A/N: Finally! I can't believe how long this update took, though I think I've finally reconciled with the fact that I'm a slow writer. Usually not this slow though, I hope you'll forgive me! I thought I would have tons of time to write over the break, but with the holidays and being sick and the start of the new semester, I didn't get hardly as much done as I wanted. I'm trying my best, though! I'm hoping not to take as long next time, but we will see.
Chapter Nineteen;
To Sea
"Half the night I waste in sighs,
Half in dreams I sorrow after
The delight of early skies;
In a wakeful dose I sorrow
For the hand, the lips, the eyes,
For the meeting of the morrow,
The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies."
Alfred Tennyson, Maud (Pt. II)
September, 1781
The sea was an intriguing place. Though Cora had initially been eager to board the ship and set sail for the Chesapeake, she eventually found herself surprisingly unsettled without any land in sight. In stark contrast, Connor was rather at home at sea, along with Mister Faulkner and the crew, and that did much in easing her anxiety. Still, it didn't keep Faulkner from teasing her when she gave an odd, nervous look at every other creaking noise or unfamiliar rolling movement. Faulkner and the rest of the crew were a lively bunch, often crude but also kind, and always sharing a joke or laugh. The youngest crew member, a young man named Alexander, had garnered a certain fondness from her. He couldn't have been older than 17 and addressed her solely as "Mistress Anderson," despite her countless assurances that he could call her Cora. He was sweet where the others were bold and rowdy, and his fellow crew members never ceased to tease him under the guise of initiation – into both the crew and manhood, they claimed.
Being on the ship also gave her an opportunity to see Connor in a way she hadn't before. She had observed him leading others before, but in the close quarters of a ship things were a bit different. Everything felt more urgent, more serious in some ways, but oddly enough it also gave more opportunities for lightheartedness. He led them well, listening to their qualms and their suggestions, and not hesitating to do any work alongside them. They trusted and respected him, willing to follow him into any fray, it seemed. A good thing that was, because Connor had warned that they may be sailing for battle. The thought of a fight both exhilarated Cora and frightened her. On one hand, she felt comfortable in a fight – she knew what to do and what to expect, and part of her was excited at the thought of being able to say she had fought in a great battle of the Revolution. On the other hand, part of her still doubted her physical ability, which was still not up to her satisfaction. Over the past few weeks she had made considerable improvements and now felt comfortable with a sword, but she still lacked much range in her left arm and shoulder. She would have to be careful if it came to battle, for she knew she could be easily overcome if someone came at her the right way.
The sea, though somewhat frightening, also stirred awe within her. To look out and see nothing but endless blue waves, a horizon stretching as far as she could look... It was something she was not sure she could form into any coherent thought or word, but it certainly did make her feel rather insignificant in perspective of the whole world. It was the second night of their three and a half day journey to Chesapeake Bay, and Connor had taken a moment to speak to Faulkner about their course, leaving her to her own thoughts. As the sun set, she had taken a place on the railing, enjoying the sight of the pinks and oranges that illuminated the clouds on the horizon.
"A beautiful sunset," Alexander said as he leaned on the railing next to her.
Cora hummed thoughtfully. "Indeed."
"How goes it, Mistress Anderson? Have the crew treated you well?"
"Indeed," she repeated, pushing away from the rail. "A dirty joke here or there, but I have heard much worse," she laughed. Almost on cue, one of the older crewmen, a near lifelong sailor named John, slapped Alexander on the back.
"I don' think the cap'n will look too well on you bein' so close with 'is woman," he said, giving Cora a wink. Though Connor had introduced her as a friend of the Assassins and a partner in his work towards ending Lee, it didn't keep them from jumping to conclusions anyway. Though they never made direct comments about it in Connor's presence, they had not hesitated to give Cora a light teasing.
"I am not anyone's woman," she said coolly, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.
Robert, another of the crew, laughed at the way John's face morphed into embarrassment.
"I warned you not to treat her like that," he said, shaking his head as he shook off his laughter. "She's no common tavern wench!"
Turning to him, she put on her best authoritative face. Though she knew the men did not mean their words in such ways, putting them in their place gave her satisfaction. "I do believe all women, even wenches, like to be treated as though they are the authority of their own person," she said. "Do you not agree?" At that, Robert's smile disappeared and he muttered his agreement, trying to rephrase what he meant. Then, Cora broke her serious demeanor, laughing.
"I am only giving you a hard time. Well, mostly," she said, winking at Alexander. If the crew acted any way most frequently toward her, it was with that sort of caution, joking but never wanting to offend. She was unsure if it was because of their suspicions about her and Connor, or if they were just so confused how to act in the presence of a woman, but either way she enjoyed getting the most out of it.
"Finally found some sea legs, have ya?" Faulkner came up behind and she turned, smiling sheepishly at how nervous she had been when they had first cast off into the open sea. Though she had managed to keep her meager breakfast, she had retreated to lie down in hopes of calming her unsettled stomach. It had been nerves more than seasickness, though, and so she had been up and active again after only a short while.
"That I have," she said. "It was a bit of nerves more than anything else, I think."
"Normal enough for some first timers," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "Captain's askin' for ya."
Nodding in thanks, she bid the crew goodbye and made for the cabin.
Connor was leaning over his desk when she entered, a weary look on his face. He rarely looked anything but troubled these days. It was plain enough that the weight of his duty was pressing heavily on him. Sometimes it seemed all he could think about was Charles Lee, and she would have done anything to shake the hold the Templar had on Connor's mind. All the same, she knew well what it was to want nothing more than revenge for the past, to protect any others that someone might harm in the future. Still, she longed for the day that both of them would be free of such things.
"Still looking over that map, are you?" She asked, resting a hand on his shoulder as she leaned next to him, looking at the papers he was studying.
"Not all of us enjoy walking into things unprepared," he teased, pushing the documents back into a stack.
Cora laughed, shrugging. "What can I say? I love a bit of spontaneity," she teased, crossing the room as he finished putting his things away. When she reached the window she glanced back at him, taking in his furrowed brow and the worried lines that covered his face. "I'm sure you could walk through that fort with your eyes closed by now," she said, leaning against the window frame and gazing out at the sea. Connor stood, making his way to join her, and she turned to look at him. "There's a fine like between preparation and obsession."
"Cora..."
"Sorry," she said, touching his arm softly once he was in front of her. "I know how important this is to you, but there is such a thing as over analyzing. I just worry, sometimes..."
"There is no need for that," he said softly, raising a hand to her cheek. She covered his hand with hers, giving a slight smiling as she leaned her face into his touch.
"Faulkner said you had asked for me."
"Yes," he said, glancing out the window. "I wanted to make sure you were familiar with the plan." He had told her every detail of his plan and asked for her input before they had even left shore, but after their previous discussions about being more open with each other in all things, he had been making certain she had no questions. The plan was to meet with the French and ask them for use of their ships to bombard Fort George. There had been reports of impending conflict in the bay, and he had told her battle was possible, if not likely. Any questions she had were already seen answered, but she appreciated Connor making sure once again, as they weren't far now.
"Yes, I am." A few moments of silence passed and she sighed, leaning her head against the window frame. "I can't say I'm not a bit nervous, though. Damn this shoulder... I hate the anxiety it brings me before the prospect of any conflict."
"You handled yourself well last time, and you have made much improvement since then. I would not worry."
Cora scoffed, crossing her arms. "Easier said than done," she muttered bitterly.
Connor cupped her arm gently, looking her in the eyes. "You will be fine, I know it. Have faith in yourself and your abilities. I do."
At that, she smiled. "You always seem to know just the comforting word," she said, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against his chest, and his arms wound around her, enclosing her in comfort, in solidarity, in trust.
Boston
It had been weeks he had spent away from his wife and son, yet he still had little to show for it. There had been one promising lead, but it had turned cold when the shopkeeper he had been sent to denied everything the previous man had told him. The man had known something, that much he had been sure of, but he had refused to talk, and what else could have been done? It wasn't as if he was going to torture the man for information... As desperate as he was to find his sister, doing that would make him as bad as those who had taken her and killed their father in the first place.
He could still vividly remember that day. How he and Aoife had returned from their lessons and found their father dying on the floor of their house, their sisters missing. Though he then had fancied himself grown at nineteen, mature, perhaps the one who was to be responsible and in control in the absence of their father, it was his seventeen-year-old sister who had rushed into action, telling to hold pressure on the wound why she fetched the doctor. It was a miracle that he had survived, they said. The doctor had only once before seen someone survive from such a critical wound. Yet despite his survival, he never really recovered. Sickness near constantly plagued him, in mind as well as body. The absence of his younger daughters weighed heavily on him, and despite all of Riordan's efforts to find them, they never did. Though his father had insisted he not harbor any guilt or responsibility for what had happened, he never could shake the feeling that he should have done more. That's always the thing about those you love – no matter how helpless you are to protect them, no matter the reality that there was nothing you could have done, there was still those nagging thoughts – I should have been there. I should have stopped it.
There was hope that Maebh was alive. When Riordan was finally able to get to his aunt to ask her if she had seen or heard anything, he had found only a vacant house, his uncle dead and his aunt disappeared. The neighbors had said Nuala had left with a young girl, but no one had known where she'd gone, and Riordan never found them.
When he met Felicity, it was as if he was able to start over, in a way – to make up for what he had not been able to do. He was fiercely protective of her, of their son and his sister, the last of his remaining family... If something happened to any of them, he would never be able to live with himself. Not after all that had happened. Even so, the distraction of his young family had only held for so long. For months he had been haunted by the thoughts of his sisters, of his aunt, and where they were. When Felicity had finally agreed to let him look for them, he had been so full of hope, but now... Now he felt like more of a failure than he ever had.
Even if he did find Radha, what would happen? She had been thirteen the last time he had seen her. Now she was a woman grown, the same age he had been when she disappeared. So much time had passed, who was to say she would even want to see him? Perhaps she blamed him, as he had blamed himself for long... Sometimes he wondered if he would even recognize her now. Her face was fading around the edges, just as his mother's had many years ago.
"Seems like you need a drink," the man sitting to his left said. When Riordan looked up, he saw the pity in his face, and he managed a smile, graciously accepting the mug of ale as the man introduced himself as Ezekiel. Riordan muttered the name Richard, a pseudonym he had been using under the thought that it would be practical, as he had no idea what kind of people he would be dealing with.
"Long day," he muttered, taking a long drink. The other man nodded sympathetically, and Riordan paused, unsure whether to prod him about his sister. At this point, what could it hurt? "I've been searching for someone," he began.
"Oh? A lost lover, perhaps?" Ezekiel joked, chuckling as he took a swig of his own drink.
Riordan ignored his words, wanting to be as general as possible. With some it was smart to make as personal of an appeal as possible in order to increase the chance of gaining their help, but with the crowd in the tavern, Riordan thought being a little more vague was probably the best way to go.
"She's perhaps this high, brown hair, brown eyes..."
"I've seen a million girls just like that mate," he said, shaking his head.
"She has a mole on her cheek, just here," he said, brushing his finger across from his nose. At that, the man's face faltered, and Riordan set his drink down, unsure how to go forward. Ezekiel looked away for a moment, then back at Riordan, and he smiled, though his eyes did not seem to convey any happiness or reassurance. He reached for something just beyond Riordan's elbow, and spoke in a hushed voice.
"You need to leave. Now."
"What are you talking about?"
"Listen to me," Ezekiel said, his voice urgent. "Leave now, or-"
"Ezekiel!" A voice sounded behind him. "Glad to see you here!" As three other men circled around them, Ezekiel stood, and Riordan moved his hand to his sword. "Care to introduce us to your friend."
"Richard, you said it was?" Ezekiel said. Riordan had the feeling that any offer of help or warning was no longer applicable, and he stood.
"Thank you for the drink, I'm afraid I must be going."
"I don't think so," one of the others said gruffly, grabbing his shoulder. "We heard what you said about that girl, and I there's somebody who would like to talk to you." Riordan tried to reach for his sword, but another of the man grabbed his other arm, and despite his struggles, it was no use at all.
The sailors were laughing, no doubt at some bawdy joke, when Cora took a seat nearby to eat what she could of her dinner. Whether it was the sea or nerves, she had again found herself with a rather unsettled stomach, unable to eat much other than a little bread.
"'Ay, Cora," one called over from where some of the sailors were sitting in a circle. A quick glance revealed the sight of John's beckoning hand. Alexander and Robert, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to draw his attention away, as if trying to avert some grand disaster. "What in the name of our dear Lord are ya doing sittin' over there all lonesome like? Ya'd best be comin' over here! Won't have ya sulkin' about!"
"Alright, Alright... No need for blasphemy," she said with a wry smile as she picked herself off the crate she had made her chair. As she made her way to the group, Robert shook his head, smiling.
"Don't mind him, he's well on his way to being three sheets to the wind," he said, giving John a light shove.
"Four, if you ask me," Alexander threw in.
John, evidently quite offended, looked around with a gaping mouth, and muttered "Am not!" before nearly spilling whatever drink he had situated on his knee. "Maybe one." The others protested loudly, and John sighed. "Alright, two I reckon, but no more!" he yielded, to the shaking heads of his companions.
"You are welcome to join us Mistress, that is if you can stand this brute," Alexander said, making a space for her.
"Naw, a brute?" John said, making a face. "I'm sure this dear lass can hold her own! We'll turn her to an old salt in no time!"
"Certainly," she said, though she could tell some of the others, namely Robert and Alexander, were made oddly nervous by her enabling words.
"Perfect! Then we can right continue where our last conversation was just leavin' off-"
A chorus of no's sounded from near every mouth, and by then Cora's interest was certainly sparked. "Oh, I wouldn't to interrupt. Please, continue," she said, causing Alexander to drag a hand across his face, and several other men to look away as if they were suddenly interested in the exact pattern of the wood grain.
"We were just talkin' about swords, ya see," John said, waving a hand. "It was gettin' to be quite the debate, whether a long sword is necessary in certain... endeavors... some here were sayin' a job couldn't be done unless you had just the right length, see?"
Cora tried not to laugh at the horrified looks all around her, but didn't skip a beat in responding. "Surely it is not the length of a man's sword, but rather the manner in which he utilizes it, that makes all the difference," she said simply, resting her hands in her lap as she eagerly awaited the reaction from the crew.
Sure enough, they gaped at her – even John, who had led her into such a trap, looked at her with a bit of disbelief. Then as if all at once, they burst into laughter, and John handed her a flask of rum. "Aye, that's what I was sayin'! See boys? This is a wise one we have here." He slapped her on the back and she laughed, her desire for a bit of fun certainly satisfied. She had always loved to laugh before, when she was a child, and had done it as much as often even in the difficult years, and was not above even the most lowly forms of humor. After all, if it brought laughs and companionship, wasn't that the point?
They exchanged many stories and jokes, and the night grew late. Cora had thought Connor might join them, or at least that he might come spend a few moments with his crew as he had done before, but he remained out of sight. It was several hours after nightfall when she finally left the remaining sailors, bidding them goodnight before retiring to the cabin. As she made her way back, she searched for Connor, but when she finally spotted him he seemed to be having some serious discussion with Faulkner, and so she continued on, not wanting to disturb him.
All her strength would be needed the next day, so she changed and climbed into bed without bothering with her hair or anything else. She had been so tired, but it seemed as soon as she tried to sleep, her mind lit up with an endless line of worries, of run-throughs of all the potential ways things could go when they sailed into the Chesapeake. Despite tossing and turning and doing all she could to trick her mind into sleep, it did not come, and she grew frustrated.
Throwing the sheets back with a frustrated groan, she got up and got dressed again, heading outside. At least perhaps some fresh air might do her some good. What she needed was to calm her nerves and her mind, and wasn't there some saying about there being nothing better than the ocean for relaxing? The breeze hit her face as she left the cabin, and she sighed, already feeling a little more calm. The idea of star gazing entered her mind, but being discreet was difficult on a ship, even at night, so she set out to see if there would be any suitable place where she could lay without being disturbed.
Instead, she spotted Connor leaning against the railing. Connor was supposed to be asleep, as Faulkner had offered to sail into the first part of the night, but obviously that plan had gone awry. Quietly, she made her way over, leaning next to him and gazing out into the darkness. The moon was full, reflecting across the endless waves, but despite the beauty of it there was still something almost unsettling about being surrounded by so much darkness. Perhaps it was because she was still getting used to the sea, but either way, she was suddenly glad that she was not alone.
"Can't sleep?" Cora asked gently, trying to peer into his face though his hat was making it rather difficult.
He shook his head, turning slightly toward her. "No. And you?"
"Sleep," she scoffed. "Who needs such a thing?" Connor shook his head, smiling, and Cora leaned more heavily into the railing, resting her head on her shoulder as she grinned up at him.
"I hear from the crew that you have made quite the impression."
"Oh have I?"
"Yes, something about engaging in bawdy jokes and tales?"
Cora pressed her lips into a line, placing her hands on the rail as she stood, all prim and proper. "Now Connor, why would I ever do such a thing? You know I am above such... Such low and pathetic excuses for humor."
"Oh, are you now?"
They both laughed, but as a heavy silence fell upon them, she placed a hand upon his where it rested on the rail. "So. One step closer to Lee."
"Hopefully," Connor said, turning back to the sea. "It seems as if nothing has been going as I wish it to," he sighed. Winding her arm into his, she grabbed his hand.
"It will work," she said in the most confident voice she could muster. "If anyone will find a way, it is you." He squeezed her hand and they stood silently for a few moments before he turned to her and kissed her. It was meant to be a sweet, tender kiss, but Cora found herself taking it further. Connor broke away quickly, and she felt herself blush, knowing she had probably crossed the line, being so out in the open as they were. Yet instead of stepping away, he pulled her into an alcove just beside the cabin, where they could not be easily seen. Cora pushed him up against the wood, taking off his hat so she could better kiss him. She held it tightly against his arm, not daring to let the wind take it and whisk it off into the sea.
"Come back to the cabin with me," she breathed when they came away to breathe, taking his jacket in her hands as she rested her forehead against his. She was not even sure in what way she meant it, but she did know that she wanted to linger in his presence for more than just this moment – to sleep beside him before beginning the events that would lead to so much... The battle, Lee's death, Oliver's... Yet life was not always guaranteed. The battles were not yet won, and she knew the chances of peril, no matter how good a fighter either of them were.
"But the men..."
She drew back, loosening her grip but keeping close. "If you're concerned about my reputation, I hope you know I have not a care in the world for it. But if you want to maintain that line for the sake of your crew and the running of your ship, I respect that and understand."
Connor smiled and kissed her gently, what she knew to be only a kiss goodnight.
"I will see you tomorrow," he whispered in her ear. When he pulled away, she handed him his hat back, and the two walked together to the cabin doors. He kissed her again before she went inside, but it was all too brief. It would have been a lie to claim she was not altogether disappointed, but she understood his reason and did not want to put him in an awkward position. Sure, the crew suspected the reality of their relationship but that didn't mean that certain lines had to be crossed.
She took her time preparing for bed, her mind still too active to sleep just yet. After stripping to her shift, she unwove her braid and was now working the brush through its tangles. It had been so long since she brushed her hair, and the work was made more difficult because of it. Still, it was such a normal thing that it was almost comforting and therapeutic to her anxious mind.
She was nearly done when she heard a soft knock upon the door. Jumping up, she set the brush down and went to the door. "Coming," she called softly. Positioning herself so that she was hidden well behind it, she leaned her head out from the protection of the door as she eased it open only just enough to see out of. When she recognized the familiar brown eyes of the person on the other side, she opened it wider.
"Connor? I thought-"
"I forgot something," he said, the words coming out a little bit too quickly as he came in, shutting the door behind him. Cora grabbed her hair, twisting it around her hands in an attempt to hide its state from him. There was a reason she rarely brushed her hair, because when she did the waves that she were normally fond of became a frizzy, fluffy, untameable mass. Connor didn't seem to notice though, as he had an anxious, almost expectant look in his eye, one hand stuffed in his pocket. Cora stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for him to continue. Instead, he only stared at her, as if suddenly stricken with fear. It was quite a sight and oddly she was somewhat amused by it, though she tried to hide it for his sake.
"Yes?"
"Close your eyes."
Cora furrowed her brows, looking at him suspiciously. Then, Connor finally broke out of his anxious demeanor and smiled at her reaction. "Just do it," he said, laughing. "Trust me."
Shaking her head, she shut her eyes. "Is it bad to say I'm scared?"
"Oh yes," he said. "You should be terrified. I might just grab you and throw you overboard." As he spoke, he took her wrist and pulled it out in front of her. He let go for a moment, but then his fingers took a gentle hold of her wrist again, and she felt something else brush around her skin.
"Careful," she warned as she fought to keep the curiosity at bay. "The crew tells me that when a woman goes overboard, the mermaids will come and turn her into a siren, and she will haunt the seas, drawing sailors to their deaths for all eternity!"
Connor laughed, still fiddling at her wrist. "Who was it that said that? Let me guess... Robert? Or was it David? David is always on about some mythical story..."
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Teasing, she made a face despite her closed eyes.
Suddenly he let go of her, his hands sliding up her arms to her shoulders. She could feel him leaning close, and she fell silent, his proximity and her lack of sight combining to awaken every nerve while simultaneously rendering her completely still.
She tilted her head as he spoke, his breath hot just near her ear. "We surely wouldn't want any mishap with mermaids," he whispered. "For I surely would give myself gladly to a siren that bore your face..." His hands slid to the small of her back, pulling her against him, and he could feel her body react as he did so. After a few moments, she seemed to regain her senses, her eyes fluttering open to meet his, having managed to forget all about what he had come to give her.
"Are you seducing me?" She asked in a low voice, raising her eyebrows. It was so unlike him to tease her and play around in such a way, but she enjoyed seeing him play the part, even if he was slightly cheesy in his attempts.
Connor laughed softly, drawing closer. "Maybe." He kissed her passionately, and she moved her hands behind his head, pulling him even closer. No matter how many times they had done this, it seemed as though each time she forgot what it felt for him to hold her, to kiss her like this... Perhaps it was because she was still trying to make sense of it herself. She had done many things in her life, but few had ever been done in such passion, in such love.
Ah, that word again – love. There was no doubt now that love was what she felt for him, what she wanted with him, and no one else, for the rest of her days. She had known love in her life, but not like this... Not such a desperate wanting, such a trusting confidence, a patience, an enjoyment in someone else's company... But despite the trust she had in him, in them, admitting it out loud was still another hurdle to overcome.
When they finally pulled away, Connor seemed to remember what had brought him here in the first place. Still looking her in the eye, he took her wrist and brought it between them, stepping away so she could see. When she finally looked down and saw the bracelet, she did not know what to say. It was beautiful, intricately woven and delicately made.
"Connor..."
"I made it when you were injured," he said, trying to fill the silence when her words failed to. "I didn't know I was making it for you at first... I needed something to occupy my hands, my mind, and found myself doing this. It was something my mother taught me, something I helped her with from an early age. But then, I found myself thinking of you when I worked on it, and when I left for Boston before you woke up..."
"It's beautiful," she breathed, running her fingers over it. "I don't know what to say."
"I am glad you like it," he said, smiling and seeming to relax.
"Did you think I wouldn't?" She asked, drawing her wrist close to her heart.
"I do not know," he shrugged. "It was just so..." He sighed, as if unsure how to phrase his words. "It ended up being so personal that for some reason I felt as though I was giving you a piece of me."
Cora smiled gently, grabbing his hand. Connor hated being vulnerable, that much she knew about him, and to see him laying his emotions so bare before her made her heart swell with gladness. It was something she had wanted for so long, a place she hoped he would someday come to. Raising on her toes, she kissed him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.
"Can I stay?" Cora pulled away, pursing her lips as if she had to seriously consider the question. Stepping away from him, she grabbed for the key and quietly locked the door.
"Well I suppose," she said in a haughty voice, only to laugh when Connor came behind her, gathering her in his arms as he nuzzled his face into her neck. She muffled a squeal as he pulled her toward the bed, but finally she wrenched free, kissing him roughly as she slid his jacket away. Together, they worked at discarding each layer of clothing until only his shirt and trousers were left. Cora pushed him to the bed and grabbed one of his feet, yanking a boot off and letting it fall with a loud thud onto the floor.
"I will fall asleep before you finish," he teased as she as she struggled to remove his boot.
Cora gasped, feigning offense as she finally pulled his other boot free. "Careful," she warned. "Don't make me call the sirens." Hoisting herself onto the bed, she moved over him, kissing him as she stripped him of his shirt.
Connor scoffed, and she laughed before kissing him again, settling on top of him. His hands pushed inside her shift and moved against the length her thighs, settling on her backside. As he pulled her hips closer, she interrupted the kiss as she gasped, her hands falling on either side of his face. He smiled at her, and she returned the gesture, confessions of love on her lips. But still, she could not manage to utter them... Perhaps it was fear that speaking it out loud would somehow wish it all away, or some kind of reluctance to accept what that would mean. Still, she could never kiss him again and though excruciating the torture would be, still know that their love was strong and passionate and unbroken – and that was something you came across only once in a lifetime.
September 5, 1781
When she woke up, Connor was not there. She slid her hand along the sheets to where he had been laying, but there was no warmth left. Drawing the sheet back, she grabbed her shift from where it lay on the floor and pulled it over her head. There were no mirrors around, but she could feel the terrible state her hair was in, and tried her best at working it into a braid. She took her time getting dressed, donning her pistol, knives and sword. Despite all her worrying the night before, she felt strangely at ease. Confident was perhaps not quite the right word, but the anxiety that had wracked her mind was definitely absent, thanks be to God.
The day was turning out to be a beautiful one – the clouds were few and the sun was warm on her skin, though a breeze blew to keep it from becoming overbearing. Connor was discussing something with his quartermaster and boatswain when she finally spotted him. It was Faulkner who spotted her first, making an exaggerated wave as she came over.
"We were beginnin' to wonder if you'd ever come out of there," he laughed.
"What time is it?"
"Perhaps an hour before noon," Robert said. Cora raised her eyebrows in surprise – how had she slept so long?
"We should arrive within a few hours, maybe less if the winds turn more favorable," Connor said. His voice was business-like, but there was a look in his eye that seemed to be just for her. Cora nodded, and Connor wrapped up his conversation with the two men, sending them off to continue their duties.
"You let me sleep that long?"
"I didn't want to wake you," he said in a low voice. For a moment he leaned closer and she thought he would kiss her, but then he straightened up, taking a step back. She smiled anyway and brushed his hand with hers, trying for a more subtle form of affection. "Are you ready?"
"I suppose so. Ready as I ever am to deal with this feeble old thing," she said, motioning to her shoulder. "But I feel good. Much better than I have."
"I am glad." Connor smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder for a moment.
"And you?"
He looked across the sea, and a hint of a smile touched his face. "Hopeful." Cora took his hand and squeezed it, nodding her head. Hope was something she was beginning to feel again, too.
As Connor and Cora approached the Comte de Grasse, they shared an apprehensive look. He was ranting at some poor soldier, obviously frustrated at something. As he waved him away, he turned to greet them, but instead of exchanging any formalities, he seemed rather unamused by their presence and spoke in a way to correspond with his displeasure.
"Lafayette promised me a fleet beyond compare, and a captain without peer. Instead, I find myself greeted by one old ship, a woman, and a boy in costume." Cora looked to Connor to see how he would respond, but if he was angered, he did not let it show. Instead, he put on a slight smile, albeit a rather proud one, and continued as if insults had not been exchanged.
"I promise we are all you need, Admiral." He tipped his head toward the man in subtle disdain, and Cora could just imagine how Connor now would be intent on proving him wrong.
The man shook his head slightly, pursing his lips. "I doubt this very much. But beggars do not choose, hmm?" Cora failed to keep herself from rolling her eyes at his condescending tone, but Connor seemed to be quite composed, ignoring it all together.
"And the ships I require?"
As if on cue, a burst of cannonfire sounded in the distance, drawing the Comte de Grasse's attention. "They are yours – provided we survive this..." He nodded his head toward the hazy sky, where flashes of fire could be seen on the horizon.
"And what would you have me do?"
At that, the Comte de Grasse straightened, and his tone turned from patronizing to authoritative. "Hold the bay while I engage the main fleet. Should any British ships dare to approach, destroy them. They must be kept from Yorktown." Connor nodded in agreement, and the two of them started back for the Aquila.
"Well he was pleasant," Cora muttered when the Frenchman was out of earshot. Connor shrugged, but Cora scoffed. "At least he acknowledged you," she said bitterly.
"All that matters now is that we get the job done," he said as the sailors began to pull away. The two strode toward the wheel, where Faulkner stood in control, and Cora nodded, feeling the adrenaline seeping through her veins. The other sailors, who before had been jesting and in light spirits, were now manning their stations with a seriousness she was not thought possible from them. There was an anticipatory energy humming through the air, quickening every heartbeat and stilling every tongue.
"Captain," Robert called up from below. "The Comte de Grasse has given us the Saint Esprit and the Marseillois."
Connor nodded in acknowledgment and took the wheel, ordering full sail. As they sailed toward the two ships, and then on into the smoke, Cora gripped the railing tighter. The sounds of cannonfire, growing ever louder, seemed to take hold of her heart with every blast. It was as if she could feel each explosion inside her, rattling her organs within her body. Heat was all around her, and she could see now the debris of ships scattered as far as the eye could see. The smell of smoke and gunpowder was thick in the air, acrid and stinging. She had seen battle, yes, but this was something else entirely. This was war.
"On the starboard side!" Someone yelled, and Cora turned to see a sinking ship, fire still burning the visible wood. There had to have been sailors aboard, survivors... Right? But instead there was only silence, silence and the sound of cannonfire.
"Herod all handsaws!" Faulkner muttered, before raising his voice. "Hell has manifest upon the sea! How many do you reckon?"
"Too many," Connor said, his eyes intently watching for the sign of any other ships.
"If anyone can hold the line, 'tis us," Faulkner said. "I only hope the Admiral's quick to return."
Then, the warning they had been waiting for. "Enemy approaching!"
"Alright boys," Faulkner yelled, stepping forward to address the crew. "And lady," he said, turning to wink at Cora before directing his attention back to the sailors. "Make ready for war!"
Riordan still had no idea what was going on. The men had hit him over the head with a pistol, and when he woke up he was in a locked room, only a stained mattress and a side table filled with nothing but pencils and chalks for company. At first he had thought he was in some kind of jail, but there were no other prisoners, or even other cells that he could see. Even so, he heard voices around him, and he knew he was not alone.
All he felt was anger. Anger that he had gotten himself here, that he might not return to his family... If these were the men that had taken his sister... The thought of that left him with a burning fury he had never thought possible. He paced, trying to figure a way out of this, but there was nothing in that little room to aid him, and who even knew what lay outside the door... Five men? Fifty? The streets of Boston, or a maze of a building?
He had only just sat down, trying to think of every possible escape scenario, when he heard someone working with the lock. Quickly, he moved to the wall just beside the door, hoping to take the person by surprise. Perhaps he could disarm them, or if he was lucky with a well placed hit, knock them out.
When the door opened, though, the man from before came through, looking panicked when he saw the room empty. Riordan noticed his things in the man's hands, and he stepped back into view. Ezekiel wasted no time, thrusting his sword and pistol into his hands.
"Put those on," he said in a hushed whisper. "Follow me closely, and say nothing."
Riordan hesitated, trying to decide if he could be trusted after what had happened earlier. But then, he recalled how the man had tried to warn him before the others descended. Trusting his instinct, he took his weapons and placed them back in his belt, following Ezekiel's directions.
Ezekiel led him through several halls, and though Riordan heard voices everywhere, they ran into no one. When they came upon a window, Ezekiel opened it and motioned for Riordan to follow him.
"Get as far away as possible," Ezekiel said once Riordan was outside. Instead of fleeing, though, the man narrowed his eyes.
"You knew her," he said in a gruff voice.
"You have to go now," Ezekiel said urgently, reaching to drag him along. However, Riordan grabbed hold of his jacket, slamming him against the wall.
"Tell me!"
"Yes, I know her," he admitted, the words spilling out. Riordan curled his lip, digging his forearm into Ezekiel's neck.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know," Ezekiel said, grabbing at his arm.
"You're lying."
"I swear I don't," he insisted. Riordan wanted to continue to harass him for answers, but he could tell the man knew nothing – or little, at least. Still, he held his grip on him. "I do know that if you don't leave before they come around on patrol, you will never find out where she is, because they will kill you and use your head to lure her back."
Finally, Riordan let him go, albeit roughly, and Ezekiel lead him to the street.
"I can tell you little. I have not seen her for weeks, and I have no idea where she is going now..." He hesitated, as if unsure how much to divulge.
"But she's alive?"
"And well," Ezekiel nodded. "Well enough, at least..." He looked away and closed his eyes briefly, as if pained by something, but whatever it was Riordan did not care.
"Well enough?"
Ezekiel did not respond to his desire for clarification, lifting his head and continuing as if the man had never spoken. "She has joined a man who goes by the name of Connor. She has been working with him for several months."
"For what?"
"Does it matter? We have little time," he said, displeased by all the questions even though he could understand why they were being asked. "My guess is that she is in or near the city, or that she will return soon. She has gone by many names – Mary Pennington, Jane Tolbert, Charity Lawson, Lydia Jones... But most likely she will be going by Cora Anderson. That is the name she identifies with most."
"Where can I find this Connor?"
"He is in and out of the city. Molineaux's is a place he often visits, and I hear he lives on a homestead somewhere within a day or two's ride from the city, but I do not know where." Just as Riordan opened his mouth to question further, he heard the approaching voice of the guards. Nodding, he expressed his thanks.
"Good luck," Ezekiel said. Swiftly, he climbed back through the window and closed it, leaving Riordan alone. Once he was far enough away from the building, he began to think of what to do. Molineaux's was his best bet, both for shelter for the night and for more information about Connor, and hopefully Radha. He would have to be smart in order to accomplish either task, though... Who knew if those men would not come looking for him? Surely, though, they could not search all of Boston... And anyway, that was his only strong lead. From what Ezekiel had said, it seemed that if Riordan wanted to find his sister, he had to find the man he named as Connor.
The battle was far more intense than Cora had anticipated. Though they had managed to destroy most of the smaller ships and a few larger ones, the Marseillois had been lost. The Aquila had been nearby when she had taken her fatal blow, and Cora had heard the screams of her men, jumping to escape the sinking ship. Despite all the horrors Cora had witnessed in her lifetime, she had never seen anything quite like this, and she was still trying to figure out how to best respond. During a lull between the seemingly endless rounds of cannonfire, Alexander had patted her shoulder.
"Everyone is a bit shaky their first go-round. You'll find your footing soon enough."
She could only nod before she heard Faulkner's voice ring out above.
"Ship coming in broadside, Captain!"
Alexander cursed under his breath and bolted to his swivel cannon, leaving Cora alone. God be merciful, she hoped she never had to endure another naval battle again, providing they survived... She despised being so useless. She could hear the ship fire its cannons even from its seemingly safe distance, but luckily the ship had turned, and the cannons whistled by them, falling into the water so close that she felt the splash upon her skin. Cora had just breathed a sigh of relief when one of the few remaining smaller ships fired upon them, hitting near the bow. The blast knocked Cora to the ground, splinters of wood flying over her head as she tried to duck her head down. As soon as she was able, she got to her feet, eyes roaming over the damage. The damage to the ship seemed to be minimal, but that was hoping that there was not worse things out of sight. As the Aquila fired broadside, Cora's eyes fell on the unmanned swivel gun, and then to the crumpled form of Alexander laying beneath it.
Cora ran to him, sliding to her knees as she approached. He was alive, but a shard of wood was protruding from his abdomen, and he was breathing heavily, his hands clutching at his side. Alexander grunted as he tried to sit up, but Cora pushed him back down, finally able to be useful.
"Listen to me," she said calmly. "We are going to go to the cabin, but you need to do exactly as I say, do you understand?"
"Mistress Anderson," he huffed, air hissing through his lips as he threw his head back in pain. "Get yourself to-"
"Do you understand or not?" She repeated sternly. He pressed his lips together and nodded, crying out as Cora helped him to his feet. Alexander grabbed at the shard of wood, but Cora hissed at him.
"Don't touch that!" Then, more gently, she tried to encourage him to keep going. "Almost there now," she said as the Aquila loosed another wave of cannonfire. Just as she heard Connor's order to brace, she threw the door to the cabin open, slamming it shut behind her. Alexander fell heavily to the floor and groaned, and she could see terror in his eyes. He looked so young then, as if he should still be under the care of his mother and father. He was certainly no older than her, of that much she had always been sure, but now he seemed even younger, like a child lost in a storm.
"What do I do?" He cried out, panic thick in his voice. She shushed him and searched for a knife, trying her best to keep steady on her feet despite the constant rocking and shaking of the ship.
"Just hold on," she said hurriedly, frantically trying to remember where the candles were, and the extra linens. Once she had gathered her things, she went to his side and began her work. She had only minimal knowledge in the medical arts, but she knew well that penetration wounds could be tricky. Sometimes it was best to remove it, sometimes not, but it had to come out eventually, and she was the only one at the disposal to take action at all. She began to sweat as she cut his shirt away, the nerves taking her as she weighed her options. It didn't look too deep, but it was the location that worried her... The angle suggested it may not have penetrated any vital organs, but she had no idea where the bloodways lay, and if she let a broken bloodway flow...
"What is it?" Alexander asked, his voice quiet but still strained.
"Nothing," she said, her decision made. Quickly, she tore the linen into strips before turning back to Alexander. "I am going to remove the wood," she said gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. "It is important that you stay as still as possible, do you understand?" She could see the doubt in his eyes, and could feel the doubt within her own heart, but she had to put on a show of confidence for him, and perhaps for herself as well. Oh, how many times she had done it with Jane... This was an old routine for her, but for some reason it felt so foreign. "Alexander," she said as he began to breathe quickly. "Look at me." Taking his face in her hands, she forced him to look her in the eye. "You are going to get through this, but I need your help. Can you help me?"
He nodded again, and she lit the candle. "I need you to stay still." Rising onto her knees, she tied some of the linen scraps to the post of the bed, handing him a fistful of it. He seemed to understand, because he took tight hold of it and squeezed his eyes shut. "Breathe," she told him as she positioned herself to remove the shard. It wasn't near as big as it could have been, and for that she was thankful, but it all depended on what it looked like beneath the skin. Not to mention that she could only hope the ship stayed still in the time it took for her to remove it. As she told him to breathe, modeling with her own deep breaths, she grabbed hold of the wood and gently pulled. Alexander hissed, struggling to stay still, but Cora said nothing, too focused on steadying her hand. Luckily, the wood was not too deep and it came away rather easily. It seemed they had both been lucky, but she knew that just because the location of the shard was favorable didn't mean he was yet in the clear. Cora pressed the bundle of folded linen against his wound.
"You aren't going to burn it, are you?"
"No," she said, managing a smile. "Not if you want to die of infection in a few days."
He smiled weakly, taking a deep breath. "Rather not," he muttered.
Just then, the entire ship shook with impact, and Cora struggled to keep them both from flying across the room. "What the hell was that?"
"Hit a ship," he muttered through the pain of being jostled. "Sounds like it." Cora sighed anxiously as she began to wrap the linen around his abdomen, securing the other bundle she had placed there.
"Wait here, I'll be right back." She did not look back as she got up, trying not to listen to Alexander begging her to stay.
Cora had scarcely closed the door when something exploded close by, knocking her to the deck. All she could taste was salt and blood, and her ears rang loudly, leaving her disoriented. After a few moments, she managed to attempt getting back on her feet. Just as she swayed, her sense of balance ravaged by the explosion as well as the constant turning and rocking of the boat, an arm reached out to steady her.
"It's alright now, lass," John said, holding her steady. "Didn't expect ya to come runnin' out like that. Fired on their powder stores, we did, last o' the frigates."
"Alexander's in there," she muttered as she tried to keep herself steady. John's eyes widened, a grim look settling over his face. "I've done all I can, I think he should be alright until the surgeon can have a look. I've seen much worse."
"Aye, seeing as we make it through the rest of this," he said, patting her shoulder. Cora took a deep breath, then took a few steps back, trying to catch a glimpse of Connor. "'Ay," John called, motioning his hand to his nose, as if trying to point something out. Cora mimicked him, but her fingers came back bloody. At least that explained the taste...
"I must have hit it when I fell," she said, though John was now a long ways away.
With the last of the ships destroyed, they sailed forward. If Cora had thought the haze had been heavy around them initially, it was nothing compared to the dense smoke that now lay before them. It was eerie, and she moved to the stair railing, her hand feeling for something to grab onto. As the Saint Esprit disappeared into the heaviest of the smoke, she heard Connor call full sail. They sailed for a few moments into the silence – if you could call it silence. Though on board all were quiet, their minds occupied with searching the horizon for the enemy, the roar of the fires consuming the countless shipwrecks was coupled with the rolling sea to make for a rather loud version of it. Out of the smoke, Cora's ears picked up that now familiar whistle of cannonfire, and just as the Saint Esprit came into view again, it exploded from the impact. As they passed the sinking vessel, she closed her eyes, trying not to hear the screams. Though part of her wanted to demand they stop and rescue those they could, she knew that was not an option. They would be a sitting duck in this smoke, with a ship obviously close enough to destroy them, too...
"By God," she heard Faulkner yell as they passed even more wreckage. The sea seemed to be speckled with sinking ships, burning ships, like a graveyard upon the waves... "Where are our blasted reinforcements?" Cora started up the stairs, though she was unsure why. She didn't want to be a distraction, but she had no idea where else to go.
"They will come. We must hold the bay until they do," Connor said, his voice quieting as he saw her ascending the stairs. Faulkner's protests quickly diverted his attention.
"This is madness! You're alone and we're without reinforcements!"
"There is no other choice," he said sternly. Cora settled near the rail opposite of Faulkner, and stared out upon the battle. As much as she took comfort in the familiarity of battle, she was beginning to come to terms with the fact that such expansive warfare, especially upon the sea, was not quite her forte. They sailed on, and Cora's grip on the rail tightened as flashes erupted in the smokiness of the horizon.
"Are you alright?" Connor asked quietly. When Cora turned, she could see him eying the smears of blood on her face, and no doubt all over her clothes from Alexander.
"Yes," she said, the confidence of her voice surprising her. He nodded, and Cora turned back, not wishing to continue distracting him.
"On the port side, Captain! Man 'o War!"
Every face on the ship turned towards the direction the sailor was pointing in, all of them witness to the telltale flashes of light meaning they were about to be bombarded with cannonfire. Cora ducked down even before Connor called for all to brace, gripping the rail as hard as possible as she tried to keep steady. The impact was worse than she had anticipated, and the ship rocked as each cannonball made contact with the Aquila. She could hear wood splintering and cries of pain... She could only hope no more would join Alexander, but she knew in reality that would probably not be the case. All Cora knew was that if they took another hit like that, surely they would sink!
Cries of damage and injury reports rang out, and Faulkner turned to Connor.
"All our guns are down, we've no way to defend ourselves now! That beast is sure to sink us if we're not careful!" Connor nodded, a grim look settling on his face as he turned the wheel. It took a few moments before Cora realized exactly where they were headed.
"What are you doing?" She asked frantically, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. They had no firepower, and here he was sailing right for the biggest and most well armed ship they had encountered all day! When Connor didn't answer, she repeated herself.
"Trust me," he said simply, his eyes hard with concentration.
"He's not really planning to board them, is he?" Faulkner muttered to himself. "Has he lost his mind? He's going to get us all killed!" Despite what doubts the older man had, however, he seemed to trust Connor's judgment to some extent, calling for the men to prepare to board.
This time, though rough indeed, the impact was far less severe than Cora had anticipated. Though she flew to the side, she managed to hold on, and when she let go she could feel her adrenaline rising. "The ship is yours, Mister Faulkner," Connor said as he headed towards the stair. He paused only the smallest of moments when he passed Cora, looking her hard in the eye. "Be safe."
"Don't do anything stupid," she called after him, knowing full well there was little doubt he would. She watched until he was out of sight, and then drew her sword, making for the several sailors from the Man o' War that had boarded the Aquila. The remaining crewmembers of the Aquila had already begun to fend them off once she had made it down the stairs. Just as she made for Robert, who was attempting to fight off two men at once, she saw movement from the corner of her eye and took a few quick steps back, dodging from the path of a charging sailor. Her sword met his with that familiar, sweet ring of metal upon metal, and all her anxiety melted away, confidence seizing its place. She was careful to keep him at a safe distance, not willing to risk him trying to get close enough to grab her. If he got hold of her left side, she knew well that she would have little chance. He was a big man, though, and she used her size and speed to her advantage, darting out of the way almost every time he tried to take a swing at her. Brute force seemed to be his style of swordplay, one that she easily could best – and that she did. As he fell, she searched again for Robert, only to see him now struggling with three men. Grabbing her pistol from behind her, she took a few long strides before firing. Robert didn't even look to see where the shot had come from before utilizing the advantage to get better leverage. One of the two had noticed her as she pulled the trigger and made for her, though he seemed to stop a few feet short.
"Hey there, sweetheart," he sneered, laughing. Cora rolled her eyes – jeers and doubts would spell the man's end, just as they had ushered in death for every other similar one before them. Not bothering to indulge him, Cora lunged, but he was quicker than the last man, parrying before she could strike a fatal blow. Sliding a knife from her belt, she waited for him to strike before stepping aside and driving the blade into his thigh. As he cried out in pain, dropping to his knees as his sword clattered to the ground, she grabbed his shoulder, holding him steady.
"Hello," she muttered, her voice detached from any other part of her.
Robert was watching her when she stepped away from his limp body, but her attention did not linger on his expression. Just at the limits of her peripheral vision, she saw movement and turned just in time to prevent what would have been a devastating attack on her weak side. Although she was able to shift in time to circumvent the worst of it, he still managed to grab hold of her with enough leverage to pull her down. Hissing as she felt the sharp nick of a blade against her side, Cora's knee found the man's abdomen, and he faltered just long enough for her to gain some advantage. In one quick motion, she pushed him away and got to her feet, but when she felt for a knife, her hand brushed only the smooth leather of her belt. Frantic, she searched for where her sword had fallen when the man had pulled her down, but it was nowhere in sight, and the sailor already had a grip on his own blade. As he got to his feet, she took a few steps back, looking for a way out.
Just as the man was about to charge, she felt the rail low behind her and knew she was not out of options. As he came barreling toward her, she stayed still, trying her best to look as terrified as possible. Then, just as he was close enough to run her through, she stepped aside. The man grabbed the rail, trying not to lean overboard, but it was low in that spot, and he had to bend his knees in order to get a steady hold of it. Taking advantage of his altered center of balance, she grabbed the sword from his hand and ran it across the skin of his arm, drawing enough pain that he reached for it with the other. His grip no longer on the rail, she shoved him at the shoulders, and sure enough he fell clumsily into the sea. However, her gladness at having taken care of the last of the sailors who had boarded them ended rather swiftly. Behind her, the other ship exploded and she turned, reeling from the noise. Connor... Making her way quickly to where she spotted her sword, she grabbed it from where it had fallen and sheathed it, all the while searching the deck for any sign of Connor. Despite the smoke and chaos, she knew she would have seen him, but he was not there.
Robert was the only one who noticed the way the fear manifested in her face when she realized the Captain was not on board. An experienced sailor, he knew well that the other ship's powder stores were well from destroyed. The explosion was far from finished, yet the woman did not seem to realize this, or if she did she payed little care to it. Cora took several long strides forward, her heart beating wildly with anxiety, but just as she was in a few steps of the rail, a hand fell roughly on her shoulder. Whipping her head around, she felt for her sword, turning her eyes back to the ship once she realized it was only Robert.
"Don't do anything foolish," he said quickly.
Annoyed by his assumptions, she scoffed and shrugged away from him. Just as she did so, a huge explosion rocked the ship, and she stumbled backwards, turning her face away from the debris that flew all about. As soon as she was able, she snapped her head back up, panic now spreading through her. It was Faulkner's voice that brought her attention to the upper deck.
"You mad bastard," she heard him yell. Sure enough, Connor was adjusting his tricorn on his head, Faulkner grinning madly even as he reprimanded him. He took the wheel again, a wry smile on his face, and Cora practically flew forward, skipping every other step in order to reach the top that much faster. Connor noticed her as she climbed the final step, and motioned to Faulkner to take the wheel before quickly covering the space between them.
"Are you alright?"
"Me?" She asked, motioning to the cut upon his forehead, and several tears in his coat from some of the debris of the explosion. "Mister Faulkner is right," she said, her face softening. "You are mad indeed."
Connor could see the leftover fear in her eyes, and though he did not think himself reckless, he knew that he had frightened her. Despite the smile, he could feel the nervous energy radiating from her. In an attempt to reassure her he grabbed her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze which she quickly returned. From the look of her, she had seen battle, and he wondered how she had fared – if combat had restored her confidence or only damaged it further.
He had been studying her face rather intently, but his eyes widened as he looked over the rest of her. Blood was spattered over much of her shirt, and though at first he thought she was injured, he soon recognized that the pattern of it seemed to imply it was not her blood at all. As if she could read his thoughts, she took his hand in both of hers, bringing it quickly to her lips before anyone else could see.
"I assure you I am well," she said gently. "Alexander was injured, I tried to aid him as best I can. And I..." She looked away for a moment, her grip loosening on his hand. "There were many sailors that boarded us."
Cupping her cheek, he raised her chin gently. "You did well."
"I know," she replied, her voice strong and her gaze steady. For a moment, she wanted to embrace him, but someone's voice shattered the moment of tenderness between them.
"The French are coming!"
Cheers erupted from the sailors, and Cora breathed a sigh of relief, turning to watch. In all of her life, she had never seen such a sight. There was no way she could ever count the amount of ships, their sails billowing as they emerged from the smoke.
"Will we fight?"
Connor was quiet for a moment, glancing at Faulkner before speaking. "I do not think so. The ship is damaged, and we should see to our wounded."
Cora nodded, turning back to face him. Searching for his eyes, she found them already upon her, and she gave him a weary but triumphant smile. The day had been won, in more ways than one. It wasn't the victory against the British that made her swell with pride, it wasn't the fact that the Aquila had bested a ship much better armed than they. It wasn't even that she had been victorious in combat that made her heart swell with pride and satisfaction. No, it was that she had overcome her fears, that she had adapted to each situation and been able to improvise when choices were few. That was what brought her the most happiness of all: the reminder of her strength, her resilience. It had been easily forgotten in the face of grave injury, easily ignored when it was easy to do so, but there was iron within her, and though sometimes it felt as though it was melted away by stress, still it remained, unbreakable.
After tending to what wounded they could, the Aquila set sail to meet with the Comte de Grasse once again. Cora had stayed with Alexander, anxious to make she had done all she could. The surgeon had assured her she had done well, and after he had inspected the wound and removed a few splinters from it, Alexander had fallen into sleep. Still, part of her felt guilty as she watched his slumber, though she was not quite sure why.
Connor had come to fetch her when they reached the Admiral's ship, and though she wished for nothing more than sleep herself, she went with him gladly.
This time, the man seemed much more sedated, talking calmly with one of his crew members. Upon taking notice of the two people walking toward them, he motioned for the other to leave, and made his way toward them.
"They say you took down that Man-Of-War all alone," he said, his tone lacking most of the arrogance it had previously held.
"Not all alone," Connor replied, looking to Cora and back again, as if to imply he should recant his earlier comment. The Admiral smiled, nodding his head toward Cora in recognition. Though the man could not manage to conjure up some words toward her, she inclined her head in acknowledgment.
"Perhaps Lafayette did not exaggerate when he spoke of your abilities. As promised, my ships are yours to command. What do you require?"
"Five of them must enter New York's harbor, flying British flags." In confusion, the Admiral held up a hand, furrowing his brows.
"Wait, wait... I thought you might need some pirates killed or goods transported, and instead you ask for us to... what, shell New York?"
"No. Of course not," Connor assured, though Cora had to stifle a laugh at the odd tone of his voice.
"Ah." The Admiral looked as if he doubted that should relieve him.
Connor glanced at Cora again, then turned back, his voice serious. "Only part of it." At this, the Comte de Grasse raised his eyebrows in shock, then furrowed them together closer than she had ever seen anyone do so before.
"Explain yourself!"
"I mean to infiltrate Fort George, but it is too well guarded. Cannon fire will breach its walls and scatter its guards."
The Admiral nodded, beginning to realize Connor's intent. "And a ship that flies the French flag could never get near it..."
"You understand, then."
Sighing, he shook his head. "Not at all. But a promise is a promise, even when it is made to a lunatique." Cora rolled her eyes, but Connor said nothing, only staring at him silently for a few moments, his expression clearly not amused.
Disregarding his words, Connor continued. "I will light a signal fire when it is time for you to attack." The three made the most detached of formal goodbyes, and as Connor and Cora made their way back to the Aquila, she could hear him spouting off several commands in French.
When they were back on the ship, they retreated to Connor's cabin, though Cora had to do some convincing to keep him from going straight back to the helm. He had not even so much as sat down since their role in the battle had ended, and the cuts on his face were still yet to be seen to.
When they entered, Cora noticed that the blood had been scrubbed from the floor, and she wondered who had taken to the task. Having procured some clean rags and a basin of water, she set about washing her face and arms, but when she realized Connor was still standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, she set the rag down and turned toward him.
"Lay down." It was a command rather than a request, but though Connor certainly heard her, he did not look as though he was about to move. Scoffing, she grabbed his arm and sat him on the bed, ruffling around in his chest to find some clean clothes. When she set them on the bed, she caught sight of his dazed expression, and realized perhaps there was more than stubbornness that was making him so difficult. Sitting next to him, she rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Is something wrong?"
Her voice was tender and gentle, full of concern, and the sound of it made him snap out of his daze. Perhaps it was exhaustion or realization of what was about to follow, but he had found himself rather distracted. Turning toward her, he met her eyes, filled with warmth that seemed to reach out and envelop him. Indeed, her gaze always seemed to have an effect on him, whether she looked at him with tenderness or anger. It seemed sometimes that there was nothing those brown eyes could not cure within him, and nothing they could not provoke, as well. His silence must have been rather prolonged, because her brow furrowed slightly and she placed a hand upon his.
Sometimes, it was as though being with her made him even more aware of himself. The weight of what came next suddenly bore heavier on him that he had expected it to. It wasn't that he did not want to do it – on the contrary, he was rather looking forward to it all being over... But what would happen afterwards? Where would his path be, then? Years he had dedicated to ending Charles Lee, to defeating the Templars and righting what wrongs he could. But after?
Cora slid her hands against his skin, winding her fingers through his and stroking her thumb against his knuckle, taking care to avoid a thin cut that marked his skin there. "You know I am always here for you," she reminded him softly. He smiled at her, moving his free hand to her cheek. She gave the slightest smile as she leaned into his touch.
"I know." Letting go of her hand, Connor moved it to her shoulder and leaned toward her, resting his forehead against hers. They stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, and listened to the silence broken only by the sound of the other's breathing. When he opened his eyes, he drew away from her slightly, taking her face in. It still surprised him sometimes to think about what had grown between them. A year ago, he never would have thought to have such a bond with someone else, to have such intimacy and trust in every way... Yet here they were.
He kissed her gently, sliding his hand back to her face. When the tips of his fingers slid into her hair, his thumb still against her cheek, she seemed to melt beneath him, and she gripped the side of his coat, pulling him closer. Opening her mouth to him, she leaned back to lay flat upon the bed, bringing him with her. It was nothing like the fires of passion they had experienced before. No, it was almost deeper than that, the intimacy between both their bodies and their hearts so strong, it seemed nothing could ever break them apart.
If Ezekiel had thought he had seen the extent to which Oliver's fury had the potential to go, he had been wrong. The man's stability had been deteriorating for a long while, and had become even worse ever since Haytham Kenway had demoted him. When the news had come of Cora's brother's escape, he had gone into a furious frenzy. At first, he had been still, emotionless, and Ezekiel had thought they were in the clear, but then he had cried out and flipped his desk, sending papers flying about the room.
"We have sent men out to find him," one of the others had said, trying to reason with him.
Oliver turned toward him, eyes narrowed. "Do you think that will satisfy me?"
The man, a younger recruit named Wiley, shook his head, struggling to come up with a reply. "We will do all we can," he said quietly, looking down.
"If this wretched girl thinks I will back down..." He laughed, bracing his weight on a dresser that remained standing. "She has brought ruin to everything. The Templars are weakening, because of her. Kenway and Lee have lost trust in me, because of her... The city is lost to my influence, and that wench will pay for it all." Curling his fist into a ball, he made for Wiley, slamming him against the wall, his hand at his throat.
"You will bring me the brother, and then you will make sure Cora receives the news of his untimely fate, do you understand?" Wiley nodded furiously, and Oliver let him go, turning to the others that were trying not to show the smallest hint of emotion. "I hope you all understand," he said in a low voice.
"It will be done," Ezekiel said, nodding. As the men left the office, he could hear Oliver scoff.
"She thinks she knows suffering... I will show her what I have withheld from her, all these years. She will pay."
There was a tone to his voice that Ezekiel found especially chilling, and as he walked in silence with the others, he knew he could not stay here. For his own safety, for Cora's, and everyone she knew and loved, and for Henry's memory... There was a madness to Oliver that he could no longer endure, and God help anyone who fell under his wrath...
A/N: (Disclaimer that most of the dialogue in context of the Admiral and some of the dialogue in the battle [between Connor/Faulkner mostly] is taken straight from the game. This is the last time I'll be pulling dialogue from the game, but I didn't want to alter things too much so I just went ahead and used it. I do not claim it as mine.) So this next chapter is basically going to start a big shift in the story for a while, which I am very excited to write and explore. I tried to give as much sweetness and lightheartedness as possible in this one, especially because of what's to come. Also, can I just say I was SO honored by all the reviews, I was literally like a giddy child reading them.
Guesty - Thanks so much, I really enjoyed your review! I try my best to be realistic when I write relationships - things aren't always perfectly romantic and lovely. There's awkwardness, silliness, miscommunication, etc. Thanks so much for the comment about Diana, I definitely had realized that but sometimes I'm very hit and miss with trying to type a dialect phonetically, I'll do my best to work on that!
InTooDeep27 - I certainly appreciate your thanks! And I thank YOU for enjoying the story and leaving a comment! :)
themadgears - I'm so glad! I was somewhat fond of many parts of that chapter as well, I'm glad you liked it!
enigma013 - Let me just say I SO SO SO SO SO appreciated all your reviews, I can't even put it into words! I often have stayed up late reading a book or a fic and to know that someone else likes my story so much to do the same was so amazing to hear. You saying that my characters seem real is also one of the best compliments you could give, because it's definitely one of the things I most value in stories and try my best to convey.
I'm glad you appreciate my characterization of Connor in that way. I've seen several different takes on him, all well done, and I definitely didn't think he would be so totally clueless when it came to women, whether he's had much experience or not. I like to think I've sort of taken a middle ground approach - not too clueless and timid but also not too dominating and over confident. Sometimes leaning to one or the other, because people are complex like that.
I hope I continue to satisfy you with my writing, and again I thank you SO much for all your kind words!