Chapter Twenty-Seven;

Prudence

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."

Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

The First of December, 1781

Winter had settled over Boston. The first snow had already arrived, and the cold temperatures were merciless to the unprepared. It seemed that in the time between each winter, Connor managed to forget just how deeply the cold seeped into one's body despite numerous layers of clothing. The heat from Stephane's hearth was more than welcome when he returned to his house. The warmth washed over him as he entered, shaking the snow from his coat as he removed it.

"Where is Victoire?" Stephane asked. Connor had gone to fetch her so they could begin to discuss what lay ahead, but she was nowhere to be found.

"She was not there," he replied. Stephane sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. He had wished to begin as soon as possible, and was obviously anxious for her and Duncan to arrive.

"Duncan has not arrived, either. No doubt they are together," Clipper said with a wry smile. "One can only imagine what mischief they have found themselves in that has them so delayed." Stephane slapped Clipper on the back of the head, obviously displeased with such implications concerning his sister. Before Clipper had time to return the gesture, Connor spoke up.

"Should we wait for them?"

"No," Stephane said, moving to the window to see if they were in sight. "I do not wish to waste any more time. They are already aware of most of what I must tell you and Clipper. Any further decisions can wait until their arrival, if you wish to hear their input." Connor nodded, taking a seat next to Clipper, whose hand was still cradling the back of his neck.

"As you know, we have been trying to discover information about Lee's location. Just before I sent the last letter you received, I sent a novice to look into a warehouse that seemed to be attracting a significant amount of Templar activity. She returned to say that she had discovered tunnels beneath the warehouse, and heard someone discussing a person of high priority that they would be protecting within the coming days."

Connor furrowed his brow, considering Stephane's words. "Do you believe it to be Lee?"

"We do not know," he said. "It could well be a trap. The novice said at one point she thought the guards had noticed her, and it was only after this that they began to speak of such things. And a tunnel? One way in, one way out..."

"A perfect place for an ambush," Clipper commented, obviously concerned by the information. As if on cue, Victoire and Duncan burst through the door, full of apologies for their tardiness.

"Have you been waiting long?" Victoire asked, taking a seat next to her brother.

"Stephane was just telling us about the tunnels," Clipper said softly. "What do you think?"

"I think it is worth it, if Lee is there," Victoire said. "I know Stephane disagrees with me, but if there is a chance Lee is there... We should take it."

Clipper frowned, leaning toward her as he spoke. "And risk ambush?"

"Yes," she said confidently, staring at Connor as if she knew he would agree. Though he knew he should take the cautious route, he could not pass up the opportunity.

"I agree with Victoire."

Stephane nodded grimly, as if he knew this would be the result. "Very well. If you choose to go forward with this, I urge you not to go alone." Connor nodded in agreement, and Stephane continued. "I propose three of us enter the tunnels, with the others remaining outside the entrance to guard against any who might enter or attempt to trap those inside. If nothing is found, we should immediately withdraw. Are we agreed?"

All those seated at the table nodded, some more reluctantly than others. "Very well," Connor said, standing to address the group. "Rest as much as you can. We leave before dawn."

The tunnels were quiet, and Connor could not tell whether this was an ominous or promising sign. He, Duncan, and Stephane moved about quietly, taking out the few Templars that guarded the passageways as quickly and quietly as possible, so as not to raise alarm.

"I thought there would be more," Duncan said softly after they had gone several yards without coming across any Templars. They were deep into the tunnels now. Though they had not been able to secure a map, Connor suspected that the end of the tunnel system – and therefore Charles Lee – was close at hand. Though they still had not detected any more guards, no one dared put away their weapons.

Then, through the silence, the three men detected the first sounds of footsteps. Yet this was no ordinary patrol route... Connor could tell the person was running before they ever came into view. When the Templar finally rounded the corner to face them, he stopped for a moment as if surprised to see them there. Connor and Stephane prepared to engage the man, but he disappeared around another corridor that led toward the exit, sprinting away at what seemed like full speed.

"Should we pursue?" Duncan asked, looking perplexed at the guard's actions. Usually, they tried to fight or raise the alarm. Rarely, if ever, had a Templar guard fled at the sight of them. As Connor listened to the man's footsteps recede into the depths of the tunnels, he felt uneasiness wash over him.

"No, we should be close enough to where Lee should be quartered," Stephane answered.

They pressed on silently, each even more aware of their surroundings than before. Now, the tunnels were completely silent, save for their breathing and the occasional drip of water.

"Something isn't right," Stephane said, obviously feeling the same ominous disquiet that Connor was.

"We are almost there," he said against his better judgment. "We may as well be sure that he is not here, and try to learn what more we can." Though Connor had begun this mission full of hope that Lee would finally be found and killed, after entering the tunnels he soon accepted that Lee was likely not there. There was no way the man would hole up in such an unsecure location. Still, it was likely that he had been here at some point. Connor hoped that they would be able to find something that might lead them to where Lee really was.

When the door to the room at the end of the tunnel came into sight, Connor noticed a soft hissing noise. "Do you hear that?" He asked softly. Stephane stopped, listening carefully as Duncan moved closer toward the door.

Stephane cocked his head, trying to discern the source of the noise. "It sounds like..."

"A fuse," Connor said suddenly. As he took a step toward Duncan to call him back, a large explosion threw him violently to the ground.

When he came to, his ears were ringing so loudly that he could scarcely hear Stephane's voice despite the fact that he could see him speaking. Stephane's bloodied face was above his, and when Connor opened his eyes, he was visibly relieved. He helped him to his feet, and though Connor was disoriented and in pain, he was evidently well enough to walk around.

Duncan, on the other hand, was still laying motionless on the ground. He had been much closer to the explosion, and when Connor knelt next to him, he could see that he was in serious condition.

"We have to get out of here," Stephane said. "The explosion may have made the tunnels unstable..." Connor nodded, still struggling to think clearly through the fogginess of his mind. It was as if he was thinking of nothing at all. Somehow, he and Stephane grabbed Duncan beneath each arm and began to drag him out, but though Stephane was speaking to him, Connor could not understand his words. His feet blurred in front of him, and when the sunlight first emerged at the end of the passageway, he suddenly became aware of his splitting headache.

He could hardly remember having walked all the way back to the entrance of the tunnels, but when they arrived someone else took his place at Duncan's side, leaving him to stumble after them. Once they were outside again, Clipper wrapped an arm around his waist. It was obvious that Connor was not in good shape, either. His eyes seemed glassy and vacant, and his steps were unsure. As they approached Stephane's house, Clipper left Connor's side in order to get the door for those carrying Duncan. Connor tried to follow them in, but before he could make it over the threshold he found himself needing to lean against the wall. His ears had begun to ring loudly once more, and the world seemed to spin before him.

The next thing he knew he was waking up in Stephane's room. Victoire leaned over him with a damp rag, though she set it aside when she realized his eyes were open.

"How do you feel?"

Connor didn't bother to answer. He felt awful, in more ways than one. Besides the splitting headache and an extremely sore shoulder, he felt terrible for leading the others into such danger despite knowing the risk of ambush. "How is Duncan?"

"He is fine," she said, sitting back in her chair. "He is resting now, but the doctor says he will not suffer any lingering effects. It was just a few deep lacerations and a good impact to the head." Connor sighed with relief. "Your head seems to have been rattled as well," she said, offering him a cup of water, which he gulped down all at once.

"What happened?"

"Stephane was right. It was a trap... We believe Lee was probably there at some point, but left before we could advance. They lured us right in," she sighed, displeased with herself for suggesting they move forward. "Luckily, you were far enough from the explosion that none of you were seriously injured."

Connor sat higher against the pillow, groaning when he leaned too hard on his arm. "I feel as though I was."

"Only rest will help that, mon ami." Connor nodded in response, though he did not look at her. Instead, his eyes seemed glued to the ceiling, but Victoire was sure that his mind was in some other far off place.

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know," Connor said, sounding genuinely exhausted. It was no wonder... He had been so devoted to finding Lee, and had experienced so many disappointments. Still, Victoire knew he would never give up until Lee was dead. For Connor's sake, she hoped that death came sooner rather than later.

"I suppose I will return to the homestead," he continued after a while. "With no leads, and Achilles so ill..."

Victoire nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder at the mention of Achilles' condition. "We will contact you as soon as we find anything more, and when he recovers there will be more than enough work for you to do," she said, trying to reassure him.

Victoire was quiet for a moment, as if unsure if she should say something else. "Is there anyone you wish for me to call on?" Though she spoke gently, Connor knew what she was really asking. As much as he wanted to say no, he could not. After all, as he lay there, his temple throbbing and body aching, all he truly wanted was Cora's soothing touch, the comfort of her presence. It seemed that despite everything, he still loved her.

Unable to conjure up the words to deny this, he sunk back into the bed, closing his eyes.

Victoire sighed, shifting impatiently in her seat. "Connor..."

"Please, Victoire," he said. "I am tired." There was something in the way he spoke that let Victoire know not to press the issue, no matter how much she wished to. The entire situation drove her mad. It was obvious that they loved each other, yet they had let such small things drive them apart...

"Do you not think this has gone on long enough?" She said, suddenly unable to bear it.

"What?"

"You love her, Connor. What else is there?"

"She made her choice. Quite clearly." Victoire scoffed at his response, wondering how two such stubborn people had managed to love each other in the first place. She did not believe for one moment that Cora truly desired to leave. How could Connor not see that?

Before Victoire could reject such nonsense, Stephane's hand fell on her shoulder and he gave her a hard look. "This is not the time," he said softly, motioning for her to leave him be. Victorie pushed his hand away, but left the room all the same. It seemed that Connor was intent to be miserable, and if that was his choice, there was nothing she could do.

The weight of the child in her arms stirred her heart like nothing ever had before. His face rested against her neck, his body limp from sleep. Cora swayed back and forth as she held him, pressing her lips against his head and smoothing his hair with one hand... Dark hair. Like his father's, she thought. His father...

As if on cue, she felt a hand against her shoulder, and the man smiled as he ran his thumb against the child's arm. Connor. Something deep within her told her that this was a dream, but it did not dishearten her, for it felt as real as anything she had ever experienced. Leaning in, he kissed her softly, his fingers settling at the small of her back, holding her close. She smiled as he pulled away, holding out his arms for the child. Though the boy was no longer an infant, his father cradled him as if he was. Somehow, she knew he was near two, a sweet boy bearing her own father's eyes. And there was another... Yes, an elder child. A girl, the spitting image of Connor, but with Cora's defiant spirit.

A voice took her attention from the child, and she as she turn, she saw them vanish in her peripheral vision. Yet she did not have time to fret, for the child was now a man before her, tall and strong as he dismounted his horse. "Mother," he called, smiling broadly as though he had not seen her in some time. As he came striding toward her, she wondered how it was possible to see so much of herself in the features of another person, and at the same time see so much of the man she loved, as well. As she stretched her arms out to receive him in an embrace, she woke.

For a moment, she closed her eyes again, trying to fall back into the dream, but it was no use – she had woken amidst pain and blood, her body so cruelly forcing her back into reality. She groaned as she sat up, throwing back the blanket to reveal what she knew had happened. A lump grew in her throat at the sight of blood, but she knew not why. Was it gladness that her monthly bleeding had resumed? Relief that this meant she had never been with child at all? Or perhaps she felt like crying for the disappointment in that same fact, mourning for a child that had never existed. She dressed slowly, fighting to keep her breathing steady. It was as she stripped the sheets from the bed that she lost control. At first, the tears came silently, though she was having a hard time discerning what exactly she was crying about. Perhaps it was just an accruement of all that had happened since she last allowed herself to cry... It seemed most likely the loneliness she had bottled up since her arrival here, the regret, the anger, the longing... She was filled to the brim with such things, and now they were spilling over the top.

Despite her tears and ragged breaths, she managed to move quietly through the house. Dawn was very close, but the house remained still, quiet with slumber. Dumping the sheets in a heap by the front door, she headed for the well to draw water to rub the stains out as best she could. The menial chore helped to calm her mind, and eventually she felt her breath begin to grow steady once more.

Engrossed in her task as she was, she did not notice Nuala approaching from the house. Her Aunt had just woken when Cora moved through the house, and the sound of crying had alerted her. Though Cora seemed to be fine at first glance, there was something in the furious way her hands scrubbed the fabric that made Nuala wonder what had happened. As she came closer and saw the water clouded with blood, she realized why Cora was scrubbing so intently. Upon hearing Nuala's footsteps, her niece turned her head for a moment, quickly resuming her work as soon as she recognized who it was.

With a heavy heart, Nuala knelt next to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Cora... You should not be doing this."

"I did not lose it," she said, never looking up. It seemed as though Cora had already removed as much as the stain as she could, and was now only scrubbing out of frustration. "There never was a child."

"Are you disappointed?" Nuala asked simply.

At this, Cora finally stopped. "I don't know. I shouldn't be..." After flicking the water from her fingertips, she wiped the excess on her apron. "I'm not," she said finally, though Nuala was sure there was both disappointment and relief behind her words.

Nuala took her niece by the shoulders, turning so that she could look her in the eye. "You should go back."

Recoiling from her touch, Cora stood. "Why would you say that?"

Nuala got to her feet, reaching for Cora's hand. "Because it is evident to all that you are not happy here."

"That isn't true... I have what I wanted. I found my family, and -"

"And you will always have us," she said gently, before shifting into a more serious tone. "But you have a choice to make. Find happiness here, among us, or find happiness with the life you built with him." She could see that Cora was not happy with the way she had spoken to her, but if all Nuala's years had taught her anything, it was that sometimes bluntness was necessary. "Do not condemn yourself to an unfulfilled life." Cora's face softened for a moment, but then her expression steeled once again, and she drew her hand away.

"Don't you see? I have no choice. Not anymore."

Several Weeks Later

In the weeks since Connor had returned to the Homestead, Achilles' health had only deteriorated. Lyle did not believe the old man would make it through winter, and though Achilles had come out of bad spells before, Connor couldn't help but agree. Death seemed to hang in the air, always threatening to manifest itself. It was as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing he would be pushed off but unsure of exactly when.

To make things worse, it seemed that no one had any certain knowledge about where Lee had gone. From the messages that Stephane had sent back, it was as though Charles Lee was simultaneously everywhere and nowhere. Between this news and Achilles' condition, Connor felt helpless. Though he could have gone to look for Lee himself, he did not have the heart to leave Achilles – at least not until after the winter.

It was the idleness that most bothered him. Though he tried to keep busy around the Homestead, he couldn't help but feel that Cora's companionship would have made it so much more bearable. Part of him hated that he still pined for her. The other still harbored hope that she would return, that she had not meant anything she said. What hopes he did have, he tried to put out of his mind. They were futile and foolish, and only distracted him in a time when he needed focus.

A knock on the door stole him from his thoughts, and he got up to answer it, oddly thankful for the distraction. Besides Lyle and Diana coming to check on Achilles when they could, many citizens of the Homestead came to ask about his condition or offer their assistance if Connor needed it. This time, though, when Connor opened the door he was surprised to see who stood behind it. Instead of the usual Prudence, Ellen, or Norris, it was Myriam who had come. He stared at her wordlessly, surprised that she would seek him out. Though they had never been at odds with each other, Cora had often kept Myriam away.

"I brought this for you," she said after a moment, shoving a basket into his hands. It was obvious that she was uncomfortable, but Connor was unsure how to settle her when he felt the same way himself.

Connor lifted the cloth that covered the basket, revealing freshly baked bread. "You shouldn't have," he said, unsure what else to say.

"I didn't," Myriam was quick to say. "Prudence sent me along... She was held up and wasn't able to deliver it."

"Thank you. It is appreciated."

Myriam nodded, trying her best to keep the conversation going despite the awkwardness. "How is Achilles?"

"No better. Lyle says it is only a matter of time..."

At this, Myriam looked down, obviously disheartened. She had always cared for the old man, and the two seemed to share a close bond compared to anyone else. "Perhaps he will pull through once more... We can only hope."

"Indeed."

Myriam sighed, realizing that the awkward small talk would not get her where she wanted to be. "Connor... There is something I have been meaning to speak to you about."

"Come in, then," he said, opening the door wider so she could enter the house. Though he was wary of what she might wish to talk about, he could not deny her request.

Connor led her to the kitchen, where he set the basket on the counter. "I wanted to apologize for the way I have treated you," she said quickly, before Connor had even turned around. "I should have been more thoughtful of you... I'm afraid sensitivity has never been my strong suit."

Connor could see that she was genuine. Myriam was all pride and stubbornness, and if she had come to apologize he knew it was sincerely meant. "It's alright, Myriam."

"And... There's something else. About Cora." At this, Connor looked away. Cora was one thing he had no desire to talk about. "I know I just apologized for not letting her go, but... I saw something in Boston that I thought you should know."

Looking up at her, Connor attempted to tell whether she was genuinely trying to help him or if this was just another attempt to sully Cora's character. Either way, he founded himself nodding in agreement for her to continue.

"I know you will probably discard my words because of the way I have acted, but please hear me out. When we were in Boston together, I saw her speaking with a Templar. I think his name was Thomas."

When Myriam had started to speak, Connor had only listened half-heartedly, sure that she would just try to lecture him about Cora once again. But this... Cora had told him nothing of this. Connor did not know Myriam to lie, but it was hard to believe that she would have neglected to tell him of a meeting with Thomas, of all people.

"But the conversation was too cordial... almost as if they had met there purposefully."

"Myriam, you have no idea-"

"And then," she said, talking over his objections, "he told her to send you the regards of Charles Lee, and I saw her nod..."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I think she is a spy, Connor."

Scoffing, Connor crossed his arms. "Based off of one conversation?"

"I admit I may not have ever liked her, but I do not make this suggestion lightly. Think about it, Connor. How else did they know you were coming that day at Fort George? Why else is it that every time you got close to any Templar, they seemed to slip away? And then she left as soon as I confronted her. She must have feared I would tell you about what I had seen, and-"

"Myriam, please. That is enough."

Myriam sighed with frustration, leaning against the table in front of her. "I understand why you hesitate to heed my words. All I wish to do is tell you what I know. What you decide to do with that information is up to you."

Connor did not respond, and Myriam took it as her cue to leave. Before she opened the door, she turned back once more. "You are a good man, Connor. You were a friend to me from the beginning, and all I wish is to help you in whatever way I can. I just want you to be happy. We all do..." Connor turned away from her, unsure how to take the news she had given him. He stood there a few minutes after she left, unable to make sense of it. He couldn't believe she would betray him... He refused to. It didn't make sense!

And yet, all he could think of was her words as she left... I was a fool to let myself become so distracted that I lost sight of what I have to do. He thought she had meant finding her family, but what if she had come here to infiltrate the Assassins, only to find that she began to care for him? Connor sat down, covering his face with his hands. It was all too much... Achilles, Lee, and now this... He didn't know what to believe anymore, didn't know what to feel or how to move forward. All he wanted was to talk to Achilles, to sort through all that had happened, but even this was not to be. Now, he was truly alone. Regardless of the truth of Myriam's accusation, all that was left was to complete his mission – to find Charles Lee, and kill him.

In the weeks since her talk with her Aunt, Cora had begun to find contentment. Though she still felt lonely and struggled to feel like she belonged in her brother's household, things had improved. Perhaps hitting such an emotional low had caused her to look at things from another perspective. For so long, all she had wanted was to come home. It seemed that she had finally begun to understand that the home she had pined for was a place that no longer existed. Like all things in life, people and places evolved and changed into something that would have once seemed foreign and strange.

When Riordan had first arrived and seen her so different than the sister he once knew, he had struggled to come to know her as she truly was. In the same way, Cora was only beginning to accept that there was happiness to be found in this new family, as well. And though she still spent many nights wishing to return to Connor, she started to make do with the situation she had found herself in. More and more days were spent in laughter and lightheartedness, and though she still had a ways to go, she began to feel some hope for the future.

Even so, she knew she could not fully rest until Oliver was dead. The knowledge that he was still out there consumed her. Sometimes it felt as if he was behind every corner, under every hood... He was always watching. Always waiting. It wasn't only for herself that she feared, but also for her family. The thought that he would eventually find them lingered perpetually in the back of her mind, never granting her a moment of peace. It was this that made her wish to end things as soon as possible, but Riordan had refused to address the situation at all. Cora had a mind to just leave and take care of things on her own, but she could not do that to the others. It seemed she was caught between her independent wishes and the desire to be true to her family.

When Riordan finally approached her, she was reluctant to hear him out.

"Can we talk?" He asked as she hung the laundry to dry.

"Only if you help me with this instead of standing there and watching me work," she said sharply, though she was truly only teasing. Riordan said nothing, stepping in and handing her items from the basket to hang on the line.

"Look... I know things have not been easy between us since we came back," he began. Cora scoffed softly, looking him out of the corner of her eye. That was putting it mildly... "I suppose I have been a little too controlling."

"A little?"

"Perhaps a lot," he conceeded reluctantly. "Anyway, I know you wish to finish this business with Oliver, and I do not blame you for it." At the mention of Oliver, Cora stopped her work, looking her brother in the eye. "I know you do not need my permission to go, but... I just wish for you to consider my request."

"Very well," she sighed, resting a hand on her hip.

"If you could only wait until spring... The baby will have arrived by then, and I can better support you in whatever way you wish. You can meet your niece or nephew, and will have some time to rest before you go on such a mission..."

"I don't know, Riordan..."

"Please, Cora. I know it would mean a lot to everyone here."

Cora sighed, shifting her weight. "I don't think you understand. The longer I stay here, the more you are put at risk. I could never forgive myself if something happened to any of you."

"They could find us whether you are here or not."

"I know that," she said pointedly.

"Just... Think about it," he said. "Please?"

"Alright," she agreed, "but I'm not making any promises." If she was being honest, Cora knew he spoke true. At this point, it likely made little difference whether she stayed another few weeks or another few months. If Oliver wished to use her family against her, he would find them all the same. At least if she was here she had a chance at protecting them. Besides, the winter snows were already coming at full force. It would be difficult to travel in such conditions, especially since it would take much longer now that she was unlikely to get much help from the Assassins. Perhaps Victoire would keep an eye out for her, but without any other connections she was unlikely to be able to utilize their resources. Though she hated to admit it, it seemed as though her best option was to do nothing – at least for the time being.

A/N: I know the story has been rather slow lately, but fear not! It shall soon pick up.