Bonjour! I'm back! Hopefully you noticed the number of chapt this time but anyways, (Please message me about confusions or errors, in spelling grammar, history, etc.)
I'm sorry if i rushed a bit on this one so please, i hope you don't get too mad at me. I also kind of was emotionless and dramatic at the same time, sorry. *faints*
Ah! Finally Connor fans! He's here! And if you wait till the next chapt, it's all about him baby! Sorry it took so long!
Leave a Review and Happy Readings!
After making sure that I was depressed and worried enough to actually fall asleep, I started having weird dreams of how I'd escape the moment I woke up. But my thoughts were extremely focused on Jacque. No one else. Even when I had completely forgotten in the morning there was an immediate reminder. A rough shoulder bag.
The morning sunlight seeped through the tent and the atmosphere was pleasant, no crackling campfire or thick black smoke, no faint gunfire or busy horses neighing. I grabbed the large bag and nearly tore it open, it was beautiful, and it really was, I've never worn one of these but every single woman wore them when I ran past the market place as an attempt to escape. It was a long flowing dress missing an apron and bonnet, the color was a dark, shiny, copper color that reflected the light and was silky. The only problem was I had no idea how to put such a strange garment and would never ask help from anybody around here, Jacque knew this too because there was a note written in French that told me a location to go when I escaped to help put on the outfit. He told me to tell the owner of the house that I was I friend of his and she'll, (whoever she is) help me.
The note was written very rushed and sloppy, his usually perfect penmanship completely ruined by the trembling fine lines that inched around the parchment. He could have just told me all of this I thought. Why wouldn't he speak to me? I knew Jacque, usually when he was determined to do something, he'd make some spectacular-never fails plan. I sighed, because he'd always tell me that plan, just not today. And today was the day I hoped that his plan would fail, I didn't want to leave he if would ignore me like this. I continued clawing through the bag and found a canteen of water and a few apples; I scoffed and laughed at the same time. He knew I hated the very existence of apples, but I figured they would be good just in case. Digging a little while longer my fingers gently tapped a large metal object buried beneath the dress and canteen. My hand tingled at the familiar feel of the barrel. It was a pistol. A flintlock pistol, the ones the soldiers used and I've only fired once. To me, it was more beautiful than the dress; I stashed it underneath the dress and wore the shoulder bag over my uniform and crawled out of the low tent.
I saw him, a sad darkness looming under the bright sun, Jacque sat near the empty campfire, directly across from me, and I knew he was pondering his options in our plan, he looked afraid for half of a second, but then resumed the determined face. I stood by the entrance of the tent staring ahead into the dark black pit of ashes, where the fire was supposed to be dancing. I took a step closer, crushing the crunchy sticks of grass beneath me. The morning was cool, and I was sure I would not faint this time. But last time I had run so far in the heat, and still determined to run even farther if the militia hadn't noticed me and sent me into the 6th chasing spree that same day.
Again, it slapped me hard in the face. The plan, not Jacque's escape plan for me today, but the reason I ran away, the plan, that if executed properly would get me executed as well. That is, if I were to be caught. My brain seemed to be screaming for the answer, why did I run so desperately that time?
I looked up to the sad figure that sat next to the fire pit. And if on cue his head snapped toward me, a tiny smile grew and the same smile appeared on my face. He motioned me to come over, when there was a faint cry, an ear-piercing gunshot and deafening silence. His head snapped back to the lake, and sleepy soldiers lurched out of their tents to investigate the noise. It was all too obvious.
Pierre. Another man dead, another one if ours. Even though I had no interest in this war, I knew it was never a good thing when a man dies for no reason. Jacque was looking behind him and there came the devil drenched in some other man's blood. I backed into my tent and peeked through the small opening. Jacque saw me do this, he watched me as Pierre trudged into the camp, Jacque tapped his shoulder, and I tapped my shoulder bag to show him I had it. He winked and then Pierre stood in the crowd of men beginning to cuss and lecture them in French. I rolled my eyes. But the look on Jacques face told me, this was not part of the plan.
Jacque all of sudden confidently stood up from his seat in front of the fire pit and confronted Pierre.
My heart stopped beating, afraid of…
They exchanged foul words and arguments I couldn't hear. But each time Jacque finished his sentences the men gathered around nodded in agreement, and shouted in unison. He was disagreeing with Pierre, or in other words gambling his life; I stepped out of my tent meekly and watched standing as gracefully composed as possible. This was part of the plan, Jacque's eyes told me as they discreetly flickered from Pierre's furious glare to my fearful dark brown eyes. A tiny reassuring smile appeared on Jacques face but his cheery blue eyes grew cold and dark.
Run. Run away and don't look back.
I hesitated, but turned around and ran slowly into the forest, but unwillingly looked back to see a flintlock pistol identical to my own pointed at Jacques head.
…afraid…of this.
I saw the surprised yet relaxed look on his face, and his calm little smirk directed towards me, that said, this wasn't part of our plan…but it is now. The barrel nearly touching his glowing skin, recoiled harshly as it fired, the heartbreaking sound and the limp body collapsed.
"J-Jacque…" I croaked barely able to hold my feet. I heard Pierre ordering the men to hide the body or he would shoot again, they backed up away from the body and the gunshot rang throughout the woods again, another man dead, the soldiers seem to have forgotten they had guns too, but they obeyed eventually.
Lives were so easily extinguished like flames on a candle. I stared at the ground, at my shoes. Again my eyes grew glossy and began to well up. But no tears fell. I forced myself to cry for Jacque but nothing happened. As if I'd forgotten how to cry, or I'd already used up all my tears. I scowled and finally began to replace the empty grief with anger, any kind of anger. I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned a bloodless white. The forgotten plan? That's right; I was trying to find a way to kill Pierre, to assassinate him after years of the same pattern. And only now did that hit me, several nights after passing out, only now did I remember my conspiracy.
"You!" The harsh voice lashed out. I gasped and looked up, Pierre pointed at me barking orders in French. I turned around and ran. Never looking back.
/
Death was a new concept to me but I don't understand why out of all the time of pain, I did not cry when the one only one I loved was taken from me. After a while I slowed down realizing nobody had been chasing me, but positive they'd send someone later. My hand ventured down to feel the smooth metal handle of the pistol. I paused, awaiting the tears. Nothing came.
I caught my breath after running into a familiar harbor, nobody was around and I looked behind me to see if I were being followed anyway. I was disturbed by the empty grief inside of me. It was a hollow feeling, faint and disappearing. I realized I wanted to cry, I just couldn't. I felt long slender fingers wrap around my wrists, my free hand instantly snapped into place grabbing the long sharpened arrow-head and firmly pressing it against the person's throat. I was surprised to see a tiny blonde-haired woman staring back, her eyes wide in fear and her mouth stuttering trying to find words.
"Are you…Tiffany?" She whispered gingerly, her hand now shaking. I stared at her with the glittering arrowhead still clutched tightly in my fists.
"How do…who are you?" I growled. She dragged me to some strange house and pushed me inside.
"I'm a friend of Jacque." She explained. "We don't have much time; you need to run farther, before they send soldiers to knock down my house."
"How's Jacque been doing?" She asked while pulling out the shimmery copper dress out of the shoulder bag.
"Him…? He's…" I choked on the words but while I watched her change me into the dress, pausing as she explained what little garment worked, still not trusting her. When she mostly finished and began fixing up my hair, I explained to her what had happened.
"Well…then…he shot him." I murmured. She dropped the hairpins on the ground, and I saw her mouth once again hang wide open from the reflection in the vanity. I almost envied her because she cried, just for about five minutes before calming down and attempting to finish the rest of my hair. She then went on about him and how she'd hope he'd rest in peace. I felt my eyes water as little memories relaxed in my mind. No tears.
"Wait here." She sniffed. I waited and stared into the mirror. She had turned all of my long black hair into a cascade of curls and swept onto one side of my head and pinned into place. The shimmer coppery dress was beautiful when it was folded up and I felt almost strange wearing the lovely piece of clothing.
"Here it is." The blonde woman said holding a basket and another folded up dress.
"Put your shoulder bag in this basket and cover it with the dress, people will be suspicious of a girl holding a man's bag. The dress you could wear later…and…" She pulled out a small pouch. "Ammunition. For the small fire arm in the bag." I nodded, and studied the dress, it, like the one I wore, reflected the light and looked like satin. The fabric was light and smooth because the weather was heavy and hot, the color a metallic royal blue. I noticed beside the shoulder bag that was shoved into the round basket, was a pure white bonnet and apron. The woman also stuffed another pouch of food in the basket and gave it to me. She inspected the voluminous curls that formed at the ends of my hair.
"I've never seen a girl who looked like you before. You're quite pretty when you're not covered in dirt." I blushed and held onto the basket with both hands.
"Thank you for all of your kindness. What is your name?" I asked.
"Sarah." She chirped.
Three hard knocks on the door caught our attention and Sarah froze, knowing who was at the door, she opened it hesitantly, and I sat on the stool of the vanity.
The soldiers questioned her, asking if she had seen a runaway slave girl. She answered trying to compose herself. I looked out the door and my eyes met the soldier's. Immediately he pushed the door open a little wider and Sarah stepped back fearfully. He glared at my face, and continued to look at him, his eyes slowly straying away, my fingers winding up a strand of hair delicately. He stepped outside again, thanked Sarah, and left.
Sarah stood pale and afraid.
"I'll leave through the back, Sarah. Thank once again." I said calmly.
"Mama?" A voice cried out. I looked back and saw a child who looked identical to Sarah, only with light chestnut brown hair. She stared at me in fear like her mother. She must be a widow I thought.
"Thank you." I sighed once again and left.
/
Only I didn't know where to go, groups of soldiers passed by and I merely looked away, should I hide? What should I do? I thought of Jacque and his happy smile, his happy words.
My thoughts guided me into the woods…and finally I began to cry in memory of Jacque. Sad salty tears rolled down my face and I remembered once again. The plan. My plan. Kill Pierre. Anger filled me, vengeance took over. I don't know where I belong yet, and I still don't know my purpose in this life, but I know if Pierre continues to kill our men, someone needs to stop him and I decided it will be me…I changed back into my soldier uniform not wanting to tarnish the dress.
/
Night soon fell and I laughed at the new feeling of not being beaten this late at night. It was freedom to me. But I was still angry, he took away my home and my friends, I won't go home until I get rid Pierre forever. I cried again after I thought I heard Jacque's voice. Dirt crumbs stuck onto my uniform, and I managed to climb onto a tree after several failed attempts in the morning, thinking that if the soldiers search for me again in the woods the time I had fainted, I wouldn't be passed out on the ground. By now I learned how to balance on the long sturdy branches, and fell off once clinging onto the branches and climbing back up. Slowly, I learned like this, only jumping around in the trees avoiding the ground at night, remembering warnings about bears, after a while during the next morning, I had gotten faster, falling occasionally, slipping now and then, but I finally taught myself how to climb onto the tree and travel like that, I was lucky because there turned out to be many search parties near my area…they never look up and I only had one goal in mind. Kill Pierre. The soldiers were only afraid of him, and if he were gone, they'd stop following me.
I sluggishly retraced my steps back to the camp, during the night, and found the same area, where my tent was still pitched and the large long black branch hung over it. I stood at the tip of that branch scowling at the sacred thoughts of his death and the years I've spent there. I pulled the flintlock pistol out of my holster than had always been empty until now. I was careful not to slip again, since I've been doing that quite often when I travel at night. I stared into the fire that lit up the campsite and realized how close I really was to Pierre's tent.
/
As if on cue, the white stallion galloped into the camp, its rider no other than the devil himself. I aimed my pistol carefully at him, at his head, I knew I would not miss considering how close he was to me without him realizing. Pierre sat angrily posed on his horse, demanding to know if they had found me since this was the longest I've ever been gone. I smirked. And I poised my finger on the trigger aiming carefully.
"Here's to the life you took away from me, you bastard." I whispered carefully steadying my hand and remembering all the times I had ever shot a gun. I scowled, and swung around quickly, not surprised to see a man dressed unlike any other continental, French, or British. I knew something had been following the whole time, I just didn't think it would be some strange man in a white hood. We seemed to study each other; I pointed the barrel of the gun to his chest. He stood confidently, darkly, resembling a wolf …
He was strange, his face hidden under his hood, and his mouth hung open a little bit at the sight of a gun being pointed at him. His dress uniform was a blue jacket seemingly fastened with a red sash and some strange triangle figure…I took a few steps back, my other hand on the handle of the arrowhead. He advanced toward me until the barrel of the gun touched his chest once again.
"I hope you know how to use that thing." He smiled venomously, in a low growl.
Connor, finally, it took you long enough to get yourself into my fiction geesh...yeah...so this chapt is probably a bit too...I was really excited about introducing Connor so...Yeah
Leave a Review and see you soon guys! (Please help my crappy writing and send me a PM if you see some errors!)