Chapter Nine;
Perspective
"Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink." Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
The fire cracked loudly, sending a flurry of embers through the air that came to rest just in front of Connor's face. He had woken but had not yet stirred, somehow bound by the odd placidity of the morning. His eyes wandered around the campsite slowly, his brain in a fog as if he had woken suddenly from the deepest of slumbers. The previous day had been long and exhausting as they searched for the place to deliver Achilles' message. Such a simple task, he had wondered why the old man had sent him to do it, nevermind him and Cora. Yet he knew to pick his battles with the old man, and Connor had decided it was likely that the trip had nothing to do with delivering his personal correspondence at all.
When his mind finally caught up to his body, his eyes found Cora, who was leaning over the creek, wringing out her hair. She hummed mindlessly, oblivious to the fact that he was awake, and Connor took advantage of it, curious as to how she behaved when she was alone.
When she stood, she sang a few lines of a song in a tongue unfamiliar to him. He was surprised by it, wondering how she had learned this strange language that was so dissimilar to the French or German he was acquainted with. Her voice was pretty enough, with a nice tone, albeit a bit quiet. Her voice broke as she tried to hit a higher note, and she winced, muttering 'whoops' as she made her way over to the horses. Connor felt his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile as he lay silent.
She muttered sweet things to the horses as she fed them, and Connor felt odd seeing her so gentle and sweet as opposed to the fiery, stubborn, insufferable, angry... loud woman that she usually was. Perhaps a new perspective could do wonders for how one perceived another.
Cora turned, and the first thing she noticed was Connor laying there watching her. Heat traveled to her cheeks as she wondered how long he had been there observing her. Looking down, she walked over to her pack, deciding that was the perfect time to reorganize the few things she had brought along.
"I made some fish for breakfast. It was not very good, but better than nothing," she muttered, trying to keep herself from rambling on like she often did when she was embarrassed.
The two spent the rest of the morning in silence, preparing to complete the last leg of their journey back to the homestead. It would be half a days ride, and Cora had wanted to leave at a good time so that she could perhaps get in some practice with the bow, and maybe even a bath, but somehow Connor, who was always on time, managed to be the cause of their late start. She had slept late, and Connor had woken well after her, so it was nearing midday when they left.
"At this rate, I will have to skip my training for today," she complained, giving Connor the side eye, as if blaming him. "Nor will I have time for a bath, which I sorely need."
Connor nodded in agreement and Cora scowled before laughing. "If I may say so, you are no better off than I, Assassin."
He looked at her suspiciously, noting that for the first time she was using the term in a jesting manner, not as an insult.
"I have a question," he said simply, turning his eyes back to the trail.
"What is it?"
"What kind of tongue were you singing in before?"
Cora gasped, embarrassed that he had heard, and when Connor turned to her, she stuck her tongue out at him, knowing full well that he only asked to annoy her, not because he really wanted the answer.
However, bored and wanting for conversation, she answered anyway.
"Irish," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "The mother tongue of my parents, not me. I can understand, but do not speak it. I know a few phrases and songs but that is all."
"It was a nice song," Connor responded, seeming to be lost in thought.
"You should sing me one," she said, voice serious.
"No."
"Why not? I sang you one in my language, will you not sing me one in yours?"
"The song was not for me. And no, I will not."
"Someday I will make you," she said, mischief in her voice as she led her horse into a gallop, wishing for the wind to run its fingers through her hair.
Connor stayed behind for a few moments, watching as Cora let go, raising her hands into the air as she let out a small yelp of joy. He shook his head, a smile playing on his lips, before he followed.
When they finally arrived back and put up the horses, it was well past nightfall. Cora was exhausted and a touch saddle sore, not to mention the aching bruises from but when a little blur of golden fur came running at her, she seemed to forget all about it.
"Fionn," she cooed, clapping her hands as she knelt down. "Who's a good boy? I missed you, I did!" The dog was still a puppy but had seemed to have grown exponentially since she had first taken him in. She picked him up as she stood, and he wriggled in her arms, tongue lathering her face as if he was trying to give her the bath she had wanted.
Connor was watching with his eyebrows raised, and Cora wondered if perhaps she would hear him laugh.
"Not a word," she warned sternly before turning her attention back to the dog.
As they approached the house, she set him down again, bringing a hand to her neck as she tried to rub out the stiff soreness. Her bed never seemed more enticing.
Achilles was waiting, though, and stood as soon as the door opened, making his way to the foyer.
"Did you get my letter delivered?" Connor nodded, and Achilles sighed, tired. "I thought you two would not return. How did it go?"
From the silence that followed and the way they looked at each other as if sharing some secret, Achilles knew it had gone as well as he had hoped. Cora sighed, stepping towards the kitchen. When she entered into the light, though, Achilles caught sight of the dark blue and purple splotches on her cheek.
"What happened," he asked, half expecting him to hear that the two had fought again.
"Poachers," Connor said simply, crossing his arms and looking to the ground.
"Ah. Well I am glad to see you both unharmed." Once Cora was safely in the other room, rustling around for who knew what, he turned back to the younger Assassin.
"How did it go, truly," he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
"Well," Connor said, looking the old man in the eye. Well seemed such an improper word for what had happened, but he did not dare elaborate. It wasn't necessarily that it had gone better than well, but that so much had somehow changed between them that one simple word seemed horribly inadequate.
Achilles eyed him suspiciously, but before the old man could ask more questions, Cora appeared, looking from one man to the other before crossing the hall and starting up the stairs.
The two made their way upstairs wordlessly, their feet against the creaking steps the only noise. As the Assassin made his way towards his room, Cora watched after him, her eyes lingering on his frame as if he was someone new, someone to observe and take in. She had finally let go of her anger and hate towards him, and she was still figuring out what that entailed. It was odd for her, now, to be around him knowing that she had let down her outermost walls. Fionn trotted in behind her, his tail wagging as he looked up at her happily. Achilles was not fond of having him in the house, but he did not make too much of a fuss about it. Connor had thought her attachment to the dog odd, but Cora had never been able to resist the begging eyes of any animal.
As she settled into the blankets, she patted the cot and Fionn jumped up, plopping down next to her and promptly rolling over onto his back, digging his face into her side. She let out a soft laugh, resting her hand on the warmth of his belly as she stroked his fur. As she drifted into sleep, she could not help but think of Jane, and imagining what it would be like if she, too, had a husband to which to give her love and receive it in return, and perhaps even a child running about. Yet such things were only for dreams, she knew... She knew.
The following weeks were routine – training in the daylight and discussing what the Templars next move would be during the night. Cora had much to tell, but she feared that it wasn't giving Connor and Achilles much help. She would tell them one thing, give them a name she had heard or the secrets she had been paid with after servicing men, but all just seemed to muddy the picture more. They were missing some big link, some revelation to tell them where Haytham and Lee were hiding or what their next moves were.
Things were quiet now, oddly so, with the absence of their fights. They bickered often, yes, but that hadn't yet had a heated argument. Perhaps it had been because they saved each others lives that day in the forest, maybe they had grown tired of the constant battle between them, or possibly they had seen a bit into each others motivations, into their thoughts and feelings. Only a bit, but enough to understand, and in that understanding, be more patient with each other.
Cora had resolved to work with the bow more, yet still she felt as if she was making no headway with it. She rarely hit the mark and often became frustrated, but at least now Connor was being patient with her, giving her breaks from her frustration to let her do something she found fun, like practice with the throwing knives or the sword. Later, she would watch as he kept his bow arm in practice, shooting for at least an hour every evening. His ease with the bow left her feeling defeated, yet also a touch awed. The strength with which he pulled the string, the ease with which he aimed, the preciseness of his arrow... It was impressive.
Just as she was about to go inside, a warm voice sounded behind her.
"Good evening, Cora," Prudence said, her smile kind and comforting. Cora had only been around her a few times, but somehow her presence alone seemed to give her peace.
"Prudence! It is so wonderful to see you!"
"And you as well," she smiled. "I hope I have not interrupted!"
"Oh, no, I was just about to head inside."
"Ah," she said. "How are things now, with Connor?"
Cora gave a shy smile, remembering her discussion with Prudence a few weeks prior about her difficulties in dealing with the man. She had told her to give him a gentle patience, and not to let his temper get to her, but though Cora knew the advice would likely work, she was far too temperamental and stubborn to follow it.
"Better," she said quietly, giving Connor a glance.
Prudence gave her an odd smile, but before Cora could even try to read her face, Prudence turned and began walking towards Connor.
"Come, I have a request of you and Connor."
"Oh?" Cora took a few long steps to catch up with her. "What is it? I am sure Connor would be more than willing to help with anything you need, as would I."
"Oh, no, it is nothing like that," she said, waving her hands. By the time she had replied, Connor had noticed them and set his bow down, making his way towards them. "My son will be two on the morrow," she explained, "and Corinne insists we have a party. I tried to reason with her, but you know Corinne cannot pass up a reason for a celebration." She laughed sweetly as Connor came into speaking distance.
"Prudence," he said warmly, a kind look on his face. "I am happy to see you."
"And you, Connor! I was just telling Cora that Corinne has insisted we celebrate Hunter's birthday tomorrow, and I wish for you both to come. Achilles as well, if he wishes to attend."
"I will do my best," Connor said, "but there is much to be done and -"
"Oh, Connor," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "You should take a break from all of your work, should you not? I find that a break helps me focus more!"
"Alright," he agreed, giving her a small smile.
"Perfect," she said, turning to Cora.
"If you do not mind, Cora, I could use some help making bread in the morning!"
"It would be my pleasure," Cora agreed, smiling broadly.
"Wonderful! I will see you both tomorrow," she said as she began to walk off. "Good evening!"
Once they had seen Prudence off, Connor and Cora gathered their things silently before they left to wash up before dinner.
"So," Cora began, glancing quickly at him before bending to pick up her bow. "You at a party, eh?"
"You making bread," Connor replied, monotone, before looking over at her. "Many strange sights."
Cora laughed loudly, and though Connor did not join her, she was sure she saw him smile.
"And then just twist the dough like this," Prudence explained, weaving her dough easily into an intricate twist. Cora tried to copy her, but when she looked between their finished products, she was almost embarrassed by her poor attempt.
"I don't think I did it right," she said hesitantly, poking the dough as if it was some odd specimen.
"Oh, don't you worry," Prudence said, patting Cora's shoulder. "It takes much practice to perfect, and besides, it's the taste that matters most!"
"What makes the taste so special," Cora asked as she grabbed another piece of dough and began to knead it like she had been shown, sprinkling flour when it got too sticky.
"It is a sweet bread, which always seems to be well received, but what really makes it wonderful is the honey mixture that goes on afterward," she said as Cora licked her lips at the thought of it. Honey... It had been so long since she had tasted honey. "It is Connor's favorite," she said, giving her a peculiar glance. Cora coughed to hide her discomfort, then went back to her dough weaving without a word.
Once they had finished preparing the dough and gotten the first batch of loaves into the oven, Prudence invited her inside for tea, and though Cora had been longing to go for a ride all morning, she liked Prudence too much to deny her request.
"So how are you finding it here," Prudence asked as she set a cup in front of her. It looked delicate, and Cora was almost hesitant to pick it up.
"Well," she said simply, unsure of how to answer. Her heart had held much confusion in the past few days, and it was maddening. Even the simplest decision or task had left her in deep thought about her future, her desires, her motivations...
"Well is all," Prudence asked with a knowing laugh. "What troubles you?"
She opened her mouth but didn't know what to say. She didn't even know the answer to the question for herself, how was she supposed to answer it?
"You do not have to answer if you don't want to," she said gently, setting her cup of tea on the table.
"No, I just..." She trailed off, looking about the room as she tried to manifest her feelings into coherent words.
"I just... I'm confused," she admitted, letting her head fall into her hands. She was quiet for a moment as she let her fingers run through her hair, trying to get some hold on her feelings, even if it was a slipping grasp.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," she said, twirling the tea cup around with her index finger. "I spent so long letting anger and fear guide my every step that now... Now I don't know how to handle myself. All of these people here seem so free and happy and... I just... I do not know what I want, what I am truly living and striving for."
Prudence was quiet for a moment, and Cora almost wished she would say something to stop those words from lingering in the air, to stop those truths from echoing in her mind.
"I just don't know," she said again, dropping her hands into her lap.
"Oh Cora," she began, her voice thick with sympathy. Cora almost wished she hadn't said anything. That tone, sick with pity, was something she detested, no matter the mouth from which it came or the intentions behind it. "I cannot say that I truly understand, but perhaps I can give you some words of comfort." When she took her hand, Cora finally looked up. "I think," Prudence said gently, "that it is just fine for you not to know what it is you truly want. It has all been such a big change for you, and I think it is only natural for much confusion to come with it. You do not have to know what you want all the time. Even I don't always know what I wish to have happen, especially now that I have Hunter. I know confusion can tear at the heart but-"
Just then, a loud cry came piercing through the air, and Prudence looked towards the stair, sighing. "I am so sorry, just a moment, I will be right back!" As Cora watched her hurry upstairs to comfort her son, she sat back in the chair, mulling over her feelings and Prudence's words. Her confusion had not waned, but Prudence's reassurances had been surprisingly helpful to ease her anxiety.
When Prudence finally came down the stairs, Cora stood, pushing in her chair. Before either of them could say anything, Warren's voice rang through the small house.
"Prudence?"
"One moment, Cora," she said again, turning to her husband. Cora couldn't hear their words, but when they came back into the room, she was at the door. "You do not have to go," Prudence said, passing her reaching son over to her husband.
"It's alright," she said, opening the door.
"I will see you at the party, yes?"
"Of course," she said, smiling. Prudence smiled back, but there was still concern in her eyes as Cora shut the door.
She felt badly for leaving so suddenly, but sometimes she just had to leave. How often she had done that since she had arrived to the homestead... All these poor people probably thought her a peculiar woman, indeed. Yet what did they expect, especially those who had figured out part of her shaded past?
She was only one woman, one woman with the weight of her past and the presence of her future bearing down on her, strangling her, drowning her... What else could anyone expect?
When she got close to the manor, she could hear a commotion before she even entered the house. A baby was crying, its sharp wail stinging her ears. When she opened the door, Diana was standing in front of her, swaying back and forth while she tried to quiet her babe. Achilles stood in front of her, looking very agitated as he tried to listen to what she was saying.
"Dr. White won't be back 'til the morn, and poor Terry isn't gettin' any better," she said, shifting the baby in her arms as she tried to calm her. She was obviously just as frustrated as Achilles, and Cora stepped forward.
"Oh good day, Cora, I didn't even see you come in with this one's fussing," she said, giving a soft laugh.
"I can take her to the other room if you wish," Cora offered, a little too eagerly. At first, she was sure Diana would decline, as they had only spoken a few pleasantries to each other. Instead, Diana smiled broadly, holding the infant out to her with relief on her face. "Oh, thank you, dear! I'll just be a moment, promise!"
"Don't worry about it," Cora said as she took the child, her arms falling into a familiar place as she cradled the girl. "I'll just be in the other room," she said as she walked off, leaving the two to talk. As she walked, the child grew quieter, her large blue eyes gaping up at her, brows furrowed as she tried to focus on her face.
It had been so long since she had held a baby, and it almost gave her a sickly feeling in her stomach, remembering the last time she had held Jane's son. How empty her arms had felt after they had gone, how empty her heart had become...
"What are you doing," Connor's voice asked as she entered the parlor. Her head snapped up, her enchantment with the baby broken.
"Sorry," she muttered. "We can go somewhere else, I did not know you were..."
"It is fine," he said, nodding to the chair near the window. Cora took the seat with a nod, nestling the child against her chest as she settled in. Connor watched them, intrigued by the careful, gentle way Cora adjusted the babe's clothes, and stroked her hand.
A curl fell from her braid and the baby grabbed it, yanking hard enough to make Cora wince. For a moment, he expected her to get angry, but she simply unfurled the baby's hand from around her hair and replaced it with her finger, smiling when the child grabbed on.
He had seen her smile before, but this smile was so different... It wasn't a smile made in a jest, or the smile of confidence or taunting success, no... It was a pretty smile, pure and real and sweet, and something he scare thought he'd ever see on that woman's face.
Suddenly, Cora looked up and caught his glance.
"What," she said slowly, smiling slyly and dragging out the question as if she were suspicious of his thoughts.
Connor shook his head and went back to the log books, continuing his sentence before he glanced back up again. She almost looked like a different woman sitting there, the light so soft on her cheek, summoning the red tones in her dark hair, and that smile and soft laugh suited her so well...
"Cora," Achilles said, his voice filling the quiet of the room. "Diana wants to talk to you."
She stood quickly, and before he could protest, she was holding the child out to him, looking at him with a mischievous grin.
"I will be right back," she said as he took the baby, holding her at an arms reach, as if she was some rapid dog, and not a child. She kicked and wriggled in his hands, and Cora suppressed a giggle as she turned the corner.
As Diana spoke to her, asking if she would mind watching the babe for no more than an hour while she saw to some unfinished tasks, she heard the child begin to cry in the other room, and wondered how Connor was doing. As soon as she had seen Diane off, she wondered if she should let the Assassin linger even more in his misery, but decided that she was feeling merciful. She was smiling to herself as rounded the corner, picturing which disaster she was about to stumble upon. Would he still be holding her as if she was a leper, or if perhaps she had thrown up on him. Now that would be a sight.
Instead, the sight of him humbled her smug grin, and she leaned against the door frame, crossing her arms as she watched them, a softer smile on her face.
He was facing the window, but instead of looking outside, his attention was on the child, an unreadable expression on his face. Cora tilted her head, broadening her smile as she watched him sway slowly back and forth, and caught the flicker of a smile on his face when the babe gave him a toothless grin.
"Connor," she said gently, breaking her silence as she walked into the room. "I'll take her." He turned to her, carefully laying the child in her arms. Connor watched her face as she took the baby from him, taking notice of the fact that she had used his name, instead of calling him the Assassin. He watched the gentle, loving look in her face, suddenly wondering if there had been some time in her past when she had not needed to always be so angry and stubborn – a time when she was more like this woman before him, her tongue all honey and her eyes so kind.
Cora shifted the child in her arms, thanking God that she was seeming to want to fall asleep. Once she had gotten her settled on her shoulder, she went to leave the room. Yet before she did, something made her glance back at Connor. She had hoped to meet his eyes, but instead he was sitting at the desk, scribbling away at whatever he had been doing before she interrupted him. She stood there for a few more moments, waiting for... something. Anything.
But she was just a foolish girl, and so she left the room, forcing herself back into contentment.
Cora was alone, practicing with the bow when she noticed the rider leaving the path and coming toward her. Instinctively, she nearly raised her weapon towards him, but when she caught sight of the man's face, she set the bow up against the tree. The man dismounted, smiling broadly as he made his way to her.
"Clipper," she said, holding a hand out as he came within reach. The smile came easily to her lips, perhaps coaxed out by the man's kind, smiling face.
"Cora," he responded, taking her hand in his. She had meant for him to shake it, but instead he took her hand as if she was some proper lady. "It's wonderful to see you." Her smile faltered as she glanced down at her hand in his, uncomfortable at the way he had taken her hand, but managed to put on a kind face once again. "I trust you have been well since we last met?"
"Well enough," she shrugged, crossing her arms and giving a half-smile. "Yourself?"
"Damn redcoats have taken to conscription again," he grumbled, the smile disappearing from his face. "I try to do my best but the Templars only enable them."
Cora cocked her head, confused at his words. As long as she had been with the Templars, they had always favored the side of the colonists, hoping to gain control of the New World with a fresh start, free from British rule. The idea that someone was trying to aid the British, even in some small way, was unsettlingly odd to her. "We should meet with Connor at once," she said, beckoning him. "Is that why you are here?"
"No," he said. "I do my best to keep them from forcing those lads into service, but it's mostly a personal project. Stephane sent me." Clipper dug into his jacket pocket, drawing out a folded piece of parchment. "With this." He handed it to her, and Cora furrowed her brow as she turned it in her hands. A letter, no doubt, the seal broken but still recognizable. It was unmistakably the seal of Haytham Kenway. Though her curiosity was strong, she left it closed as she ascended the steps to the manor. A knot manifested in her belly, and she wondered how Connor would react to an intercepted letter from his own father.
"Do you know what this says," she asked, turning it again in her hands as she opened the door.
"More or less," Clipper replied. "Well, I know what the words say, but I haven't the slightest clue what it all means. Stephane believes it may be code for something, that perhaps there are plans within. The man he intercepted it from seemed very intent on getting it where it needed to be, more than normal, and so he thought it best that Connor be alerted."
"You came all the way here yourself?"
Clipper shrugged as Cora went to the candelabra, gently pulling it down to open the passage.
"I figured I could use a break from the city, and Stephane wanted me to speak with Connor in person."
As they descended the stairs, Connor turned towards them. He recognized Cora's soft footfalls easily, but could not place who else was with her. As he moved towards the stairs, he called out. "Who has arrived?" Before anyone could answer, he saw Clipper.
"Has something happened," he questioned, taking a step forward. Cora could see the change in his demeanor, the way his mind already started assessing the situation for some sort of danger. God, that man was paranoid...
"No," Cora said, holding up a hand. She turned her face towards Clipper before adding, "Well, not yet." Clipper stepped forward, extending his arm, which the Assassin took without hesitation.
"It is good to see you, Connor."
Connor nodded, eager to get to the point.
"You, as well."
Clipper could see how anxious Connor was to hear what he had to say, and he wasted no time doing so. "Stephane sent me. He thought it best that you were spoken to in person. He sends his regrets for not being able to come himself." Clipper took a deep breath, his eyes glancing between Connor and Cora, and she could see that he was nervous to speak whatever words he had been bidden to. After a deep breath, he began to speak, loudly yet quite hurriedly, as if he was trying to rid all the words from his mouth as soon as possible.
"We fear Lee's influence on Washington and his supporters is only growing. We sent someone to keep an eye on things, perhaps see what kind of whispers Lee and the others are speaking into the ears of the congress. Unfortunately, the man we sent was caught in Lee's office."
Connor sighed, running a hand through his hair, and Clipper was quick to respond. "I take responsibility, his training was mine to oversee, and I sent him before he was ready."
"It is alright," Connor said, though Cora could see the displeasure in his eyes. "Continue."
"He escaped Templar control, though Lee is not happy. He intends to have the man's head, I am sure. Haytham Kenway can only stay Lee's anger for so long. You know how little the man likes his pride wounded." Clipper held out his hand towards Connor, beckoning Cora to offer the letter. "However, he did find this."
It was hard to ignore the way the Assassin's face changed briefly when he heard the name of his father. Cora was unsure of their relationship, but it was obvious that he cared for him in some way. Cora could understand, in some small way. It was well known in her own life how some people can have some odd, incomprehensible hold over you, no matter how much you tried to cast them away.
Connor took the letter, running a thumb over the seal. Cora could see the recognition in his eyes, the apprehension as he sighed, opening it slowly. Clipper watched Connor's face anxiously, waiting for his reaction.
"What does it say," Cora asked, holding a hand out for the letter. The Assassin glanced at her apprehensively, but gave it over anyway.
"I do not know. I do not understand what he is writing about. It seems to me he is advising restraint on the part of Charles Lee, but I do not understand the last words."
"Perhaps some code," Clipper offered.
"I believe so."
The two men watched her as she read the letter over and over, anxious to see what she may have to say about it. Most of it was easy enough for her to understand – the high ranking Templars often used special terms in their correspondence precisely to prevent someone else from understanding in the case something was intercepted. She knew most of the terms well enough, though. It was the last line that troubled her.
"You have the right of it, Haytham is telling Charles Lee not to get carried away," she said, not taking her eyes off of the letter. "He does not want Lee to be distracted from their cause for the sake of anger and pride. He wants to meet with Lee, but in a safe location..."
The Nest, Kenway had written... The nest? Of all the named places she knew of, "the nest" was not one of them. She shook her head, sighing, reading those two words over and over again, as if doing so would conjure up a memory.
"This is unfamiliar to me," she said after a few minutes. "It must be the name for a location, of that much I am sure, but I do not know the exact location."
The Assassin sighed loudly, shaking his head as he took it.
"Look, it is not my fault that they made changes since I have left," she said sharply. Clipper backed away, looking from Connor to Cora uncomfortably.
"I am not upset," Connor said gently.
Cora felt her face flush, and she looked away, crossing her arms. Oh, how he humiliated her even in his kindness... It was enough to make her feel both annoyed and ashamed, and enough to keep her mouth closed for fear of turning it into a fight. At least she was learning not to let her words follow her quick temper. For so long, her words had been her only defense, her most effective weapon, and it was hard to learn that she no longer had to be on guard all the time.
"I would like to go to Boston myself to see what can be found," Connor said after a few moments. "Perhaps if we are all together we will be able to determine the next step, or find out where he is hiding." In all truth, the mundane routine on the homestead the past weeks had left him anxious, unsettled with the stillness, of having nothing to do while the Templars surely continued to wreck some sort of havoc within the politics of the war and emerging government.
"Very well," Clipper said, nodding in agreement. "Stephane and the others will be more than happy to receive you."
"We will leave at dawn," Connor said. "If you could deliver the news to Achilles, I would be thankful. I still have some things to do here."
Clipper nodded and took his leave, and as Cora went to follow, Connor took her arm, holding her back.
"Wait," he said softly, watching Clipper ascend the stairs. As they spoke, he could see the discomfort in her face, in the way she stood. Recently, she had seemed so strange, so different from the woman he had first met. While she had been so stubborn and outspoken, now she often seemed feeble and skittish, and he often found her looking off into some unseen place, lost in her thoughts. Though he was not exactly dismayed at the lack of fighting or feisty words that came from her, he could not help but wonder why she had so suddenly changed. Though their trip a few weeks before had helped them to set aside their petty arguments, when they returned she had still never held her tongue in his presence nor seemed lost. Yet now she seemed to him so withdrawn, and his concern had grown. At first, he had rationalized the thoughts by saying he did not want her affected in battle or on missions, but then it had become apparent that to some extent, he was concerned for her well being just for the sake of her alone.
When Clipper was gone, and Cora had not protested his keeping her away, he released her arm, taking a step back. It was difficult to talk with her still, especially about things that were not related to training or Templars, and he struggled to find the right words.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes," Cora replied, not meeting the Assassin's eyes. Though she did not doubt his genuine concern, Connor was not the person she wished to speak to about such things, and so she decided to keep her answers short.
"You seem troubled."
Oh, if he only knew... Though she had made it through each day, doing her chores and training well, occasionally stopping by to speak with Ellen or Prudence, or taking Ealga for a ride – a life she could not complain about – she had been distracted, somehow... No matter how well things seemed to be going, no matter what she did each day, somehow her thoughts had always returned to Henry, to Oliver and Thomas and Haytham Kenway, to her father and her family, all those she had let down. It was funny, how only after she had left the Templars had the real feelings she had repressed so long come flooding back to her.
So long she had kept herself hardened, calculated, focused, so long she had deprived herself of feeling or thinking in order to survive, to preserve her mind. If she had let herself dwell on such things before, there was no doubt that she would have gone mad. Yet now, away from the the past she had wished for so long to escape, the memories only came back tenfold.
"As troubled as anyone is, in these times," she said, forcing herself to look into his eyes, to feign indifference, to keep his prying words away. When she saw the way he regarded her, though, his eyes dark in the dim lighting, watching her, seeing through every word she spoke, she felt her mask crack, if only for a moment. Cora bit the inside of her cheek, looking away for a moment, regaining her composure before speaking again.
"I do not see how that question is pertinent to the discussion about the Templars," she said, a little too sharply. Though she crossed her arms, expecting anger to cross his face, instead he raised his chin, looking down at her with furrowed brows.
"I am sorry," he offered. "I am just trying to understand."
"I am not yours to understand," she snapped, taking a step forward towards him, that familiar stubborn fire emerging in her gaze. "I do not owe you an explanation." Cora felt herself angering more as she spoke, though little of it was truly directed toward him. He was simply receiving the brunt of emotions that were not meant for him.
"My heart is my own," she continued, "my thoughts are my own, my anger and my past are my own... My own to cope with, my own to sort through and bear the consequence of. I do not need saving, especially not from you!" Her voice was raised, and she was practically poking him in the chest with her accusing finger, but he did not back away nor engage her as he had when she let her temper go before. Instead, he spoke softly.
"The burden is lighter when shared."
His words only angered her further. Who did he think he was? Did this man fancy himself above her? He had no right to speak on such things.
"You are one to talk," she said, her voice laden with contempt. "You keep all held inside. You guard yourself, shutting all away, keeping the lock hidden in some treacherous, inaccessible place where only wild things dare venture. You have no right to lecture me on sharing my burdens when you think yourself above it."
Connor stayed his tongue, letting her speak her mind without interruption. Though he did not want to acknowledge it, he could not deny the truth in her words. Perhaps he had overstepped the boundaries, but they had become clouded by his concern. It was true enough that he would not have said anything if their places were reversed. Yet somehow, it was hard to remember that when he held concern for someone else.
He watched her as she waited for his response, her chest rising and falling quickly as she let her anger take hold. The stubborn, outspoken aspect of her nature was on full display, and it was odd to watch her without being distracted by his own temper. Her eyes were narrowed, her face pinched, but as she calmed down and realized he was not going to speak, he could see the still, withdrawn look flood into her eyes again.
She turned quickly, her braid whipping around with her as she walked away, her footsteps loud as they only were when she was angry. When she reached the stairs, she paused, and when she turned back to look at him, he was struck by the complexity of her. Her stance held anger, her jaw clenched and her muscles tensed, yet her appearance held a subtle but still alluring beauty, and suddenly he could see why this wild woman could be so attractive to men. But it was her eyes that gave her away. While everything about her – the warrior's build, lithe and supple, the fair face, her wit and outspoken nature – emitted strength and power and guile, her eyes radiated nothing but sadness and a weary heart.
"My burden is too heavy for anyone to bear," she said quietly, looking him in the eye for a few short moments before ascending the stairs.
He watched her go, her name on his lips, his tongue eager to call her back, to give her some sort of comfort – anything to lessen that hollow look in her eyes. Instead, he let her go, knowing full well that whatever little he did have to give her, she would not accept.
"Then," Godfrey said, his laugh bellowing throughout the tavern as he struggled to continue the story, "Then the fool just falls right into the river!"
Cora laughed heartily, taking a drink of her.
"I had a mind ta leave the buffoon, but I knew Diana would have my hide!"
Terry shook his head, smiling though the story was at his expense.
"Oh, and donae get me started on our weddings!"
Cora laughed softly as she took the last drink from her mug, staring into its emptiness and wondering if perhaps she should stop. She had never been one for drunkenness, but somehow she had been unable to stop this night, perhaps enjoying the warmth it made her feel, the laughter it brought to her lips, anything to forget the earlier portion of her day.
After the incident with Connor, she had gone for a long ride with Ealga, feeling more troubled since she had since her father had died. Despite her wretchedness, no tears had come to her eyes, though she had wanted them to, even if only to remind her that she was indeed still human, with the ability to feel, to cry and laugh and live. But none came, no release, only a stagnant, hollow loss burrowing itself deeper within her with each passing moment.
The party was as good as a distraction as any, and she had been able to relax a little, though how much could be attributed to the ale and whiskey, she did not know. She had been having a little fun, though, enjoying the company of the others. Only Prudence and Ellen had asked after her, seeing through her smile, but a quick reassurance was all that was needed to stop the queries.
Connor say across the room, looking rather serious as he pushed the handle of his mug around. She refused to look at him, not after what had happened earlier. Cora despised feeling vulnerable, especially in the presence of someone like the Assassin. It was unsettling to her, after so many years of being forced to be strong, to feel anything at all, and somehow Connor was gifted at bringing it out of her.
"Are you enjoying yourself," Clipper asked, sliding into the chair next to her.
"I am," she said, smiling at him. "And yourself?"
"Well," he smiled softly, throwing his head back. "Can't say I wouldn't rather be out with my rifle, but it's as good a way to pass the time as any."
"Not one for parties?"
He shook his head. "Never have been the most social," he said. "I was the youngest of five boys, see, and the least witty, the least strong or ambitious. Ran off when I was young, tired of being overlooked, though I suppose that was a fool thing to do."
"I am sure we've all done our share of foolish things."
Clipper laughed in agreement. "I was the best shooter though, and still am."
"No need to get a big head," Cora warned, teasing. They both laughed, and as the fiddler changed into a more lively tune, some of the guests took to dancing. Cora watched them, the way they all seemed so happy and free, wondering if she would ever truly be able to let go, to feel safe and to have someone to care for her, to have people to care for... If she would ever be able to find joy in the most mundane of tasks.
Clipper stood, holding out a hand to her.
"Would you like to dance," he asked. Cora looked at him, reluctant, but took his hand anyway, forcing a smile. She had begun to let her mind wander away, and perhaps a little dancing would do her well. As she let him spin her around, she found herself flushed and laughing, gripping his arms in order not to lose her footing. The drink had hit her now, and she felt like she was floating, which only made her laugh more. To her surprise, Clipper danced well, and she was thankful for it, as she would have likely made a complete fool of herself in her state of impairment.
Connor had not been in the mood for a party, but he had come anyway, if only to make the others happy. His mind was thick with thoughts of Lee and the impending trip to Boston, and such carefree things as this only made him feel more burdened. As he pushed his glass around the table, listening halfheartedly to the discussion that Norris and Big Dave were having about some new metal one of them had found, his thoughts even went to his father.
At that, he took a drink.
When he looked up, the first thing his eyes found was Cora. She was laughing, her long braid spinning around as she tipper her head back, dancing in Clipper's arms. Her face was flushed from too much drink, her steps a little clumsy, but in the soft light and with a smile on her face, she looked beautiful. As he watched her, he wasn't sure how he felt. Envy? Possibly, but at what? Perhaps it was her ability to laugh, to forget about it all...
"You seem... far off, my friend," Norris said, breaking his train of thought. Big Dave had left, and it was only the two of them. Connor shrugged, turning his mug, still full of ale, and glancing again across the room. Norris followed his gaze, and then smiled broadly, giving a soft chuckle.
"How are things with you and Cora," he asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"They are much improved," Connor said, still watching her. Clipper whispered something to her and she laughed, moving her hand down his arm and clutching at his shirt. "She is interesting. I have not met a woman like her," he said absentmindedly.
At that, Norris laughed. "You sound like me when I first met Myriam!" Connor, still watching the woman, had not really heard his friends' words, but when Norris next spoke, his eyes left her suddenly. "Do you like her?"
"What?"
"You know," Norris said, his tone half teasing and half serious. "Do you like her? Even a little?"
"I, she is... No, I mean," he stuttered, suddenly uncomfortable.
"You should talk to her! You know, something other than weapons and plans, eh? At least, that is what you once told me, and it turned out well," he said, giving a beaming glance to his wife, who stood across the room, speaking with Lyle and Big Dave.
"I believe you have the wrong idea," Connor insisted sternly. Norris stood, clapping his friend on the back and giving a doubting laugh before making his way over to Myriam. Connor watched him go, and his eyes again drifted to Cora. As the song ended and Norris moved to greet her before speaking with Clipper, he watched her shrink away, the smile fading as the others spoke, and he knew he had misjudged her.
A/N: Well! It's been such a long time since I've last updated, and for that I apologize! I have been crazily busy, as well as very pessimistic about my writing, so it hasn't exactly been the most fruitful of months writing-wise. So here we have things really changing for Cora and Connor, both in their relationship, personally, and in the greater scheme of things. I'm sorry if this chapter was too much of a downer, but hopefully happier times will be coming soon!
themadgears - I'm glad you enjoy it! Sorry for taking so long to update!
GreenXwithXrasberry - Trust me, sometimes I want to throw Cora in a lake... Hahaha. I don't know how Connor puts up with her! I think when we first meet Cora, she knows who she is, or rather who she has to be to survive. Now that she's away from that part of her life, she's sort of having to re figure out who she is. We'll have to see who all shows up in the future... :) As for the scars thing, I think really in the situation, men wouldn't really care about the scars as long as they're getting what they want. I think she likes her scars because it's a reminder of who she is, what she's been through, and the fact that she survived.
I think the touching thing with Connor is more of unexpected/unwanted touching. He's a paranoid guy. But when you play the game, though he isn't super touchy feely, he does touch other people often enough. I don't think his lack of touching has anything to do with him being Native American.
I'm glad you enjoyed that bit about Jane! I liked writing it! I think everyone response to abuse and those situations differently. Some people want to stay away from all similar to those who harmed her, others try to make up for it/make new memories, etc. etc. There's not really a wrong or unnatural way to deal with it in my opinion. I think with Cora, she did see no other way when she decided not to go with Jane, etc, but now she's at a point where she really has started to see through the lies they told her, and when Connor takes her captive, she comes to see it as an escape.
Thank you so much for your reviews, I can't tell you how much they help!
Vintage Ruiz - Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying the pacing of the relationship. I didn't want to take it too fast but now I'm worried I'm taking it a bit too slow, so hopefully it's not too bad!