Chapter Twenty-Five;

Fallout

"It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself. For myself, alone."

Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

It took a day and a half's ride to reach the home she had so long desired yet now utterly dreaded. The first day had been spent in near silence, as Riordan had the good sense to understand she did not want to talk. Cora suspected that part of him was unhappy with the way she had handled the situation. She had not counted on Connor confronting her like he had, which had only made Riordan realize that she'd lied to him. His disapproval of her actions, even if subtle, had only made her mood even worse. It was between her and Connor, and Riordan had no place to condemn her for her actions.

That night, she had promptly fallen asleep after managing only a few bites of their makeshift dinner. Riordan had attempted to make some conversation, but fearing that he would bring up the conditions of her departure, she had not engaged him. Perhaps due to her exhaustion or her sorrow, she had slept soundly, though her dreams had not left her much peace. By the next morning however, Riordan had seemed to forget all about any negative feelings he'd had. When Cora woke he greeted her cheerfully, and as they set off on the last leg of their journey, he launched into long, detailed descriptions of everyone she would meet.

"There will be Felicity, Ben, and Aoife, of course," he had said, his eyes glowing as he had described his wife in detail once more. "And then there will be Nathan." Apparently, this Nathan was a Continental soldier who had been badly injured in a small skirmish, and Aoife had insisted that they aid the small group of survivors. When the others had rested, evidently they had made the choice to leave Nathan behind until he was better healed, knowing he would be in better hands there than traveling wounded along the road. After that point in the story, Cora had tuned out for a while, her brother's words going in one ear and out the other. He had spoken of the actions of those soldiers so honorably, but how could he also feel such disdain of her choice? They had left someone behind, too, thinking first of the man's safety and well being over what they wanted or what Nathan may have wanted. How was that any different than what she had done? Or perhaps she was only trying to justify her wrongs, to rationalize them away... Though she knew in her heart that she had made the right, responsible decision, part of her still condemned it. Maybe that was what she deserved, to live with such internal dissonance.

"And then all the neighbors will want to see you. You remember Mrs. Hayes," he had continued as they began to reach landmarks that were familiar. There was the old meetinghouse where the Quakers worshiped, the massive oak tree in the middle of the Miller's farm, the home of the blacksmith that her father would travel miles to buy from, insisting his goods were the best in workmanship. Suddenly it was all coming back to her, and she could almost see herself running wild along the road, her father calling after her from atop their family's horse. Instead of excitement or anticipation at the idea of so soon seeing her sister, she felt sick.

"Who?" She managed, swallowing hard.

"Mrs. Hayes, that sweet old woman who lives by the corn fields? She's still alive believe it or not, going on ninety-five and still sharp as a knife!"

Panic beginning to swirl within her, she gave a shallow nod. Riordan was near bursting with excitement, so much so that she was sure he hardly could see anything except the road leading him home.

Soon, she began to recognize even more of her surroundings, and knew it would be only minutes before they turned off into the field her childhood home stood on. Her grip on the reins was iron, her knuckles white. Within, there was this strange mix of numbness and fear, of dread and anticipation. This was what she had waited for for so long, yet now all she wanted to do was turn back and ride away...

Finally, she saw it. At first glance, the little house looked exactly the same. There was the window with the shutters that her mother had so loved, the little shack of a barn which her father had used to shelter their two horses in bad storms. But then she suddenly saw all that had changed – there was an addition on the house, much nicer than the older portion, its walls made of pretty whitewashed wood. The vegetable garden her mother had so lovingly tended was still there, but it was somewhat unkempt. Perhaps most strange was the woman who stood just outside, pinning clothes upon the line. Cora could see blonde hair fastened in a bun behind her head, a few strands of hair hanging down around her face. She was slender and tall, and a child who looked to be no older than three sat near her, playing with something in his hands. Cora slowed her horse just as Riordan urged his forward, a broad smile across his face as he raced toward his family... his home. As Cora watched, she could not escape the dreadful, constricting feeling that she was so very far away from hers.

The child, who had much darker hair than his mother, held up whatever what was in his hands and called to her as if to show her. Pushing a shirt aside, she crossed under the line to go to him, but just as she did so, she looked up and noticed Riordan racing toward her. At this, the woman raised a hand to her face, as if frozen, before picking up her skirts and running to meet him. Riordan practically flew from his horse and took her into his arms, twirling her around as she threw her arms about his shoulders. Cora could heir their jubilant laughter, could hear the child gleefully yelling for his father.

"Papa," he called, grabbing at Riordan's trousers as he kissed his wife. Then, he scooped his son into his arms and threw him into the air before letting the child cling to him and pulling his wife into the embrace as well. Cora did not know what to feel. Of course she was happy that her brother had finally reunited with his family, but she also felt so... so jealous, almost betrayed that he had so evidently moved on. Perhaps this feeling was why Riordan had been so unhappy when he first had seen her with Connor on the Homestead. She knew it was unfair of her and that it would eventually pass, but it still did nothing to make her feel more comfortable. Felicity was the first to seem to notice that Cora was not there, and as the woman spotted her in the distance she took a deep breath, urging Ealga forward. Better to get it over with, she figured.

As she approached, she saw the woman say something to Riordan, who looked down and gave no response. Cora dismounted when she got closer, her insides seeming to contract even tighter with every step she took. Riordan took Ealga's reins when she came close, and Cora retrieved the few bags she had brought along.

"I'll take her to the stable," he said, giving Cora a soft smile before turning. His son still clung to him, his hands held tight around his neck. Instead of burying his face into his father's shoulder like most small children, his bright blue eyes stared right at her, and she gave a tiny little wave. He smiled broadly back at her, and as Riordan let him down and took his hand, he continued to look over his shoulder at her, obviously curious at this newcomer.

"Let me help you with those," Felicity said, grabbing a few of her bags. Her voice was somewhat low pitched, which struck her as quite odd compared with her appearance. It was warm and inviting all the same, though, and helped Cora to feel slightly less awkward and out of place. Unsure what to say, she nodded and grabbed the last bag before following her inside. It seemed the main entryway of the house was unchanged, and when she entered the house she clutched her bag even tighter. Before her was the very spot her father had fallen that day the Templars had invaded her home. She still remembered the smell of the blood, the urge to both vomit and cry when she saw him laying dead before her – or so she had believed. Suddenly those feelings seemed so real, like it was happening all over again.

Felicity had set her bags by the stairs and gone into the kitchen, rambling happily as she gathered some cups. "I suppose you should choose your own room from the two we have remaining," she said. "Can I offer you something to drink? Unfortunately we have no tea, only coffee. Aoife still insists that tea is unpatriotic," she said with a wisp of a laugh. "There is a bit of fresh water left as well, if you wish to-"

Silence fell over her as she looked upon Cora's pale face, her eyes glued to the floor as if caught in some dream. Gently, she called to her. "Are you alright?"

As if nothing had happened, Cora stood up straighter, nodding and smiling as if nothing was wrong. "Of course," she said, though her voice came out in a hoarse mumble. "Water is fine, thank you," she said quietly. Nodding, Felicity made herself scarce. There was no need to push her into anything, and she only hoped that her husband and sister-in-law would not attempt to do so. Knowing them, she hoped that Cora had the strength to endure their overzealous, often stubborn eagerness. Yet, she was a Reilly after all. No doubt she had more than enough wild stubbornness and passion to compete.

Eventually, Cora made her way into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table where Felicity offered her a glass of water. "You keep the home well," she said, trying to make conversation. After all, she wanted the woman to like her, and though her overwhelmed state made her hesitant, she hoped it did not make her seem cold.

"Thank you," she said warmly, sipping at her coffee. "I admit the garden needs much tending, but I can't seem to find the time lately." The home really was lovely, and though many things remained that reminded her of her past, everything seemed so different. It was as if she was a porcelain figure inside of a doll house instead of a woman returning to her childhood home. For years she had dreamed of this moment, but now she realized that she had been pining for some place that no longer existed. The child that had once resided here was gone, half her family with it. Strangers had taken up residence within its walls, and she could feel the differences in her bones...

Gulping down the rest of her water to keep from having to speak, she suddenly realized she had not even thought to ask about the absence of her sister. Thankfully, Riordan entered and eased some of the awkwardness, little Ben trailing close behind. Her brother took the seat next to her, hoisting his son onto his lap and beaming down at him. At least the one good thing she could take solace in was that her brother truly had found happiness. It was impossible to ignore how he glowed around his wife and son.

"Say hello to your Aunt Cora," he said, nudging the child and pointing toward Cora, who gave a little wave and said hello, her voice sounding strangely juvenile. Apparently rather shy, he smiled and buried his face into his father's coat again, though he still watched her every move from the corner of his eye.

"Where is Aoife," Riordan asked, echoing Cora's thoughts.

Felicity huffed, a wry smile on her face as she set her cup on the table. "She went out to Mrs. Hughes', muttering something about helping her with the washing."

"I suppose Nate has gone with her?"

"Aye," Felicity said, a knowing look on her face as she shook her head. "Like he always seems to do now."

"Does he?" Felicity nodded, and Riordan laughed as if there was some secret joke that Cora was missing out on. Turning to her, he explained. "Nathan has kept his distance from our dear sister all these months, all intent on being respectable though he is obviously besotted with her."

"Well, he has abandoned all propriety now, following her around the way he does... Like some lovesick boy, I tell you!" Riordan laughed at his wife's words, shaking his head. Though a smile passed Cora's lips, this other bit of knowledge only made her feel somehow more alienated. Though she knew her brother and his family were doing their best to make her feel welcomed, somehow she could not shake the feeling that she did not belong here, in this place where others had created new lives she was not part of. Though she knew that things would be different, she had not imagined it would be like this... Imagining Aoife sneaking off with a man was something so out of character for the sister she once knew that she wondered if she would ever be able to come to terms with how much had changed.

As if sensing her discomfort, Riordan stood, setting Benjamin on the floor. "Shall I show you to your room?" Nodding, Cora stood and thanked Felicity for her hospitality before heading towards the stairs. Her back turned, she missed the uncertain, worried look that passed between the couple. All the same, Riordan grabbed some of her things and led her up the stairs.

"I suppose it is strange for you," he said softly as he opened the door to a room, setting her things against the wall. "To come to terms with being here again, and how different things must be..."

"I will manage," she said, her voice far off. The bed was surprisingly well made, the mattress seeming to be stuffed with feather or down instead of straw. Oddly, she had not imagined her brother so well off, though she supposed there was no reason for him not to be. From what she had gathered, the farm and business were lucrative, and from the new addition to the home she supposed there was no lack of funds. As she sat on the bed, she remembered the many nights she had slept in this very room, having shared it with her sisters. It was all too surreal, like she was existing in some dream world or alternate reality.

Sighing, Riordan put his hands on his hips, shutting the door behind him. "We should talk about what happened," he said quietly.

Though Cora had so far been rather closed off, fire sparked in her gaze at his words. "That is not your business," she said sharply. Though Riordan had not meant to cause offense, he could not let it go – not for his sake nor Connor's, and most importantly not for hers.

"You should have told him," he said. Though his words were gentle and tender, obviously not meant to reprimand or scold, Cora could not keep from taking offense. "And you should not have lied to me about it, I could have helped."

"I do not need your help, nor the pity which lays so evident upon your face," she said pointedly, though her voice seemed to waver underneath the anger.

"He did not deserve that, and neither did you."

At this, Cora stood, pacing as if ready to explode. "You don't know Oliver," she hissed. "I did what I did to protect him, to protect you! You have no right to judge me for it."

"I'm not trying..." Trailing off, he sighed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. Raising his voice would get him nowhere. "What happened with Oliver, anyway? I thought things were under control."

"Well they aren't," she said, dropping onto the bed. "He captured me when I was in Boston, made threats against Connor, against the Homestead, against you. I know him, and I know at this point he will not linger somewhere if I am not there. Between coming here and looking for Aunt Nuala, he will have to keep searching."

"Why didn't you just tell him? You could have found some other way."

"Do you really think I didn't think of that? Do you really believe me so stupid? Do you think I would have done this if I didn't think there was any other way? It kills me that I have hurt him."

"Cora..."

"Just leave me be," she said, laying back on the bed and closing her eyes. She heard Riordan sigh again, obviously not wanting the conversation to finish, but eventually he left anyway, shutting the door a little too forcefully behind him. When he was gone, she turned on her side, wishing to cry but for some reason finding she was unable to. It was as if here, in her old bedroom in the home where she had come into the world, she felt more a stranger to herself than ever, and more alone than she ever imagined she could be.

Cora had been laying in bed when she heard the door open. Felicity had been up to tell her that supper would be ready soon, but she had declined, saying she was too exhausted from the journey and felt a bit sick. Her sister-in-law had obviously not bought it, but she had smiled and told her to feel better, anyway. Yet instead of sleeping away her problems, she found all she could do was stare up at the ceiling, and so she had taken to doodling in her sketchbook, which also proved rather fruitless.

At first when she heard the door open she assumed it was just her brother, but then she heard two new voices and sat up, listening hard.

"The war is won!" one had said, the voice muffled by the walls. "The British have surrendered!" It is over, she thought to herself, wondering how the next months would play out, both for the Assassins and for the new country.

"We heard it straight from the mouth of a soldier who had gotten word from his command," the other said. It was only when she heard the second voice that she realized a man and woman had arrived. In her absentmindedness, she did not put two and two together. Her brother had spoken to one of them in hushed tones, and Cora had heard a muffled sob from someone. It was then that she realized her sister had arrived. Closing the book, she stared wide eyed at the door, everything seeming to slow down as she heard someone come bounding up the stairs. Before she knew it she was standing, and as the door opened, the book slid from her hand.

Aoife was breathing heavily, but seemed to freeze as soon as she set eyes on her sister, one hand still resting on the doorknob. The two women said nothing, neither able to speak or even breathe as they observed the other. As her sister's eyes looked over her, Cora wondered how it was possible for a person to look so different and yet also so much the same... She had always been beautiful, but now as a woman of twenty-two, she was a vision indeed. Aoife had taken after their mother, with her blue eyes and angular face. Her red hair was pulled back into a bun, a few curled strands hanging loose around her face. Her face was pale and dusted with freckles, the only feature they really shared, which Cora had no doubt her sister still despised. To her surprise, looking upon her face was the first comfort she had felt since her arrival. Though she could sense the changes that had transpired in the years since she had last seen her, she felt as though the person before her was someone she still knew.

Aoife, on the other hand, had no such experience. She had last seen a wild, stubborn rush of a girl, yet before her stood a woman. Dark eyes framed by dark hair, it had always been hardest to tell that they were sisters. Truly, when they were young Aoife had thought of Radha as an unsophisticated, hopeless annoyance. They had been so different, in both looks and temperament, but the kinship she suddenly felt was stronger than she'd ever thought possible. Unable to voice any of her thoughts, perhaps even unto herself, Aoife crossed the room and threw her arms around her sister, clinging to her as if she might slip through her arms. At first, her response was stiff, but as she felt her sister return the embrace, Aoife could no longer hold back the tears that had built up for so long. She had no idea how long they stood together, saying nothing but somehow communicating all that needed to be said.

As Aoife cried into her shoulder, Cora felt oddly safe and whole. Though she and her sister had never been close, the warm, tearful embrace was suddenly the only thing about this entire situation that finally felt like home. Indeed, she already could tell that in six years apart, Aoife had changed from that stern, rigid older sister. Perhaps what stirred her most was that there was something about her presence that reminded her so much of their mother.

At the sound of footsteps, Cora opened her eyes, only to see Riordan coming through the door. He looked at her hesitantly, assuming she was still angry with him for their argument. Though she was, she could hardly cast him away at a time like this. As she breathed in, she managed the slightest smile, and as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around them both, she almost didn't notice the tears upon his cheeks.

In the days after her arrival, Cora settled into the mundane tasks of their everyday life with a surprising ease. Oddly, she almost relished the chores and tasks, as they kept her mind off of other things she did not want to dwell on. It still unsettled her to see how much everything had changed, but she was learning to cope with the pangs of yearning and grief that hit every now and again. Reminders came at such odd times, while hanging the clothes on the line or even when waking to the smell of bread. Life in the house she grew up in was filled with memories like this, memories that snuck up on her without warning.

Perhaps most odd was that she found herself laughing and jesting with the rest of the family on an ordinary basis. Even so, her nights were spent in anxious longing, and though she tried to put Connor from her mind, he seemed to linger no matter what she did. Days were spent wondering what he was doing, nights wishing he was beside her. The worst thing was knowing what he must think of her. No doubt he now thought of her as Myriam did – as a temptress, a liar, consumed only with herself... Often, she wondered if she had made the right decision. It would have been so easy to have told him everything, to have figured things out and made a plan with him. Yet where would that have left them? What danger would that have brought upon the people they knew and loved? Oliver had already sent men into the homestead after her... There was no doubt he would follow through if she had not left.

Though she did laugh and playfully entertain her nephew, unhappiness was still festering within her. Aoife had attempted several times to engage her in a conversation about what all had happened in their time apart, but Cora could not bring herself to have it. Though her sister meant well, she seemed to speak of it all as if it were some grand adventure, some great story to tell the masses. How could she speak of all that had happened if Aoife did not understand the seriousness of it all? Sometimes it seemed to her that their roles as children had been reversed. When they were young, Cora had been the adventurous one, the dreamer. Now, between her activities in the war and her blossoming relationship with the soldier, she was the one who seemed to spend her days in grand idealism. Watching the stolen glances between her and Nate only made her dwell more on Connor. Though she was certainly glad that her sister was happy, it only made her more numb to it all, as if she was watching someone else live in place of her.

As the days went on, the easy bliss of the first few days began to wear off, and the change in her mood did not escape the notice of those with whom she now shared her life. Felicity at least had the sensitivity to treat the situation gently, and respected her desire not to talk about things, often changing the subject when Riordan or Aoife pressed her too hard. Nate usually sat around uncomfortably when such things were brought up, his normal witty, bold personality being overshadowed by the awkward discomfort of family squabbles.

Sometimes, Ben seemed her only true companion. The innocence of a child had no desire to overpower or coerce, and he seemed rather content to take her hand and show her the animals or his favorite blade of grass. However, she could not avoid the questions forever. After all, the Reillys were nothing if not persistent and stubborn, and Aoife seemed convinced to get something out of her.

She had been there near ten days when her sister finally cornered her, coming into her room just as she was preparing to get into bed. Aoife slipped through the door before Cora could protest, her long hair hanging loose down her back. Sighing, she plopped onto Cora's bed, propping her head on one hand as she watched Cora work her hair into a braid.

"Where should I start," she mused. "I assume Riordan has already told you what happened after Father was shot." Cora felt herself jolt at the bluntness of her words, and she dropped her hands from her braid, trying to hold back the sharp look she wanted to give.

"What is this about?" she asked wearily.

"Well, I have decided I will tell you my side of things since you seem determined not to tell me yours." Rolling her eyes, Cora propped her hands on her hips.

"How considerate," she said dryly. Sensing that she may have been a bit too forward, Aoife sat up again, sighing.

"I don't mean to upset you. I just wish you would talk to me. I am your sister, after all..."

Cora was too emotionally exhausted to entertain her, and her words came sharply. "Some things are not easily shared."

"Even with me?"

At the hint of hurt in her sister's voice, Cora felt her heart soften, and she turned, giving her a gentle look. "Even with you," she said softly.

At this, Aoife nodded, pursing her lips in reluctant acceptance. "Will you hear my story, at least?"

"Of course I will," Cora said gently, willing to give at least that much. Trying to lighten the mood, she took a seat next to her elder sister, nudging her arm with her elbow. "I have been dying to hear how this situation with Nathan came about," she teased. Instead of blushing, Aoife only laughed, shaking her head as she stared off into the distance. Cora had no doubt she was picturing his face, imagining his touch or the sound of his soft words. After all, she herself had borne that look so many times...

As Aoife's smile faded, Cora knew she was thinking of their father. "Well... I suppose Riordan has told you what happened when we returned that day, and his side of what happened after," she said, her voice thick with remembrance. "We hardly knew what to do at first." Sighing, she bunched the fabric of her shift in her hands. "All my time was spent caring for Father in his recovery. Riordan tried to earn any kind of living. Even after Father had healed enough to go about things on his own, I didn't leave the house much. I could not bear the looks of pity I received everywhere I went... I could always hear their whispers. 'Oh, that poor girl, that poor family!'," she imitated, her voice so exaggerated that Cora had to stifle a laugh. Through the slightest smile, Aoife continued. "So I became resigned to it all, left my propriety for boldness, as I am sure you are more than happy to hear."

Cora nodded. "You always were wound a bit too tightly," she teased. Aoife rolled her eyes. "Anyone could be called proper when compared to you rolling around in the mud every day as you used to," she shot back, making them both laugh. "In a way I suppose I hid behind my boldness, taking no pity or snide comments from others. It was the only way I could deal with it, oddly enough. Eventually, when we thought you were truly lost, we moved on as well as we could manage. Father rarely left the house. If illness hadn't taken his life, I have no doubt the sadness itself would have. I don't think I can remember him smiling in those years." Cora looked down, a lump growing in her throat. Imagining her father in such a state was so painful. All her life she had known his great bellowing laugh, his teasing and lightheartedness. To picture him so broken... It was impossible to bear.

"Eventually I met someone. Father was happy to know I would be cared for after he was gone, and encouraged the relationship even when I had my doubts. Then, the war began to really reach us. I became engaged around the same time I began to take up for the Patriot cause, which drove a wedge between us, since he was a Torry. Father's death was my breaking point. I was so unhappy, and though I wanted to go through with the marriage because it was what he had wanted, I broke it off anyway. It was a huge scandal," she laughed. "Anyway, I kept on helping the Continentals however I could. Sometimes they'd pass through, and I would organize lodging and food, provide a place for the injured, that sort of thing."

"Is that how Nate came to be here? Riordan told me he was injured..."

Aoife nodded. "I was walking home when a group of soldiers came out of the woods, dragging a body along with them." Bristling with excitement, she turned toward Cora. "They were being chased by a group of Redcoats and begged for me to find a place for their injured man. I brought them here, and just as we lay him down we heart the shouts of the Redcoats. As the soldiers snuck out the back, Felicity and I rushed to remove his uniform and wipe the blood from his face. We scarcely managed to finish before they knocked on our door. Everything after that was a bit of a blur. They barged in, demanded to search the house. Felicity was so level headed, coming up with an excuse for everything. It was all very exhilarating. Once they left, we did all we could, but were sure he would die from how much blood had been lost. Somehow he made it through, and we... We developed a bond," she said softly, suddenly seeming far away. "There was laughter and teasing, and I helped however I could while he regained his strength. And we shared what we had seen, what we had lost..." As Aoife spoke, Cora found herself thinking of Connor, and how true those words had been for them, as well. "And eventually, I grew to love him," Aoife said, a light blush touching her cheek.

"I am happy for you," Cora said, laying her hand on her sister's.

"Enough of me, there will be plenty of time for that later," she teased. "What of you and your grand adventures?" Cora sighed, wondering if her sister had already forgotten all about the earlier portion of their conversation. Suddenly, Cora felt so old, her soul so weathered, robbed of the ability to be carefree in the same way her sister was. "Come, tell me something! What things have you seen? How many men have you loved," Aoife continued, laughing as if she truly thought Cora had been part of some glorious adventure.

Only one, Cora answered silently. And from how I left things, he is not like to ever wish to see me again.

Aoife shifted, poking Cora's thigh as she turned toward her with a mischievous look on her face. "Riordan said there was a man at the place where you were staying."

"Did he? What else has our wonderful brother told you?

"Ah, I see," her sister said, brushing her hair behind her shoulder. "Was he a good lover, then?" Cora swatted her hand away, rolling her eyes. "I'm sorry, I only jest," Aoife said, catching the bitter look in her sister's eyes. "Besides, he already told me that there was nothing between you." At this, Cora turned to face her sister, a look of shock passing over her face. Why would he have said such a thing? It was certainly not his place to speak of her personal affairs, but to tell such a lie... Suddenly she found herself confused and angry, and though part of her wanted to question Aoife to see what exactly their brother had told her, another part wished to be alone.

"It is no matter," Aoife said, brushing off the silence as though she had not noticed anything amiss. "Won't you tell me of your life?" Though she spoke gently this time, Cora could hear how eager she was to get a word from her. Truly, she knew her sister only wished to share in her memories and get to know her, but in that moment she found her persistence unbearable. Though she had tried to behave, Cora could no longer entertain Aoife's cheerful, optimistic sensibilities.

"Life has been cruel to me," she said, her gaze fixed ahead. "It takes and takes, and gives nothing in return." Finally, her sister grew quiet, unsure how to respond to the blunt, harsh response. Guilt crept into the pit of Aoife's stomach, and just as she began to form an apology for pushing her sister too hard, Cora stood.

"It has been a long day," she said, turning to face her with a lifeless stare. "I should sleep, and so should you."

"Cora, I..."

"Please," she whispered. For a moment, Aoife saw the look of despair that passed over her eyes, but it was gone almost as soon as she recognized it, replaced by a gaze void of any feeling whatsoever. "Please go."

Nodding, Aoife left without a word, and Cora fell onto the bed, dropping her head into her hands. None of this had gone how she had imagined... And Riordan! Unable to wait until morning to address his words, she threw the door open and went to find him. As she descended the stairs, she caught sight of Riordan and Felicity sitting at the table speaking softly to each other. When Felicity's eyes met hers, the woman got to her feet, seeming to already understand the determined anger in her sister-in-law's eyes. As she fled the scene, she gave Cora the slightest of sympathetic smiles, and Cora cursed her, albeit unfairly, for softening her anger.

Confused by his wife's sudden departure, Riordan stood to call after her, but when he caught sight of Cora he held his hand up as if to cover his eyes. "You could have put some clothes on, dear sister," he said, half teasing and half serious. Perhaps she normally would not have dared appear before him in only her shift, but her anger was not a patient thing. Pushing his hand away, she raised her chin and stared him down.

"What did you say to Aoife?"

Alarmed by her sharp tone, Riordan was already defensive when he spoke. "What are you talking about?"

Scoffing, she pressed her lips together in a look of near disgust. "She told me you said there was nothing between Connor and I, and-" Riordan sighed, looking away as if he had been waiting for this to happen.

"Cora... I have been thinking, and it is better this way, to pretend it never happened. You don't need him anymore. You don't need his protection and support. You have your family now, and we will provide those things. You only need-"

Offended, she took a step back. "How dare you tell me what I need," she said in a low voice. "How dare you presume to know anything about me!" Unable to even look at her brother, she turned her back on him. She could hear him sigh again, as if to pity her for being so weak and tenderhearted, so young and foolish. Eyes narrowing, she turned back once more. "And one more thing. I certainly do not need your offer of protection. That offer has come six years too late," she said, her words crafted specifically to wound. Not bothering to wait for the look of hurt in Riordan's eyes, she climbed the stairs and slammed the door behind her, able to feel nothing except the weight of her mistake.

November, 1781

Reminders of her were everywhere. He saw her in the contents of his drawers, the clothes she had left behind, and in the herbs she had so carefully grown in little pots by the kitchen window. Her smell had lingered upon the sheets for a day or two after she was gone. Shamelessly, he had even once pressed his nose to the pillow, inhaling any last trace of her. Perhaps it was to find some closure, or maybe it was because part of him refused to accept that she was not coming back.

After a while the dog, which had followed her around like a duckling followed its mother, seemed to begin to mourn her, sulking around the manor as if he was as upset as Connor. Perhaps it was pity, or some strange feeling of comradery, but Connor found himself paying extra attention to the animal. Between Achilles' insistence that the dog not come into the house and Connor's own indifferent feelings, he had never payed much attention to Fionn. After Connor had returned to find that the dog had somehow snuck into the manor, he found himself unable to send him away. Since then, Fionn had seemed to attach to him like he had Cora, following at his heels or curling up at the foot of the bed.

Fionn was the only one who seemed to acknowledge Connor's feelings. The rest of the people on the homestead either acted like Cora had never existed or avoided him all together, no doubt unsure of what to say. Norris had been the only one to come close to addressing the situation, and only to ask if he was alright. Not wanting to face their pity or their attempts at cheerful small talk, Connor had kept mostly to himself, spending most of his time organizing trade to and from the Homestead, answering correspondence from the other Assassins, or continuing to work on his plans to find Lee again. Keeping busy was the only thing that seemed to keep his mind off of Cora's departure. He had had many days to think on it, yet still he did not understand. Her words had not felt genuine, and Connor did not believe them any more now than he did when she had first said them. Still, the fact that she had decided to leave suddenly without giving a reason was reason enough to make him question everything that had happened between them. No matter how hard he tried, he could come up with no plausible situation where she would have left without an explanation. And though he tried to deny it, both to others and to himself, her absence had left him more distressed than he had been in a long time.

As for Achilles, it seemed that Cora's departure had coincided with another downturn in the state of his health. With the old man confined to bed once more, Connor was beginning to worry. Though Lyle and Diana seemed to think he might recover again, somehow this time felt different, and Connor could not escape the looming fear that Achilles would never rise from his bed again. Connor had expected the old man would call him a fool for how he had sulked about the manor, but he never did. For a while he thought the illness had softened him, but Achilles had proved him wrong almost immediately with his insistence that Connor continue to work to find Lee and make up for the ground he had lost.

Today Achilles was in better spirits, and when Connor came in to check on him he was sitting up in bed reading some old book. Upon hearing Connor's approach he lay the book down and set his gaze upon his face. Though he never addressed it, Achilles could see plainly how much Cora's departure had hurt him. He had known the affection between them was great, but perhaps he had underestimated just how deep their feelings ran. It was only when Cora had left that Achilles truly realized how much Connor loved her.

Though he knew the boy would not want to talk, he found himself unconcerned with his reluctance to divulge his feelings. "How are you today," he asked.

"You sound better," Connor commented, a look of relief on his face. The boy's attentive care and worry had not escaped his notice. It was no surprise that he had been so concerned lately, especially after all that he had already lost. Achilles knew his time was coming, and though held no bitterness toward the idea of his life coming to an end, his one regret was that he would be another on a list of those Connor had lost. For all his foolish confidence and stubborn rashness, he had come to care deeply for the boy. Sometimes it still surprised him to see the man that stood before him instead of the eager youth of many years ago. Connor had changed, indeed, and Achilles could not help but be proud of all he had done.

"Do not try to distract from my question," he warned, motioning for Connor to sit. Instead, he leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest with a sigh.

"There is still so much to do, and every hint of where Lee might be has given no promising result. I had been hoping to find him before winter, but now I fear it will be much longer." Achilles nodded grimly, disappointed to hear that Lee was still nowhere to be found. For Connor's sake, he could only hope that the fortunes of the Assassins would soon begin to improve.

Sighing, Achilles leaned back against the pillows. "That was not what I meant," he said. Connor shifted uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the floor. "Do you truly think I have not noticed how much this has affected you?"

"It is nothing," he said. Though his voice was steady and confident, nothing could cover the obvious regret in his eyes. "We have both made our own choices, and we must live with them."

"Connor..."

"I should go," he said, pushing away from the wall. "I promised Faulkner I would meet with him to discuss more plans for the Aquila. I will let Diana know to check in every now and then if it takes longer than anticipated." Achilles said nothing as Connor left the room, knowing now was not the time to press him. Perhaps his illness had made him more tenderhearted than usual, for Achilles found it was hard to bear the melancholy that had settled over the manor.

Oliver had been eagerly awaiting any news from the man he had sent to Cora's little hideaway. Jeremiah Hunt was by far the most skilled of all the men at his disposal. Trained specifically for missions that necessitated a level of secrecy and forbearance, Hunt had already proven invaluable. Perhaps most useful was his loyalty – when ordered, he was patient, persistent, and best of all, merciless. So many had already failed to capture Cora, or to detain her long enough for Oliver to arrive. He himself had even failed in his attempt to use her emotional attachments to lure her back. If there was anyone who could finally carry it out, it was Hunt and the small party of men he commanded.

When Thomas had told Oliver that Jeremiah had arrived, he had been elated, expecting good news. Instead, as soon as the man entered the room he knew there was nothing yet to be glad for.

"Unfortunately, I do not bear news that will please you," Jeremiah said, obviously unhappy that he had to admit to any kind of failure. "She has left the Homestead, and despite all my attempts to find out where she went it seems no one truly knows. All I know is that she departed in the company of her brother, but their destination remains uncertain." Oliver sighed, clenching his fists as he leaned over the table. No more, he thought to himself. This game of cat and mouse ends now.

When he did not respond, Jeremiah spoke again. "Shall we carry our your threats against the townspeople? No doubt it will draw her back," he suggested.

"No," Oliver said sharply, standing tall. "That will only waste time." Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine where she would have gone.

"What shall we do, sir?"

Opening his eyes, Oliver stepped forward, looking into Jeremiah's face with a cold determination, as if to make him swear upon his own life that this time he would be successful. "Find her. Take your men, but bring no one she would recognize. Bring her to me, through whatever means necessary. I am through with games." After a nod and a promise to complete the mission he had been charged with, Jeremiah turned to go.

"And Hunt?"

At the sound of his name, the he turned back. "Yes, sir?"

"Kill anyone who gets in your way."

A/N: Sorry once again for how long it's been. My summer class was much more time consuming than I had thought, and coupled with my continued writer's block it didn't make for a very productive month. Also, as some of you may have noticed, I have shortened my username to . But rest assured, it is still me! Thanks to Guest, Lupa94, and Sarahkenwae06 for your reviews. Sorry you had to wait a bit longer for the chapter!

Bones McCoy - Thanks for your encouragement! It's so relieving to hear that you don't mind the longer update times too much! Sometimes I get so worried that I'm disappointing everyone with my slow update times but what can you do.

annalavega - I so appreciate your review! Thank you so much for the kind words about Cora! I agree, it was pretty disappointing that things had to happen how they did. Even as the author, I often find myself wondering why she does the things she does. Sometimes, it feels as though she has a mind of her own, haha!