A/N: Well, who's excited at how fast I turned this chapter around compared to the last few, because I am! Here we are. This is the longest chapter of this story by far as of now, and probably the heaviest chapter content wise, which was a big reason why I decided to change it to M. The violence may be triggering for some. Writing this chapter was an interesting experience, and I'm not completely sure how I feel about it, but hopefully you will enjoy!
Chapter Eleven;
Pain
"Mortal! That cull'st the flowers of life,
Think not to escape the thorn."
William B. Tappan, The Thorn of Life
When Connor had told her of the plan, she had insisted to be the one to go. After all, she knew the fort that the Templars had made their Boston headquarters well enough to navigate the halls in her sleep. Instead, Connor had sent Duncan. With a good disguise and what was apparently a good set of skills in sneaking around and blending in, they had sent him to retrieve whatever information that he could. The hope was that he would be able to find out more about the coded location that had been in the letter Clipper brought. Then, they would be able to find Lee's location, and finally end it.
As soon as they had seen Duncan off, a woman's voice sounded from the doorway.
"Mon frère fou!"
Stephane smiled as he rose, heading towards the door and shaking his head.
"Sœur," he yelled back, his tone teasing. When the woman entered the tavern, they embraced, and she quickly made her way over to the others. Cora had met Victoire the last time they had been in Boston, if only briefly. They had gotten along extremely well, and Cora had been glad for her company then and was happy to see her now as well. Similar in looks and temperament, it was obvious that she was kin to Stephane even to the untrained eye. A skilled woman, she apparently often worked with her brother in his Assassin duties, although not officially part of the order herself.
"It has been too long," she said sweetly, greeting Cora with a kiss to each cheek and shaking the hands of the others. "How go your grand plans?"
"We await the return of Duncan. He left to seek information of the whereabouts of Charles Lee," Stephane explained to his sister. Victoire scoffed loudly at Lee's name, shaking her head.
"That bâtard.Always slipping away," she exclaimed, her hands moving as she spoke. "I am sure you will catch him soon," she assured, directing her words at Connor. "I lend you whatever support I am able to give."
"Thank you, Victoire. It is well appreciated."
"Anything to help your cause," she smiled, her voice thickly accented. When the pleasantries had been exchanged, Victoire took a seat near Cora. She found herself oddly grateful for the woman's appearance in the tavern, if only to have another familiar face that she was comfortable around. Despite having known the woman only a short time, she found Victoire warm and gently spoken when need be, even with her loud, rebellious spirit. Though Cora was on quite friendly terms with Stephane, Clipper, and the others, she only felt truly comfortable with Connor. It was strange to admit it, even to herself. They had been at odds for so long that sometimes it was strange to look at him and know that he had her back. That day near the water had only proved it, and solidified whatever few bonds of companionship they had managed to build. Looking at him now, though, his face serious and focused as he and the others spoke of various plans of action, it was hard to remember him smiling and laughing as he had only two days earlier...
"How was your journey," Victoire asked, tearing a piece off of the fresh bread that Stephane had made earlier that day.
"Quite interesting," Cora said, giving a small laugh.
"Oh?" Victoire nudged the other woman's knee, winking. Cora tried not to roll her eyes. The last time they had spoken, Victoire had teased unrelentingly about her relationship with Connor, and though the other woman knew in truth they struggled to keep civil, she could not resist the chance to tease. Not bothering to indulge her, Cora ignored the gesture.
"We did come to a sort of understanding," Cora admitted. Absentmindedly, her eyes went to seek Connor, and she quickly averted her gaze when she realized he was watching her. Turning her body away, she tried to hide the heat on her cheeks by staring intently at Victoire, a move which did not go unnoticed by the other woman. Victoire glanced between the two of them, and though Cora could see her need to make some jest, the woman held her tongue.
"Did you speak of your feelings?" Cora nodded in response, recalling the advice she had received from Victoire the last time they had spoken. "Ah, I suspected that would help. It is always easier to form a bond when you share matters of the heart," she smiled gently. "Did he, too, share?"
"A little," she said, shrugging. "I would have wished for him to speak more, but he seemed not to want to say anything else, and then once I began to talk it was as if I could not stop."
"Ah," Victoire said, nodding with a gentle, knowing smile. "I have known Connor many years, since he first met my brother. He is, as you say, a tough nut to crack? Give him time, and you will soon be sharing many things," she said, teasing with her implications.
"Victoire, it is not like that. I have told you."
She waved her hand dismissively, smiling slyly as she took another bite of bread. "Of course, chérie, of course."
Connor's voice from behind her almost made her jump.
"I hope I am not interrupting," he said as Cora turned.
"Oh, you most certainly are," Victoire teased, crossing her arms as she laughed. "But that has not ever stopped you before."
"I just wish to speak with Cora for a minute."
Victoire hummed, studying the man for what seemed like a long while, before shaking her head. "Not right now. Perhaps later. We are speaking, and you know you must never interrupt two women speaking. We could be doing many things, you know. Planning what kind of soup to make for dinner, or in which way we wish to kill the next person who breaks our conversation." Cora laughed at that, unable to contain herself at the sight of Connor's bewilderment.
She grabbed Cora's hand, leading her outside as she waved to him. "I will bring her back in good time, mon ami, you can be assured!"
Once they were alone outside with no company but the horses, Victoire scoffed, crossing her arms. "Men! Thinking they can interrupt important conversations!"
The two women laughed, and Cora realized she had not so often smiled so genuinely in a long time. In the past few days, it was as if she could almost taste what it was like to live a life filled with daily happiness.
"Really, I quite enjoy telling him no," she admitted. "The look on his face! Besides, it is always good to tell a man he cannot do as he pleases. It reminds them who is in charge," she said mischievously. Cora laughed softly, and at that, Victoire's expression changed.
"Come, sit. Tell me what is burdening you."
"What?" Cora asked, drawing back slightly.
"Forgive me. It just seems to me that something is on your mind. You have been so quiet, without all that fire I remember the last time we spoke."
Cora shrugged. "I don't mean to be," she said quietly, twisting the fabric of her skirt in her hand.
"See?" Victoire said, gesturing towards her. Now that it had been pointed out, Cora could not deny that she had been quite passive lately. She hadn't meant to be, there was just so much change going on, in her heart as much as the situation with the Templars, that she had found herself too involved with her thoughts to get into any kind of argument or ordeal.
Trying to change the subject, Cora turned the woman's words on her. "With all this talk of the heart, Victoire, I would think you are involved with someone." Cora had meant to tease her, but when a light blush crept up the woman's neck, she stood, pointing a finger and laughing. "Who is it?"
After recovering from the initial shock of being discovered, Victoire smiled, a rare bout of timidness touching her features. "Perhaps in time you will see. It is nothing now, anyway."
"You must spend long hours speaking of your emotions for all the time you have spent advising me to do the same," she teased.
"I have," Victoire said simply, catching Cora off guard. Leaning in, the woman rested her hand on Cora's. "There is nothing wrong with seeking a friendly face or comforting arms when you have need of them. None of us are built to handle things on our own. I have found it is always worth it to open yourself to someone even with all the fear they will abuse it, rather than suffer in silence and pain, and wonder what could have been."
Oliver was never one to hide his displeasure, anger, or cruelty, but this had been the first time Henry had heard him scream so furiously. He had been in his room when he had heard the commotion of men yelling, calling the others to arms, and had shot up, running out. Ezekiel had been the first to meet him.
"What has happened?" he asked, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword as he watched the rushed, anxious manner of all the soldiers in the fort.
"Apparently someone has broken into Oliver's office and discovered important documents. He suspects the Assassins and wishes to move on them immediately, lest they take action." Henry frowned at this, suspicious at Oliver's true intentions.
"Oliver has never kept anything of extreme value in his office," he said slowly, voicing his doubt at Oliver's claims. Ezekiel looked away, eyebrows raised in agreement.
"I know. I believe he just wants an excuse to attack."
"And where does he plan to do that? He still knows little of where the Assassins keep their headquarters... It seems like a large reaction for a few missing papers."
"Not the Assassins this time," a familiar voice commented from behind. Thomas slapped his brother's back aggressively, and Henry gritted his teeth, trying to keep his temper. "Sorry to say you aren't going to get a look at your little whore today," he laughed. Henry felt his hands curl into tight fists, and for a moment he was sure he was going to lose control, but Ezekiel gave him a stern look, and Henry managed to push the impulse away. Ignoring his brother's words, he continued the conversation.
"What does Oliver want us to do, then?"
"There's some man that lives a ways out who has had dealings with the Assassins before. Hidden them, helped them, healed them, that sort of thing. Oliver wants to pay them a little visit," he said, smiling in a way that made Henry feel sick. Sometimes it was hard to remember who his brother had been before... He had always been somewhat crude, that much was certain, but never so cruel. Not until he had become second in command to Oliver.
"And do what?" Ezekiel asked, not seeing the value in the plan, either.
Thomas laughed. "Who the hell knows. Oliver seems to think it valuable, so we will go."
"And here I thought you were his closest confidant," Henry said, narrowing his eyes. "I forgot you're nothing but his little dog to order around."
When Thomas hit him, Henry hadn't expected it. Ezekiel grabbed his shoulders as he staggered back, but when Henry lunged forward to return the blow, he held him back. "You had better hold your tongue, brother," Thomas taunted. "It will get you into a load of trouble some day soon."
"Save it," Ezekiel said in his friend's ear as Henry shrugged him off, his face hot from anger and the sting of Thomas' fist. But before Ezekiel could grab him again, Henry stepped close to the other man, sticking a confrontational finger in his face.
"You are no brother of mine," he said, shoving him away as he turned. Thomas shook his head, but gave no reply.
"We move out in one hour. See that you are there, baby brother." Henry did not turn, refusing to give him the satisfaction of it. Sighing, he made for his rooms.
When he had taken this job, it had been nothing more than a paid position as a guard. He was expected to ensure no one left or entered that was not supposed to, and, if need were to arise, to lend his sword in case of an attack on the fort. He hadn't been involved in any inside dealings of the Templars, and though his brother had joined and had begun to quickly rise through the ranks, Henry had no desire to do the same. He had always been of a more gentle spirit, and in all honesty if he had never had to hold a weapon, he would have been content. A quiet life on a farm somewhere, with a wife and a dozen children... In his spare time, he would teach the little ones to ride horses, and would read every book he could get his hands on. That was his dream. To live, and love, away from the cruelty of war and the endless battle between the Templars and Assassins that his family had been part of for generations. It was his mother's father who had been Templar, but his mother had done all she could to support their cause. His father had never had a taste for it, but when he died, his mother became even more extreme, and demanded that her sons give what they could, as well.
Henry had wanted to go to his uncle on the frontier, to learn the ways of the farm, but she would not have it. When he refused to help the Templars, she put him out on the streets. Young, and with no way to provide, he had ironically ended up taking a job with the Templars, anyway. He had planned to save his wages and buy a horse to take him to his uncle's, but then they had made him stand guard at a prisoner's door, and everything had changed.
At first, when she was but a child of thirteen, he had only stayed because he had thought he could look after her, even in what insignificant way a young guard could. He had only been sixteen, and naïve to think that his presence would make any true difference. Yet for some reason, he couldn't bear the thought of leaving the poor girl to suffer alone, with no one on the inside to look out for her, even in a small way.
But she grew older, and the situation grew harsher, and Hannah, one of the other women, had been killed. Then, he knew he had to stay as long as she and Jane were there. Perhaps it was really some misplaced dream of valiance... As a boy, he had always thought of what it would be like to be a hero like in his father's stories, and here was his chance! Yet all the same, the little he had been able to do was insufficient to protect Cora and Jane. As he and Cora grew closer, and their relationship changed, everything within him screamed to run away, to take her, Jane, and the baby, and slip out in the cover of darkness.
He had been naïve though, and when he realized the unlikelihood of their escape, he lost all courage. And so he forced himself into contentment, pretended he did not see the Templar horrors committed in front of him, both inside and out of the fort. In truth, Haytham Kenway spoke a good enough message. Henry might have followed him once, in another time and place, but Oliver twisted everything the man spoke of. The atrocities Henry had seen him commit were not something he was ever like to forget, and the shame he felt at standing by would always be with him, an ugly scar marring his soul. His inaction had always haunted him, but for a long time he had suppressed it and accepted the lies given him by the Templars only to give his actions justification.
When Cora had left him in that house, though, there was no lie or sweet, honeyed word anyone could ever speak to wipe away the cruel realization of all he had done.
Henry fell onto his bed, throwing an arm over his face and sighing. He would have to go with them, but he did not want to see Oliver cut down some poor family that was more than likely innocent. He had always been cruel, harsh, and impulsive, but in the last few months he had begun to deal in terror, gaining power in the city through fear. Sitting up, he sighed again, groaning in frustration as he rubbed his forehead.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the drawer to his dresser ajar. Taking his hands away from his face, he tried to remember if he had left it that way. No... he was sure he hadn't. Hands beginning to shake, he lunged to the floor, yanking the drawer open and rummaging through the papers, searching.
He knew deep down it was gone before he even began to look. The note he had written Cora was no longer where he had safely stowed it. Groaning, he sat back, and could only hope that it was an Assassin who had taken it, and would somehow deliver it to her... He had planned to pay some message boy to deliver it to an Assassin, but had not yet gotten to it. Luckily, the other letter he had written was still safe beneath his mattress. He turned it in his hands, wondering where she was, and if she was alright. Often he found himself wondering if she ever did the same, but this time he shook the thought from his mind. She had made things quite clear that day in the house when she had walked away.
"Henry," Ezekiel called, rounding the corner. "We have to go!"
"I'm coming," he said, sticking the letter in his coat pocket absentmindedly.
As he made his way towards where the other men were assembling, an uneasy feeling grew in his belly, and he knew he could no longer stand by as Oliver destroyed more lives.
"I'm telling you, he should have sent me," Cora complained, repeating the same words she had been saying since Duncan had left. She drummed her fingers on the table, sighing as she glanced at the door again.
"Relax, chérie," Stephane said as he set a mug in front of her. "Connor here knows what he is doing, if he trusts Duncan to make it back then so do I."
Cora gave him a small smile, taking a long drink to avoid saying anything in response. She felt jumpy and anxious, and the fact that they were in Boston wasn't helping at all. Dwelling on it would not help, though, and so she sat up straighter, trying to catch up on the conversation that the others were having. She made a comment here and there, giving a few suggestions or insights that the others could not. Despite her focus in the discussion, she found herself quite disinterested. Duncan was taking longer than she had hoped, and she was anxious to see what news he would bring back. So lost was she in her theories at what was going on that she hardly noticed when Victoire, Clipper, and Stephane got up to leave.
"Where are they going?" she asked as the door closed behind them. It was only her and Connor left in the room now, and she stood, anxious that she was missing out on something important. Connor held up his hand, motioning for her to stay put.
"I sent Stephane and Clipper to procure supplies, and Victoire wished to go along." A quick smile crossed her face as she shook her head, realizing the real reason the woman had left. Oh, she would get her back for this...
"I wish I would have gone with," she sighed, leaning against the wall. "I'm going crazy waiting for Duncan to return."
"He will," Connor said. She gave no reply, and he took a step forward, folding his hands awkwardly. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but Cora did not inquire about what it was. Finally, it seemed he had settled on the right words. "Are you well?"
She narrowed her eyes at his question, crossing her arms. "Yes," she said sharply. Letting out a curt huff of breath, she looked away. "I knew I should not have told you anything that day by the water. You do not need to look after me, I can handle myself. I am not some fragile broken thing." When she raised her eyes to him, she could see the surprise on his face, the cruel sting of rejection. Softening, she sighed, dropping her arms. Even now, after everything she had been through with him, she still reacted so harshly. It had been her defense system for so long that the habit was still hard to break, even with those she knew meant her no harm or offense.
Connor stood there silently, unsure of how to proceed. He had not meant to offend her, but it was so hard to decipher which words would give her comfort and which would release her temper. She had been so quiet and consumed with her thoughts lately, he thought perhaps he could reach her and bring a smile to her face, or at least some reassurance. Yet despite all his good intentions, it seemed he never knew the right things to say to her.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "That was not fair."
"It is alright." Connor had finally understood that to respond to her aggressive words with an equal fervor only led to a fight. Swallowing his pride and speaking gently was a much better way to communicate with her, something he noticed she also had begun to put into practice.
Cora waved her hands, lifting her weight from the wall and moving so that she was in front of him. "No," she insisted. "I know you only meant to help. And I am fine, really, much better than I have been in a long time, but..." Sighing again, she trailed off, and looked up at him. "Sometimes it just takes solitude and peace to sort out my emotions, and there is nothing anyone can do about that." Cora managed a sad smile, and Connor lifted a hand to her shoulder. When he touched her, her eyes widened, and for a moment he thought she was going to scold him, but instead she gave a shy smile and turned her face away. He could see her face flush as she pulled her braid to the front of her, fiddling with the tie as she always did when she was uncomfortable or embarrassed, or had bouts of timidness.
"And what of you," she said, nodding towards him. "What is the purpose of your silence?"
Connor was quiet for a long time, but when he spoke she listened carefully. "There have been many things to think of," he said, slightly uncomfortable that she had turned the question on him. It was true that he had been doing much thinking, but still he had not cleared his mind or sorted through his feelings. "I keep wondering what will happen if..."
"If what?" she asked gently, touching her fingers lightly to his forearm. He glanced at her hand and she pulled it away quickly, throwing her braid behind her shoulder and wrapping her arms about herself as if too keep her hands captive.
"If I do not succeed," he admitted. Truthfully, that was much of what kept him awake at night. Yet though he wrestled with the question daily, it was odd to speak it out loud, to acknowledge it and breathe life into it.
Cora smiled reassuringly. "You won't fail," she said firmly. Her eyes gave no sign of any doubt she may have really had, and it was a strange feeling for her to express such belief in his abilities. If Cora could believe it, he was a fool not to. He smiled in response, boldly meeting her gaze. Cora was never one for prolonged eye contact, her eyes always fleeting about unless steadied by anger or determination, but now she held his gaze with a subtle confidence. He had thought her eyes brown before, but in the light he could see the green in them, the colors laid in a brilliant pattern.
"You will succeed," she said, squeezing his arm gently. "You will." Her hand lingered on his arm, and Connor laid his hand on her shoulder again, returning the gesture.
"As will you."
Cora gave a soft breath of a laugh, but Connor couldn't tell what had amused her. As he opened his mouth to ask what was so funny, Cora's other hand moved to his side, gripping his jacket gently. Without thinking about it, he rested his free hand on her other shoulder, brushing aside a curl that had loosed itself from her braid. Cora stilled beneath his touch, but her face showed no fear or discomfort, so he did not move away.
The weight of his hands upon her shoulders had a curious effect on her. Her whole body had frozen, her eyes had searched for his, her breath had caught in her throat... It had been a long time since she had such a reaction, and the fact that he had brought it out with only one gesture was disquieting, yet quite alluringly so... As she studied his face, she let her hand slide down his arm and rest at his waist. The last time they had been this close was the day she had tried to kill him, when he had pinned her against the wall and held a blade to her throat. Now, though, there was not a single trace of such hate or blood lust. There was only a tender look in his eyes and a reassuring caress.
For once in her life Cora had absolutely no idea what to think, nevermind what to say. So instead, she let herself look at him – the scar above his brow, the one on his cheek, the line of his jaw and the honey of his eyes, the curve of his lips... And before she could capture her thoughts, suddenly she was wondering what it would feel like to kiss him, what his lips would feel like cascading down her belly...
When the door slammed open, the two jumped apart, and Cora tried to force the heat away from her face by sheer will. Luckily though, the source of the noise had no interest in her flushed cheeks. It seemed that Stephane, Clipper and Victoire had returned, with none other than Duncan at their side.
"Duncan!" Connor went to the man quickly, looking concerned. He was breathing raggedly and bore an urgent look on his face, but otherwise seemed unscathed. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," the man breathed. "Just gave 'em a good run, is all."
"Sit, mon ami," Stephane insisted, pulling a chair over for him. Duncan wasted no time in sharing what he found.
"I found little in Oliver's office," he said as he began to catch his breath. "Some maps with markings, a few notes of personal correspondence and..." he trailed off for a moment, glancing at Cora uneasily. "Goals. In my opinion, though he has less power, he surpasses Lee in cruelty. I read what I thought may be useful, but there was no valuable information on Lee. I suppose I was mistaken in believing there would be."
Connor sighed, nodding solemnly. "It is not your fault," he said. "Hopefully there will be some unforeseen hint in what you learned. We will talk when you have had a meal."
Duncan nodded, but Cora felt the uneasiness grow as his gaze fell on her, a frown on his face.
"That isn't all, is it," she said, more as a fact than a question. Duncan nodded slowly.
"I stayed and watched them after I left, to see their reaction. I was certain I had not been seen, but somehow someone reported suspicious activity, and all of the sudden the whole fort was in a frenzy as if I had stolen something of great value. It looked as if they were going to march out."
Connor could not hide his alarm, but before he could ask any other questions, Duncan spoke again.
"And there was this," he said as he pulled a small piece of folded parchment from his coat pocket and held it out in Cora's direction. "It had your name on it, so I took it. I have not read it."
Cora snatched it from his hands, rising to her feet and turning away from the others as she turned the paper over in her hands.
"What is it," Clipper asked, trying to peer at the letter. Connor placed a hand on his shoulder, holding the man back to wait for Cora to speak before anyone asked anything of her. From his place behind her, he could see the way her hands were trembling, and he found himself growing fearful of what that letter contained to bring forth such a reaction.
Cora wished she were alone, but she could not excuse herself now. Though she could feel the others watching her, she forced herself to unfold the paper. The hand was Henry's, without a doubt, and Cora felt her heart twist at the sight of it. Taking a deep breath, she glanced behind her shoulder and caught Connor's eye. He nodded at her, his face grim but reassuring, and she began to read.
My dearest friend,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirit. I must first apologize for sending another to deliver this to you. Perhaps I could say that I do not know where you are, or that my absence at the fort would give cause for suspicion, but if I may be honest, the truth is much different, I think. Perhaps the real truth is that I am too ashamed to face you.
I miss you, Cora. More than I thought I would. And in your absence, my heart has grown suspicious of things I presumed were righteous and good. Why do I fight for this cause? Truly, I have seen no good come out of it. The things I have done in the name of the Templars, the things I have seen, the things I have permitted be done in front of me... To you, to Hannah and Jane. No words can express the sorrow and regret that I feel.
Much has happened since we last spoke. Oliver grows more hungry for power each day, and I would be lying if I said I did not believe he schemes to take the place of Lee or Haytham. I believe he expects the Assassin to kill them, and is trying to lay low and become the one to rebuild the Templars at their defeat. He thinks himself stronger than them, more intelligent and wise, more fit to lead men... The cruelty I have been witness to since your departure has chilled me. I have tried to stand silent, if only to be able to gather information to aid you in whatever it is you plan to do, but I do not know how much longer I can withstand it. I believe that Oliver and Lee grow suspicious of me, and I do not know how much longer it will be until they take action.
Oh, Cora. It is as if your departure has opened my eyes to all I have done. I see now more than ever how Oliver's cruelty grows. The things I have seen him do have shown me how wrong I was in standing by silently all these years. For that, I humbly ask your forgiveness, though I do not deserve it. About this, I am not sure how much you know, but Oliver has many plans to keep the people obedient by way of terror and fear. He grows more and more bold, and neither Kenway nor Lee have had the mind to stop him. They are too occupied now.
I can give little to you in reparations for my actions, but I can warn you. Oliver plans to seek you out, to kill you or worse. Please, Cora. Be on your guard. You know him as well as I. He will not stop until he has what he wants. I know your friend desires to capture Lee, and on that front I am of much less help to you. He came today to give audience to Oliver's monthly report, but it was easy to see that he was burdened by something. I am aware that Washington is set to make a decision soon, and I cannot help but speculate that Lee will go into hiding. If I can, I will find out his plans and leave another note, in the safe house under the mattress.
Be careful. Be safe.
Yours always,
Henry Bundy
Cora folded it back up, staring straight ahead as she tried to take control of her mind. To read his words, to hear his apology, his warning... So many emotions, yet none of them made any sense to her. She moved a hand to her face, as if trying to wipe away any visible vulnerability before she turned.
"Are you alright?" Connor's voice was gentle behind her, and she turned, giving him a small, forced smile that was meant to be reassuring.
"Yes," she said. It was neither a lie nor the truth. All at once, she was hopelessly burdened, yet at the same time she was completely content. When she answered, she tried to keep her voice from betraying what had happened before the others had returned. As if one word could spill all she had felt.. . Yet still, she felt Victoire's eyes on her, and refused to look in the woman's direction.
"What did it say?" Connor asked, taking care with his words. Try as he might, he could not read her. She seemed well enough, but there was something behind that placid look that concerned him.
"Many things," she said, furrowing her brow as she tried to find the words to explain. "Henry wrote it, and he spoke as though he believes Oliver to be developing questionable motives," she explained, struggling with her words. "Perhaps it would be better for you to read it for yourself."
She held the letter out, but he disregarded it and looked her in the eye. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said, giving him a small, albeit genuine, smile.
Cora watched as he studied the words, his face focused and intent. As she waited for him to finish reading, she turned to Duncan.
"Do you have any idea where they were headed?"
He shook his head, standing. "No. I was too far to hear any conversation." Cora sighed, disappointed. "I can tell you it looked like they were planning for a trip long enough to need to stay the night somewhere. Perhaps a day's ride to the destination."
Cora hummed, turning back to Connor. He had finished reading, and handed the letter back to her. She took it, trying to decipher his reaction, but if Henry's more personal words had an effect on him, he didn't show it.
"What do you think we should do?" Cora asked as she placed the letter in her coat.
"Though we came to seek Lee's location, I do not think we should ignore whatever this man is planning," Connor said, addressing the entire group. The others nodded and responded, but their words didn't reach Cora's ears. Oliver was terrorizing the people, Henry had said... Ruling by fear. As she realized what it might mean for any who had helped the group of Assassins, she grew sick to her stomach.
"Are there any who have aided you in any way," Cora asked urgently, silencing the discussion that had been going on.
"A few families outside the city have given us shelter and other aid," Duncan said quietly.
"One woman patched up a wound for me only a few months past," Clipper added. Cora looked to Connor wearily, and he knew that what she suspected would not be pretty.
"I think I know what he is planning," she said solemnly. "Henry wrote that Oliver was maintaining control by keeping the people in a state of fear. After the man caught in Lee's office and now this... If I know him at all, I would guess he is going to them to try and force answers from them."
"Then we must warn them," Victoire said, standing. "If we cannot protect those who have helped us, how may we do anything?"
"I agree," her brother nodded, followed by similar words given by Clipper and Duncan. Four pairs of eyes descended on Connor, waiting for the final word, and he rubbed his temples, thinking. They were right, but Connor knew little of the ways of this man, and what he had heard had fiercely unsettled him. Not to mention that any time spent on this would give Lee longer to find a more secure hiding place. Yet when he caught Cora's eye, and remembered what this man had done to her, he could not leave any other person's fate in his hands.
"Very well. Prepare a few days supplies. I do not know how long we will be kept. Stephane, bring the maps. I want to see if we can determine where they might have gone first. Clipper, ready the horses. Victoire, send a message informing Achilles of what is happening."
Cora watched as he gave his orders, interested in seeing what kind of leader he was. They followed his commands without question, falling into their tasks seamlessly. When all was ready and their route had been decided on, they mounted their horses and left promptly, riding vigorously in order to reach them before Oliver did. The prospect of facing him again made her anxious, but oddly enough it was not fear that had her so worked up. Instead, it was the thought that perhaps this would be the last day Oliver would ever torment her again.
"Are you nervous," Victoire asked as she pulled her horse alongside Cora's.
"No," she said, shifting in the saddle to ease the stiffness already building in her thighs. "Anxious, but not nervous."
"I am always nervous before a battle," Victoire said, laughing. Cora gave her a look, wondering why in the world she was laughing at a time like this. "And terribly excited," she said, patting the hilt of the sword at her waist. "I have not put my skills to use in far too long."
Shaking her head at the woman's eagerness, Cora chuckled. "We do not even know if they will be there," Cora reminded her.
"Perhaps," Victoire said, shrugging. She said nothing for a few moments before a familiar mischievous smile appeared on her face. "Did you and Connor have an interesting talk while we were away?"
"Victoire..." Cora said, warning in her voice. Though she had been thankful for the woman's confidence and presence, she had grown quite tired of her constant insinuations.
"I say what I see," she said, her teasing voice growing serious, "and I saw the way you two held each other when we returned."
Cora dropped her eyes, taking a quick breath as she tried to control the heat spreading across her face. Oh, curse all the times she had blushed that day...
"You presume too much," she said sternly. The women had known each other for a small amount of time, but Victoire was someone who was easy to be comfortable around, and they had developed a quick bond, something that Victoire wasted no time making use of.
"Cora," Victoire said, her chastising tone somehow reminding Cora of Hannah. "He cares for you," she said gently, quieting her voice so that no one else would hear. "It is no crime to feel the same way." Cora meant to refute her words, to tell her how mistaken she was, but before she could say anything the woman had ridden ahead, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
A woman's voice echoed through the woods. Her scream was loud and desperate, begging, pleading... Connor signaled for the small party to stop, listening carefully. Turning in the saddle, he searched for Cora, and when she gave him a curt nod, he knew they were here. Dismounting, he motioned silent commands at the other Assassins, the adrenaline already beginning to find its way into his blood. They followed him into the trees, and they found a secluded place to take in the situation before making any rash moves.
There were perhaps two dozen men, maybe more, scattered around the clearing – not too many to overcome their group, if they went about it the right way. In the center was a small house, and though he could see a woman in the doorway, the only other visible occupant was a man kneeling a few feet in front of the house, his hands held up in surrender.
"Please," Connor heard the man say. "I don't know anything! I swear it!"
"It's them," Duncan whispered. Connor nodded, looking to Cora for further confirmation. She was so consumed with the scene, though, that she paid him no attention. Turning to the group, Connor spoke as quietly as he could.
"Surround the clearing. Do not attack unless I give the signal, and take out the ones near the edges first. Be silent if you can, and take out as many as possible before they know we are here."
The Assassins followed his instructions without hesitation, silently dispersing. When he could no longer see them, he turned back to Cora. Part of him had expected her to be nervous after all of her anxiety every time they were in Boston, but instead he only saw a cold, calculated determination on her face. He had not seen such a look since the first time they had met.
"Oliver is just there," she said, pointing. "The one in the dark coat." At first, Connor had thought that the man threatening the homeowner was Oliver, but the man she pointed out was standing back, his arms crossed, seemingly an unimportant member of the party. He turned back to her, but she was still focused on Oliver, her eyes narrow and lips pressed together in a look of pure malice.
Oddly, Cora felt nothing as she watched him stand back behind the action, regarding the scene casually. It was as if all the anger and sadness and hate had been replaced by a cool focus. After this day, Oliver would terrorize no one again. The power of it, holding his fate in her hands, settled over her, soothing any fiery emotion that would have distracted her from her real purpose.
The interrogator pushed the man inside his home and barred the door, disregarding the family's screams. When Oliver took a torch from some man she did not recognize, her eyes widened, and she felt her cool, confident focus dissolve.
"He's going to burn it," she whispered in horror, looking to Connor urgently. He crouched beside her, and though he had already been tense with the anticipation of battle, she could see the urgency grow in his face as he watched the scene unfold. She waited for him to move, to say something, to give the signal, but he sat motionless, his face hard and brows deeply furrowed. Cora searched his face, gaping at his inaction, but as she watched Oliver make his way toward the house, she could not stand idle. She jumped forward, intending to enter the clearing, but Connor's hand grabbed her shoulder roughly, forcing her back.
"Cora, stop!" he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "You cannot just run out there without thinking."
"And leave those people to die?" She was speaking too loudly, and Connor glanced anxiously between her and the men in the clearing, but she did not care. "Why did we come here?" she asked, shoving his hand away. "To warn those people! I will not watch him burn them alive!"
"Not yet," Connor insisted, his eyes scanning the clearing. Cora had no idea what was happening in that mind of his, or what in the world he was waiting for, but she could not take it. Standing, she moved again to go to them, but he held her back once more. Practically growling, she turned to face him, glancing anxiously towards the house to make sure Oliver had not yet lit it.
"You are a heartless coward," she said, her voice low.
"You are being foolish," he said, grabbing her at the shoulders to make her look at him. It almost felt like a betrayal, to her... The last time he had held her like this, he had been tender and gentle, yet now he was being rough and insensitive, and leaving a helpless family to die. She did not understand, and she would not wait around to try and do so.
"If we rushed out now, he could light it anyway, and then we would have a few dozen men to fight through before we ever made it to the house," he said sternly. Cora pushed him away, breathing heavily as she turned back to the clearing. Oliver raised the torch and the flames licked at the low hanging roof of the house, but it did not ignite, for it had rained heavily the night before the wood was still wet. Cora turned to Connor to insist he give the signal, but his eyes widened and he gestured toward the house.
"Look," he said, and she turned to see a man in a familiar crème and blue coat push Oliver away.
"Henry," she whispered to herself. Connor took a quick glance at her before turning his attention back to the situation before them. She had spoken his name so tenderly, and looked so pained at the sight of him, it made Connor more uncomfortable than he would have liked to admit.
Indeed, Henry had positioned himself between Oliver and the house, and though the screams and pleads from the family inside filled the air, the rest of the men had fallen dead silent at the sight of such blatant insubordination. She saw him shake his head, telling Oliver not to do it, and Cora felt a cold, cruel grip tighten around her heart as she watched Oliver's temper explode.
"How dare you," he snarled, handing the torch off to someone else and grabbing Henry's jacket in his fists, slamming him against the outer wall of the house. "Never disobey direct orders again," the man yelled. Henry punched him hard across the face, and as he fell away, men around the pair drew their weapons, telling him to put his hands up. Oliver laughed maniacally as he stood, and a slow, terrible chill crept through Cora's skin.
As Oliver laughed, she could see Henry say something quietly, shaking his head and moving a hand to the hilt of his sword. Oliver quieted instantly, a calm look passing across his face. In a quick motion, he reached behind and grabbed his gun.
Cora jumped at the sound of the gunshot, and as Henry fell to the ground, she froze, unable to think, to feel, to even breathe... The horror of it was so crippling that she couldn't move, couldn't gasp or cry out or fall to the ground. She could only watch as Oliver casually reloaded his gun and put it away, sticking his hand out for the torch as if nothing had happened.
So angry she became then that she flew from the trees, yelling like a wild woman as she took down three bewildered men easily before her sword found an opposing force. The Assassin must have given his damned command, because she could hear battle around her, but she did not search for them or try and see what Connor was doing. Instead, she attacked and parried and attacked again, her rage and adrenaline fueling some mad animal within her. She fought mercilessly, disregarding pleas of surrender and words of aggression alike. Mad with blood lust, nothing could distract her, until smoke began to sting her eyes.
After pushing away the body of a guard who had kept her, she turned, searching for Connor. Finally, she spotted him not far from her, battling two men at once. Running towards him, she raggedly screamed to him. "The family!" Once Connor had taken care of his opponents, he sprinted toward the house. The roof was ablaze but the rest had not yet caught, and Connor smashed the window to let smoke out before moving to the barricaded door. Cora had meant to help him, but another Templar had cornered her, and she had to turn her attention away.
Connor threw the door open, turning his face away at the thick smoke that was still held inside. Taking one last breath of fresh air, he entered, pushing the screaming woman out the door who was holding a babe close to her breast. She yelled for her children and her husband followed her, one in each arm, but he, too, glanced back fearfully, calling out names.
"I have them," Connor yelled as he made his way to the small crying children in the corner. "Make for the forest, and when I bring the children, run as far as you can." The man backed away reluctantly, but Connor did not wait to see if he would leave before he scooped the two remaining children in his arms and made for the door. They wriggled and squirmed in his grasp, and he wished they would not do so, as it only made it harder for him. He felt terrifyingly vulnerable as he stepped out of the house without a weapon in his hand, but he tried to ignore the feeling and made for the edge of the clearing where he could see the small family huddled behind the tree line. Dodging the remaining Templars, he ran to meet them, but the barrel of a gun stopped him dead in his tracks.
Cora growled as she pushed another man's body away, pulling her sword from him. The surprise of the attack and the following chaos had made the men confused and therefore fairly easy to cut down, but there were still so many... It was as if more had arrived, and Cora was confused by it. As she looked around to see if the family had escaped or if one of the other Assassins needed help, her eyes fell on Connor, still close to the house. Two terrified children clung to him and he was unarmed, a gun pointed at him. She knew who was behind the weapon before she even looked. Oliver. The man laughed and said something that made Connor's lips curl in anger, but he backed away, trying to escape anyway. Oliver followed, though, and Cora knew he would not let Connor leave the clearing alive.
Her body moved before her mind could form a single thought. She ran, skidding to a halt as she stepped in front of him and closed her eyes.
This time, the gunshot seemed dull background noise, but the pain was much more tangible. She fell hard to the ground, squeezing her eyes shut. At first, she did not feel anything even though she knew she had been shot. When she finally opened her eyes, she expected to see Oliver standing over her, but instead he was battling Duncan a few meters away, so she ran her hand across her body, trying to assess the damage. At her shoulder, her hand came back bloody. Shoulder... That wasn't bad, right? She tried to think of what little she knew of medicine, but as she did so, she started to feel it as the initial shock wore off. The pain was dull at first but grew to a fierce burning, and she cried out, bunching up the fabric of her clothes and pressing it against the wound. It needed pressure, she knew, but it hurt so badly to do so, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out again.
Looking around frantically to try and figure out what she should do, her eyes fell on Henry's body, and some terrible, grief stricken noise escaped from her throat. Slowly, she crawled to his side and fell beside him, her hands hovering over his bloodstained coat as if she was afraid to touch him. She had embroidered that coat, had added the crème trim and sewn his initials inside of it. He stared into the sky, and a trail of blood descended from the corner of his mouth.
"Henry," she cried softly. The voice she heard was ragged, weak, so full of sorrow, and it almost felt as if some false voice was speaking through her. She smoothed his hair back, but only managed to leave blood against his forehead and in his blond curls, and she jerked her hand back, grabbing onto his shoulder. Tears would not come, nor any sobs of grief, but inside of her she felt such strong heartache that she thought she would be sick. With a little sad moan, she closed his eyes gently.
"You goddamn bitch," a familiar voice screamed. Jolting her head up, she watched as Oliver strode towards her, his gun flying from his belt. Frantic, she searched Henry's body for something – anything – and her hand closed around his hand gun. She yanked on it and held it up, praying it was loaded as she forced herself to her feet. The gun went off, but grief and pain had made her a terrible shot, and Oliver continued forward.
A frantic voice screamed her name.
When Cora had fallen in front of him and Duncan had engaged Oliver, Connor had fled to the edge of the clearing where terrified parents and traumatized children waited for the return of their family members. The children had gripped his neck so hard he had found it hard to move about. When they jumped into the arms of their parents, he instantly grabbed his tomahawk, his thoughts completely scattered as he ran back into the fight, searching desperately for Cora, hoping beyond all reason to see her moving...
He had to fight off a few men before he finally caught sight of her, draped across a body. He watched as she tried to stand, as she fired a gun into nothingness while Oliver moved towards her. Her name had come out of his mouth in some terrible, desperate sound, and she turned to look at him as he yelled for her. She took a deep breath, and Connor saw no fear in her eyes. The gunshot was like thunder in his ears, but the shot went wide and though she fell back again, Oliver had missed the most vital areas.
Victoire lay next to him, staggering to her feet after having thrown herself upon him to change the trajectory of the bullet. He swung his hand high into the air and slapped her, and as she fell he turned to the rest of the clearing, where Stephane, Clipper, and Duncan were fighting fiercely. The men had begun to dwindle, though, and perhaps only half a dozen remained. Breathing heavily, Connor returned his attention to Cora, who was now laying still in the grass, her head turned away from him. Just as he called out her name again and began to move towards her, hands fell roughly on his shoulders, tugging him backwards.
This time, she felt it all. The pain was overwhelming, and she couldn't move, too afraid that even the smallest jerk of her body would make the bleeding worse. It was her shoulder again, she thought, but she wasn't sure... Her shirt clung to her body there, soaked with blood, and she closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the pain. They would come for her, she knew... It would be alright... Groaning gently, she tried to convince herself that all would be okay.
Hands took fistfuls of her shirt, destroying the little flame of hope she had tried to kindle inside of her. Weakly, she opened her eyes as the hands forced her torso up. She could feel the blood running down her side, and she covered the hands with hers, trying with what little strength she still had to push them away. Oliver's face hovered before her, and he sneered at her, chuckling.
"Our little Cora, back at last." She wanted to say something, to show him he had no power over her, but her lips would not heed her command. "Do you know why I sent you after the Assassin that day?" She stared back at him with glazed eyes, trying to focus on his face. "It wasn't because I thought you would be successful, no... Besides, that soft Kenway would never allow me to send another after his precious son," he scoffed, turning his head to the side and spitting.
Another laugh came from beside her.
"You should have stayed away," Thomas said, raising his eyebrows. "But you have the soft heart of a woman, and look what it has bought you," he said, motioning to the scene around him.
"Me?" she managed, her voice ragged but still fiery. "Your brother is dead," she said sharply, her voice breaking. "He's dead," she repeated. "And you're working for the man who did it." Grief flashed on his face for a moment as he glanced at his younger brother's body, but soon an cold hardness returned to his features.
"Henry chose his own fate when he disobeyed orders."
Cora laughed, then used what little energy she still had to spit at him. Thomas stepped towards her, but Oliver gave him a look of warning, and the man shrunk away.
"Always feisty," he said. "I wonder how the Assassin handles that. I only wanted to see what he would do with you, if he'd kill you right away or let you wander into his bed... Looks like I was right, aye Thomas?" He laughed again, and then turned back to her. "It's alright, though. You will always belong to me," he said, running a hand down her hip.
"I don't belong to you," she said, gritting her teeth. "I never have. I never will. When I die, I will die a free woman," she said. It took so much focus to form those words, but she could not let him think she was bending to him.
"You're dying as we speak," he smirked. "In my arms, from my bullet, on my terms. Tell me, Cora. How does that makes you a free woman?" When Cora said nothing in response, he smiled at her, and pulled a knife from his belt. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but suddenly she was falling to the ground again, and Oliver was gone.
Victoire gave a wild yell as she slammed into him, knocking the knife from his hand. They were both weaponless now, but Victoire struggled against him, somehow able to keep him from returning to Cora's side. Clipper had engaged Thomas in a fight, and the other Templars were beginning to scatter at the sight of their leader subdued by a woman. When Oliver saw his men retreating, he stumbled to his feet and ran, Thomas following closely behind.
Cora let out a breath she had not known she was holding, and tried to still her nerves. It was over, and she could finally sleep. Exhaustion was overcoming her, pulling her mind within itself and severing the control she had of her body. Sleep would help, she knew. Later, she would wake, and everything would be as it should.
Faintly, she heard her name, over and over, in many different voices. One small voice rose above all others, a voice she had not heard in so long, beckoning her...
Father.
Connor dropped to her side, and Victoire took a few steps back, motioning for the others to give her some space.
"Cora," he said gently as his hands hovered over her body, taking account of her wounds.
"Two gunshots to the shoulder," he said to the others. "Someone cut some strips from a shirt, or her skirt, something, anything." As they went to work, he laid a hand on her face. "Cora, you need to stay awake." Though Connor was fairly well versed in the basics of medicine and healing, he felt completely unprepared to deal with this. She had lost so much blood... "We need to get her back to the homestead immediately," he said, turning to look up at the other Assassins. They wore grim looks, and Clipper shook his head.
"The homestead is still a day and a half from here," he said. "Near a day even if you ride hard, through the night. We will have to make do here."
Sighing, Connor turned back to her, taking the strips of cloth that Stephane had made and pressing them against her wound.
"Cora," he said again, louder. She had to stay conscious, or risk falling into a sleep from which she would not wake. Patting her cheek gently, he called to her again.
"Cora," Victoire called, smoothing her hair. Finally, Cora seemed to stir, letting out a soft hum.
"Athair," she mumbled.
Victoire glanced up at Connor, giving him an uneasy look at her strange word.
"No, chérie, it is me," she said, placing a hand on her forehead. "And Connor, and all the others. We need you to open your eyes," she said.
Slowly, she did as she was told. Connor was relieved, but it was quickly overshadowed. "More cloth," he mumbled to Stephane.
"Cora," he said again. She looked at him, but her eyes were dull and he could tell she was having trouble focusing. "I need you to stay awake."
"Awake?" she asked slowly, sounding rather delirious. "I've never been more lively," she mumbled, the smallest smile flashing on her lips. Connor smiled, giving a breathy laugh for her sake, and leaned closer to her. Victoire regarded them gently, placing a hand on Connor's shoulder before standing to go retrieve the horses.
"Cora, I am..." he trailed off, sighing as he kept the pressure on her shoulder.
"If you apologize," she said dryly, "I will come back and haunt you."
"You are not going to die," he insisted, placing a gentle hand on her uninjured shoulder. She simply hummed in response, looking up at the sky. She was fighting to keep her eyes open, he knew, and it broke him to see how pale she had become. She had lost so much blood...
"We need to get her back to the homestead," Duncan said anxiously.
"We can't move her," Clipper said. "She's not strong enough."
Connor sighed, taking out his knife and beginning to cut away her jacket.
"What do you think you're doing," she said, as angrily as she could muster.
"I need to -"
"If you cut my jacket, I'll -"
"I will get you a new one," Connor said, smiling wearily at her stubbornness, even now. "I need to dress the wound."
When Victoire returned, she handed him his saddle bag. He always kept basic medical supplies with him, most often for use on himself, and he was more thankful for it now than ever. The wound was in a difficult place to dress, but he managed to bind the wound securely enough.
"The bleeding has slowed," he said, watching Cora's breaths become more and more shallow. "We should go to Lyle. I can do little else for her."
"I will ride ahead," Victoire said. "Tell him to expect you." Connor gave a curt nod and gently gathered Cora in his arms, lifting her carefully so as not to disturb the wound. As he lifted her, her arm dropped limply, and he called out to her, but she gave no answer.
A/N: Well. I'm not sure how to follow that! I have no idea if reading that for y'all was as hard as it was for me to write it.
So we have Victoire, who has written herself into the story, Henry, who has written himself out of it, a changing relationship between our main characters, and a gravely wounded Cora. From here, the story will start to really take off, and I'm excited to finish it! We're beginning to draw near to the halfway point. I've outlined about 31 chapters, but I've already combined a few and split up others, so we'll see about where we end up.
themadgears - Wow, thank you so much! I can't tell you how flattering that is! I must say, your review helped inspire me to crank this chapter out, so anyone who is happy to see an update so much sooner than I've been updating has you to thank!
TheZuz - Don't worry, I am absolutely committed to finishing this story. It might take longer than I had originally planned, but I'm determined to finish one story in my life! Thanks for your review, I'm glad you like Cora! Infuriating and stubborn as she may be, I am quite fond of her myself. :)
Please feel free to leave a review, and I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! Shoutout to all my fellow April birthdays, especially those on this week - it's a good week to be born! ;)
Mon frère fou - My crazy brother (French)
Sœur - Sister (French)
Mon ami - My friend (French)
Athair - Father (Irish)
I speak English and a little Spanish, not French or Irish, so please excuse any little ridiculous or terrible translation mistakes in the past and future of this story, even though it's just little phrases.