up. "What luck! This is exactly where we're supposed to be! Let's see if Prescott is in."
Up at the house, Revere knocked on the door. Again, there was a pause in the answer. The Assassins shifted, remembering the last time. Revere knocked once again. "Where the devil is he?" He huffed.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Connor asked.
"Sure I'm sure!" He exclaimed, striding around to look around the corner of the house.
A woman suddenly ran around from the back garden. She was naked but for lacy pants, and covered her bare chest with her arms before dashing past the three revolutionaries. A man jogged out after her without any trousers. "Prescott?" Revere asked.
The man observed them with interest, smiling. "Evening, gents, my lady." He added with a nod and quirk of an eyebrow to Jacqueline.
"Listen, the Regulars are out. You need to rally your men. And put some trousers on!" Revere sounded strained.
"At once." Prescott said with amusement, and walked into his house through the front door.
-o-
Jacqueline was sitting in her room in the manor. After Lexington, she and Connor had returned to the Homestead to unwind. She wasn't exactly sure what sort of emotion her brain was currently marinating in. It was a befuddling, numbing sort of feeling. Perhaps she was in shock. When they had arrived back at the manor, they were covered in bruises and little scrapes, soot and filth that clung to them like a second skin. The battle had taken a toll on them both.
Sitting in her room felt like the only solution. A glass of wine was clasped in a limp hand, a large piece of orange on its rim. Sun was warm on her face, which was pressed to the window. A French storybook was resting open on her collar, her thumb between the pages.
A knock on the door dimly roused her from her dozing. "Jacqueline?" It was Connor.
"Oui?" She yawned. "Sorry, I must have been asleep."
"Uh, sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were all right." He stepped inside her room, almost warily.
Jacqueline got off her windowsill and seemed to notice she was holding the wine, and sipped at it. "I'll be fine. This is what we do now, oui?" She took the orange slice off and ate it. "The solution is alcohol and relaxation."
Connor nodded. "When you're ready, we have business in Philadelphia." He paused. "On the ride with Paul Revere, why did you leave us?"
"Ah!" She stood and brushed her skirt down. "I almost forgot about that. I won't bother explaining what I saw, as I'm…mostly sure it was simply my imagination. But I found a dead fish, and this."
She tossed something to him. He caught it and quirked his head. "An apple?"
Jacqueline nodded with a dry smile. "An apple."
There was a beat of silence. "Why is it important?"
"I suspect I'm being followed." She took the apple back, observed it a moment, and took a bite. "By someone I would rather not have following me. Of course it's all speculation but even so I would be extra alert."
"Why is someone following you? An assassin?" Connor asked, leaning against the door.
"I don't think so. If he wanted me dead, he would have made his move the night of the ride." She chewed her apple thoughtfully, then perked up and beamed at him. "So, Philadelphia?"
Connor seemed taken aback by her sudden mood change. "Er, yes. We were requested to attend a formal gathering of some sort."
"Well, then I guess we'd better." She took another bite of the fruit and they walked out of the room.
-o-
Connor was fuming. Inside, he reasoned that killing Charles Lee in the midst of an event such as that would have been both inappropriate and unwise. General Washington seemed to have some measure of trust in him, and it would be best to keep it as such.
The building he was in made him uneasy. Though it was lit by afternoon sunlight and had a pleasant sort of atmosphere, it felt too cramped and he wanted to leave as quickly as possible. Jacqueline was a comforting sight, sitting on the banister to the stairs and eating an orange. Women had not been allowed in the meeting, and so she had remained outside in the lobby. Some of the politicians were giving her confused or distasteful looks.
She looked up as he approached. "How was it?"
"Uneventful. Though I suspect this will have further consequences in the future." He answered truthfully. "Charles Lee was there."
Her eyebrows rose. "And you stayed your blade."
"I had little choice." Connor grumbled. "It would not have boded well. I was stopped by Sam Adams, besides."
"Hmm." Jacqueline hummed, nodding. Her tongue darted out to touch the new scar over her mouth, and his eyes were automatically drawn to it. "Good for you, I suppose. I remember a time when you would have taken the chance to kill him no matter where or when it presented itself."
She hopped down off the banister when he chose not to reply, and was shaken from his thoughts when she put her arm through his and tugged him along. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"You've become a recognised figure, Connor." Jacqueline put a crescent of orange in her mouth. "At events such as these, it's appropriate for a man of your standing to have a woman on his arm." She smirked. "Whether she's in his bed or not."
He felt his face warm, and when he opened his mouth to respond, found he had nothing to say, and quickly shut it again before he surely said something very foolish that he would later come to regret.
"So," She continued with a tone that suggested she had seen his fumbling for words. "Are we meant to mingle, or can we please leave?"
"We can leave." He steered them toward the door. "This place makes me feel…confined."
Once back out on the streets, he remembered the paper given to him by Adams, and began to tuck it away. Jacqueline saw—of course she did, he thought dryly—and grabbed it away. "What's this?" She read it over. "Bunker Hill?"
He exhaled through his nose. "It's where Sam Adams has tracked Pitcairn's location to."
"And you decided to try and keep me in the dark?" She raised an eyebrow, and he suddenly felt like he'd been caught committing a crime. "Nice try, Ratonhnhaké:ton, but not nice enough. I'm coming with you."
"No. Bunker Hill is a battlefield, a warzone. It is no place for—"
"For a woman?" She snapped.
"That was not what I was going to say."
"Then what were you going to say?"
Connor was quickly realizing he'd made a mistake. He'd fought over a score of soldiers and trained relentlessly, learned three languages and battled ships over sea. If there was one thing he would never understand, however, it was women, and he suspected Jacqueline was going to be his lesson in understanding them. So after putting more thought into his response, he said, "I do not want to see you killed in battle."
She scoffed. "I think you've forgotten what we do for a living."
"I have not, but this is not…"
Jacqueline held up a hand, and he knew enough to stop speaking. "Connor. You aren't going to win this argument." Their path through the streets had led them away from the main paved roads, and they now found themselves in a tight alleyway. She turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm coming with you. And you can't persuade me otherwise."
He rolled his head a little, torn, but decided it would be best not to argue. "Very well." Inside, he grumbled, "Women…"
-o-
Even in the distance, she could hear the explosions. It was distant and foreboding, like thunder before the storm hit. Blanche whinnied unhappily below her, and Jacqueline urged her mount on. Their guide was leading her and Connor through the forest. It was not Bunker Hill, however. The hill the troops were camped on was called Breed's Hill, as there had been—according to the guide—"disagreement" as to where camp should be made. Little groups of militia were gathered by the side of the road leading up the hill. The air was heavy with the smell of gunpowder.
At the base of Breed's Hill, there was another bang of cannon fire. Jacqueline felt a spike of adrenaline. Then she trotted over the swell, past fallen and ripped apart trees, and just like that they were in camp.
The militia had not wasted any time digging up what was essentially the entire hill. Mounds of brown earth were packed up with large, warped pieces of wood to make a barrier of sorts. Little shelters had been crafted in the mud, mixed in with all the militia and scraps of the trees. Down over the other side of the hill was a valley, and covering the hill across the valley was a thick fur of redcoats. A few small areas had been dug out and barricaded most of the way into the valley, but the soldiers there made little move toward the British besides shooting.
"General Putnam's up ahead. You can't miss 'im." Their guide said, and trotted away.
The Assassins dismounted and started walking carefully through the camp. At one point, Jacqueline paused to look out over Charlestown. With a massive whistling sound, a cannon ball went roaring past her and exploded into the dirt. That started a new volley, and more followed it until it was hard to see through the flying chunks of mud, splashes of water and blood.
"There." Connor's hand found her shoulder, and he pointed to a jowly man with a chewed up cigar in his mouth. Jacqueline nodded, and they fought their way through the panicking soldiers to him. "General Putnam!"
"What?" He snapped back.
"I'm looking for John Pitcairn, and I was told you could help me find him."
He frowned and gestured with his cigar to Jacqueline. "What the hell's a woman doing here? You mad, boy?"
Jacqueline bristled. "I volunteered. And I can speak for myself."
"And a French one, too." Putnam shook his head. "Pitcairn's tucked away inside that city with no reason to leave. So long as that ship continues its assault, we'll never flush him out."
"But if the ship were silenced…?" Connor suggested.
"Then poor John might be forced to get off his arse and come forward."
Connor looked down and picked up a dirty Colonies flag from the pockmarked earth. "I shall fly this flag to signal my success."
"And I shall speak fondly of you at your funeral." Putnam gave them a sarcastic salute with the hand holding the cigar and sauntered away.
At this point, Jacqueline could have burned up to cinder with all the excitement and adrenaline that was burning through her veins. Catching sight of another ripped and filthy flag a few feet away, she grabbed it up and grinned at Connor. "Allons-y!"