Chapter Thirty;
Revenge
"Oh lift me from the grass!
I die! I faint! I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast; -
Oh! press it to thine own again,
Where it will break at last."
Percy Bysshe Shelley, The Indian Serenade
October, 1782
As the ferry approached the docks, Connor could just make out Charles Lee through the fog and mist of the morning. He stood calmly, talking to some other person Connor did not recognize. Did Lee truly believe that he would get away so easily? Perhaps past experiences had rendered the man too bold, free from the caution or sense that he should have carried as a leader of the Templars.
As the ferry advanced toward the docks, it seemed to drift ever more slowly with each minute that passe. Connor paced back and forth, his eye locked onto Lee's form as the man continued in his discussion. No matter how much time had passed since their first interaction, Connor always went back to it – that first memory of Lee, when he was a child and they had found him in the forest. That day had marked him forever – marked him for a life of struggle, of solitude, of loss and pain. Yet now, all of that seemed of little consequence. As the ferry crossed the last few feet of water before softly hitting the dock, memories flooded into Connor's mind. Meeting Achilles, his first time in New York, his battle plans and conversations with Lafayette… The day he had learned the truth of what Washington had done. Joining with his father, and then killing him. Doing all he could for his people, yet feeling like he had betrayed them. And Cora… Damn it all, he still thought of Cora.
Banishing her from his thoughts, he stepped off the ferry. There had been so much loss, so much death… Kanen'tó:kon, his mother and father, Achilles, his people… This moment would rectify their deaths. He would not fail. When Lee noticed him, he took a step back as if truly shocked that Connor had found him. As Connor started toward him and Lee turned to run, he could feel the finality of this moment – only one of them would leave from this place.
Cora had been in Philadelphia for too long. Once again, familial obligations had postponed her plans to act against Oliver. Though Maebh had weathered the journey well, infection set in not long after their arrival. For several days Maebh was in a serious condition, and the doctor was unsure if she would make it. Cora spent nearly every moment by her side, and though Nuala tried to soothe her aching heart by telling her it was not her fault, she could not cast away the guilt.
By God's grace, Maebh did recover. Yet though her body had begun to heal, it seemed her spirit had not. Though she was somewhat serious by nature, she now spent her days in somber solitude, rarely speaking and never smiling. Cora tried to get through to her, but it seemed an impossible task. Her sister's natural introvertedness had turned into complete withdrawal. Cora saw herself in this, especially if she thought of who she had been years ago, when she had forced herself to push away her emotions in the name of self-preservation. Yet though Cora understood this better than anyone, she struggled to get her sister to see that there was another way. It was this that left her feeling even more guilty that before. Not only had she failed to keep her sister physically safe, but she was failing to preserve her mind and heart after what had happened to her.
Maebh spent most of her days reading and resting. Considering the nature of the wound and the infection that had followed, the doctor that Nate's family had called was unsure if she would lose her sight in that eye. Between the puffiness and the forming scar tissue, it was still mostly swollen shut – only time would tell.
As for Cora herself, she found herself again ensnared in the web of domesticity. Nate's parents were rather well off, and owned a large farm on which all of the family members did their part. Most of Nate's siblings were grown and had homes of their own, but two younger sisters still resided there. Between the two families, there were fourteen people sharing the space. Despite the fact that Mrs. Lawson ran a large manor with many rooms, it often felt crowded, though both of Nate's parents went out of their way to ensure they felt at home.
Yet while Riordan, Aoife, and the others may have been content in their false sense of security, Cora was not. She knew that Oliver would find them eventually, and she could not abide the thought. Now that Maebh's recovery had entered a more stable phase, she knew it was time for her to end things once and for all.
When she told her brother of her decision, he tried to talk her out of it. "Would you consider waiting until the winter is over?" he said, all too familiarly.
"Now where have I heard that before?" she teased. "Besides, winter has scarcely begun."
"They are forecasting heavy snows. I have heard parts of Canada have already seen several feet, and we are to see our earliest snowfall in remembrance." Cora rolled her eyes at his chatter. If this was his attempt at talking her out of it, he was doing a poor job.
"Riordan," she said, sighing. "You can't put this off forever."
Her brother leaned against the wall, looking at her with a reluctant acceptance, as though he knew she was right but couldn't bear to admit it. "Can't you find contentedness here?"
"You know I cannot! Not while Oliver is still alive. I may pass my days in happiness, but the knowledge that he is still out there... Knowing all that he has done and gotten away with... It haunts me by night."
"Perhaps revenge is not the answer," Aoife said from across the room.
Cora narrowed her eyes. It seemed that no one truly understood what she must do. "This is not revenge. This is justice."
Aoife sighed, setting her embroidery aside as she stood to face her sister. "Cora, please listen."
"No, you listen! I have tried again and again to explain what happened to me, and what I must do because of it, but none of you care to understand. I will never be who you want me to be," she said, more desperately than angrily. "And I will never be able to live the life you wish for me until this is done."
Aoife crossed the room and wrapped her sister in a tight embrace. "Alright," she said, trying to hide her tears. Riordan gaped at her, but she payed him no mind. It was true that Aoife wished for nothing more than for her sister to be happy, to pass her days unburdened by the knowledge that she and those she loved were in danger. In this, Cora had been right. And though Aoife didn't want to let her sister walk into dangers that were unknown to her, if there was any hope of Cora living a full life, she knew this was the only choice.
Charles Lee was dead, and Connor felt nothing. He should have been relieved – elated, even. Instead, he could barely even form a coherent thought. Perhaps the numbness he felt was the disbelief that it was finally over. That, or it was the gaping wound in his side, the disorientation rendering him unable to think or feel. He stumbled out of the tavern, his hand clutched at his side and the warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingertips. It took the entirety of his strength to pull himself onto Eksá:'a's back. Making it to the homestead was his only chance of survival.
He marked time by how many times he drifted in and out of consciousness. By evening, he finally realized he would not make it to the Homestead in such a condition. Grabbing his bag, he slid from the saddle, landing on his back with a hard thump. With shaking hands, he stitched the wound as best he could. His screams somehow sounded muffled to his own ears, as if he was listening with his ear pressed to a wall. When he was finished he lay back, teeth chattering from some unknown cold that seemed to grip his body.
As he lay there, the likelihood that it would all end here became increasingly evident. Would anyone find him? Mourn for him? He thought not. All those dear to him were long gone, one way or another… He had already lost everything – what more was there to lose except for his own life?
After her argument with her family, Cora had hastily left in order to avoid being coerced to stay once again. Her sisters had held her tightly and given her their love. Aoife tried to conceal her fear, but in the end her tears betrayed her. Felicity had put in extra effort to ensure that she had all she needed for her journey, and Riordan had managed to overcome his pride in order to bid her goodbye, even if it was a rather pitiful effort.
It was Nuala's words that clung to her as she rode to New York. "Do not let revenge overcome you," she had whispered as she embraced her. "For sometimes it is a cycle that proves impossible to break." Part of her knew that her aunt's words were true. She herself had been caught in that very cycle of hatred and bitterness, and she remembered well where it had brought her. But this was different… Like she had told them before, this was more than revenge. She would not deny that it had started off as an attempt to fulfill some personal vendetta, to right the wrongs that had been done to her. Though part of her still wished to kill Oliver out of pure vengeance, there was something else that motivated her as well. To think that he was out there causing more harm to others was something she would not tolerate.
When Cora arrived, Victoire greeted her with excitement, as if this were any other visit. It was one of the things Cora so loved about her. Victoire's ability to be happy in even the darkest of circumstances was something that she so dearly admired. Indeed, it had sustained her through healing and heartbreak, and Cora did not know what she would have done without her.
"How is your sister?" Victoire asked once they had settled down.
"Physically, she looks to be improving. There is still much unknown, but the doctor is more optimistic than before."
Victoire nodded, a mix of relief and concern in her smile. "But…"
"But she has withdrawn within herself, and I fear I will not be able to draw her out again."
"Perhaps she only needs more time," Victoire suggested. "I remember that I feared the same when you were first recovering…"
"I suppose," Cora said sullenly. Though she knew Victoire was right, it didn't stop the fear that she was responsible for hardening her sister's heart to the world. Sighing, she took a seat, eager to focus on what she came here to do. "What of Oliver?"
"I know where he is," she said with a nod. "This time I am certain. I have seen him with my own eyes, and we have taken every care to ensure he does not suspect us," she explained. "There is a small compound just north of the city in which he has taken refuge."
"Is there a way in?"
"I have thought of a few possibilities," she said, leaning towards her as if to divulge a secret. "If you played it well enough, you could pose as a guard by night and move more freely through the compound. I also believe there is a way to smuggle you in with a supply cart or perhaps during the changing of shifts."
Cora nodded, considering her words. Part of her wished to storm the place, but if she wished to succeed she knew she would have to muster all the careful patience that she possessed.
"Or we could always burn them out," Victoire laughed. Intrigued, Cora looked up. Her expression did not escape Victoire's notice, and the woman shook her head. "You cannot be serious."
"He will know it is me, Victoire," she said eagerly, leaning one arm on the table. "I know he will."
Victoire huffed, looking at her friend with genuine confusion. "And that is good?"
Cora sat back in her chair, raising her chin as she spoke. "If I am to kill him, I want him to know it is coming. I want him to feel the terror, the helplessness of knowing what is coming and being unable to stop it."
Victoire gave her an uneasy look, as if Cora's words had made her uncomfortable. "Cora…"
"I do not need another lecture about the merits of forgiveness," Cora said sharply, though she immediately regretted using such a harsh tone.
"I was not intending to lecture you. I just…" After a moment, she fell silent. "If this is what you wish for, I will put my plan into action."
Cora nodded solemnly, urging her on.
"On one side of the compound there are buildings that provide the perfect spot for Clipper to provide cover, in case you were to need it. As for the infiltration itself, there are many scenarios… We could drive them out somehow or you could attempt to go it alone, but each time I was there I observed many guards. I think perhaps the best way may be for us to help you from afar, and when there are fewer men left you can strike the final blow."
"Who else knows of this?"
"Dobby, Clipper, Jacob, and Jamie are prepared to take action as soon as I say the word. Stephane agreed to lend Assassin support, especially as Oliver is a target of interest."
Cora hesitated before speaking, not wanting to give away her emotions, but her curiosity overcame her. "And Connor?"
"Is far too busy with Lee to think of anything else. He delegated most decisions to Stephane for the time being." Cora nodded, losing her focus for a moment as she wondered where he was, what he was thinking, or feeling…
"Very well," Cora continued. "When do you think is the best time to strike?"
"I do not see any benefit in delaying it. Oliver could leave at any moment, and I have seen no indications of a weakness such as a change of guard. If you are agreeable, we could do it tomorrow."
Cora had hoped there would be minimal waiting, but to think that only one night separated her from the day she had longed for... For a moment, she could not tell if the grip on her heart was from fear or exhilaration. Nodding, she looked her friend in the eye and wondered what Victoire saw looking back at her. Did she see fear? Anger? Perhaps she saw nothing, for oddly enough, that was what Cora felt within her. A cold, resigned nothing.
Always observant, Victoire rested a hand on her friend's shoulder. "What troubles you?"
"I do not know," she said, sighing.
Though Victoire always saw when Cora was troubled, she also knew when she was telling the truth. "You know I am here if you ever wish to talk about anything."
"I know." Victoire gave her a reassuring smile before grabbing her coat from the chair.
"I will go gather the others so that we may discuss the finer points of the plan. Will you be alright here?"
"Of course. I think I may take a walk to clear my mind."
Victoire nodded. "Take care. I will see you when I return."
The two women departed, each heading in a different direction. The night air was quite cold, and as Cora walked the streets it felt as though it was getting colder with each passing step. Still, the brisk cold helped to clear her mind and settle her heart, and when she turned back she found herself oddly at ease.
A familiar voice broke her calm, stopping her cold in her tracks. "Cora?" Turning, Cora set eyes on none other than Ezekiel, who looked at her with a mix between horror and regret.
"Ezekiel? What are you doing here?"
"I have been working with Victoire for some time to help her gain information about Oliver's hideout…" He spoke slowly, realization creeping onto his face with every word. "She told me you were in Philadelphia…" Cora watched him carefully, unsure of the intentions behind his tone.
"I was," she said slowly. "I have returned to finish what began long ago."
At this, Ezekiel huffed, looking at her as if she had just told him she was planning to overthrow the government itself. "Cora, please. You cannot do this!"
"And why not?"
"You cannot win! Even now, Oliver dreams up horrible schemes for you. Your best bet is to leave, to go west, anything to get away from him."
"I have been running long enough. I will not give him the satisfaction of it anymore. I will finish this or die. Either way, I refuse to live at his mercy any longer."
"My God, Cora!" he said desperately, waving his hands at her as if it would somehow make her more receptive to his words. "Let this go! If not for yourself, then for your family! For the memory of Henry!"
"I do this to honor Henry," she said firmly. "I do this to protect my family, and anyone else that Oliver might harm in his grasps for more and more power."
Shaking his head, Ezekiel stepped back. "I told Victoire this was madness, but to know that it is you who will do it… What happened to you? You used to be able to recognize a lost cause when you saw one. Perhaps your time with the Assassins has changed that…" Cora said nothing, still unsure why Ezekiel was taking such interest. "I suppose you must decide which Cora you will be," he mused. "Henry's… or Connor's."
Cora scowled, refusing to be referred to in such a manner. "I belong to no man, to no cause, to no order. I am my own, and I will do as I think is right."
"Even if it leads to your death?"
"It isn't only about me," she said. "It is for those he has harmed, and those he will harm if he is left to his own volition. I am prepared to give whatever is required to prevent that – including my own life." It wasn't until Cora had spoken the words that she understood how true they were. Death had always been a possibility in the back of her mind, but until now it had seemed improbable. It was only as she spoke it aloud that she realized how real a possibility it truly was, and how inevitable it felt. Even more, she was surprised how little the thought affected her. Perhaps it was because she truly did not fear death, or perhaps deep down she felt that giving her life was a purpose she could finally fulfill. Cora did not wish for death, but it was only now that she finally accepted the notion of it.
In any case, Ezekiel sighed, finally relenting. After wishing her well, he turned and vanished into an alleyway, leaving her with an odd feeling of annoyance and exhilaration. The night had grown even colder than before, so she turned back toward Victoire's. She had expected to immediately begin planning the finer points of the mission, but the sight of her brother seated at the table stopped her dead in her tracks. Victoire pressed a hand against her temple at the sight of Cora entering the room, sighing as though she had failed at removing Riordan before she returned. Dobby, Clipper, and the others sat in the other room, pretending not to be aware of what was going on.
Cora stood in the doorway in silence, her mouth ajar as she tried to figure out what in God's name her brother had going through his head this time. Beyond the initial shock at his bold interference was pure anger. Had she not told him a thousand times that he could not save her? That she was capable of protecting herself? That he had a family that needed him? He himself knew the pain of losing a father, and Cora could not understand why he was so willing to cause his own children the same pain. As the shock wore off, Cora slammed the door in anger, staring her brother down with a cold, furious glare.
Riordan stood, holding his hands up as if in surrender. Victoire sighed again, looking apologetically at her friend.
"What are you doing here," Cora asked sharply, as if every word were a dagger she threw toward him.
"Will you not listen to what I have to say?"
"I have listened long enough," Cora said. She did not notice as Victoire slipped from the room, shutting the door behind her to give the siblings some privacy. "I have heard your every selfish warning, your every word of anger toward one you do not even know, and every ignorant supposition of my mind and experiences. What more can you have to say?"
Riordan nodded, as if accepting her condemnation as a true and righteous verdict. "I deserve that."
"Then what the hell made you think you had the right to follow me here?" At this, Riordan sat down once more, studying his palms as if they bore the answer to her question. After a few moments of tense silence, he looked up at her.
"I was afraid," he admitted.
"And what could you have to be afraid of?"
"I was afraid of losing you," he said in a soft voice, looking down at his lap as though he was afraid she would rebuke him once again. Instead, Cora sighed, softening at his admission. No matter how angry she was, she could not stay in such a state for long after hearing someone express their vulnerabilities. Somehow, it was both a vice and a blessing to her.
Cora took the seat next to her brother, which he took as encouragement to continue. "I can't lose you, Cora… None of us could bear it. I know you and I have struggled, but I only want what is best." Cora scoffed, and Riordan sat back, wincing at his own words. "I understand that I have not gone about it in the right way, but… You are my sister."
"Your sister," Cora repeated sharply, looking her brother in the eye. Softening, she lay a hand on top of his. "Not your daughter. We are both grown up. We should protect each other as equals, not as one trying to dominate the other and bend her to his will under the name of protection."
"I understand that now," Riordan relented, taking her hand between his. "But I failed on my part once. I could not bear to see it happen again. I know I cannot convince you to abandon this mission, but… perhaps I can convince you to allow me to come along."
At this, Cora pulled her hand away, gritting her teeth as she tried to keep a level head. How many times would she have to explain the dangers? Though her brother surely meant well, he did not have the experience or knowledge to face such a foe. Could he not understand that keeping him out of this was her way of protecting him?
"Riordan, listen to me," she said earnestly. "You do not understand what we will face. Those men that took Maebh? They were nothing compared to the men that I seek to kill. Can you not see that I am trying to protect you, too? I know you wish to keep me safe, but you cannot do so forever. I must make my own decisions and follow my own path. This one must be traveled alone."
Riordan sat back again, staring out into the distance as though lost in some thought. "Will you at least permit me to wait for you here?"
"As long as you swear to stay here and not go after me," she said, half teasing.
"I so swear," he smiled. "But you must promise me something in return."
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"Promise me you will do everything in your power to come back alive. Even if you forget it, you have a family that loves you."
"I will," she said softly, though she was not sure she was being completely sincere. As her brother embraced her, whispering an apology in her ear, she thought again of death.
When Myriam rounded the corner, the riderless horse was the first thing she saw. Standing, she placed one hand on her hip, shielding her eyes from the sun with the other. Perplexed at the unusual sight, she started toward the animal. It was only then that she realized the horse was Connor's. When she reached the mare, Myriam took the reins, looking around to see where she had wandered off from. Connor must have returned without her knowing... He had been even more reserved than normal since Cora's departure. It seemed the woman kept taking and taking, even after she was gone.
When Myriam moved to the mare's side in order to give her room to walk, she realized that all of Connor's things were still attached to the saddle. That was odd... Usually he saw to his horse's needs first thing when he returned... Myriam's heart began to sink into her stomach. Something was wrong, of that much she was sure.
As she turned back to call to her husband, who was still engaged in conversation with Dave, thunder rumbled in the distance, as though nature herself was confirming Myriam's fears.
"Norris," she called, grasping the reins even tighter. Her husband, observant and attentive as he was, immediately knew that something was amiss. After excusing himself, he jogged over to her, searching her eyes as he spoke.
"Is something wrong?"
"I fear that something has happened to Connor..." Norris furrowed his brow as she spoke, his eyes drifting to the empty saddle. "She was wandering around alone," Myriam explained. "It's not like him..."
Norris nodded. "I am sure there is an explanation," he said. "Perhaps we should return her home and see what is going on."
Myriam nodded, and Norris put an arm around her shoulder as they began to walk away. Lightning struck the horizon, and something deep within her told her to turn back, if only to put her worries to rest. When she looked back, at first she saw nothing. It was only by chance that she saw a boot sticking out just beyond the bridge. Wrenching herself away from Norris, she jogged to the bridge on order to get a better look. She slowed as she approached, as if afraid for what she would see.
Yet though part of her hoped beyond hope that she was wrong, she knew that it would be him – and it was. Connor lay crumpled upon the road, one arm sprawled out as if reaching for something just beyond his grasp. Screaming for Norris, she sprinted toward him, dropping at his side. For a moment, she could not believe what she was seeing.
It was only Norris' words that seemed to speak it into reality. "Mon Dieu..."
Connor's jacket was torn to shreds. Blood stained his entire right side, from his chest to his pant leg. It looked as though someone had tried to sew the wound, but it was raggedly done. Though Myriam had never thought herself easily disturbed by blood, she found it hard to look at without becoming rather woozy. Trying to set her queasiness aside, she pressed her ear to his chest, hoping to hear his heart beating. When she couldn't make it out, she became frantic, pressing herself harder against him as though that would somehow make a difference.
"Try his neck," Norris said, pressing two fingers just beneath his jaw as she had seen Lyle do many times. Myriam held her breath, watching and waiting for an answer. "I think I feel it," he said softly.
"Go get Lyle," she managed to say as she took Connor's face in her hands. To Myriam's eyes, he already looked dead. Only the feel of his hot, sweat stricken skin beneath her fingers gave any notion that he was actually alive. "Don't just sit there," she yelled, unsure what to do. Norris nodded, fumbling as he got to his feet. It was plain enough that he was as terrified as she was, but only Lyle could help him now.
When Lyle finally arrived, he brought half the townspeople with him. It took four men to lift him onto a cart and carry him into the manor. So many were crowded into the room that Diana had to physically herd them out into the hall. Somehow, Myriam had been allowed to remain.
"Help me with his clothes," Lyle directed, beginning to remove the belts that held his weapons as Myriam unbuttoned his shirt with shaking hands. As she worked pulling the sleeves from his limp arms, she could hear Diana ordering someone to bring strips of cloth, and others to boil some water, among other things. Part of her wondered if these items were actually needed or if Diana was just trying to get rid of the crowd without making them feel completely useless. When she looked over at the crowd of people watching them from the hall, she could see Norris staring back, looking rather pale himself. Whether from worry or queasiness, she could not tell.
Once the area was clear, Myriam took a step back as Lyle and Diana examined him. "He is very feverish," Diana said, her brow furrowed as she lay the back of her hand upon his cheek.
"I fear the wound has festered," Lyle said grimly. "It looks as if..." Lyle paused, as if horrified to even speak the words. "It looks as if he tried to stitch the wound closed on his own." Myriam had expected as much, but she could not bear to imagine such a thing... "Either way, whoever did must have left debris in the wound. It must be opened and cleaned."
Ellen gasped from the hall, covering her mouth with her hand. Myriam could see the streaks of tears across her cheeks, and it seemed that she was not the only one who was so deeply affected. Warren held his wife's shoulders as if clinging to her for dear life, and she could scarcely remember a time when she had seen Norris so afraid. Even Oliver, normally so optimistic and cheerful, had wiped his eyes on his sleeve after hearing Lyle's grim diagnosis. As for Myriam herself, she found she could feel nothing. Despite their strained relationship of late, Connor was the closest thing she had to family – save for her husband, of course. It was he who had supported her way of life, who had soothed her fears on her wedding day and walked with her down the aisle. It was as though he was her brother... She surely had been protective of him as any sister would. To see him lying there so close to death rendered her speechless, emotionless... Hopeless.
Lyle turned to the crowd watching through the doorway. "I would suggest that you head home," he said, peering up through his glasses. "There is nothing more for you to do now. If you wish to stay, you must stay quiet no matter what may happen." As her neighbors began to disperse, Myriam turned to Diana.
"Should I leave?"
"Only if you wish to, dearie," she said softly. "If you do want to stay, it would be nice to have someone to fetch things if need be." Myriam nodded and moved to the foot of the bed, watching as Lyle prepared his instruments. When he was ready, he nodded to Diana. With a solemn look, he pressed the blade to Connor's wound. Myriam sucked in a breath at the first sight of blood and pus running down his side. Yet just when she thought she had steeled herself, Connor's eyes flew open and he screamed, thrashing about the bed as he struggled against Lyle's hands.
"Help me hold him down," Lyle grunted, bracing his weight against Connor's shoulders. With every movement, more blood gushed from his wound, staining the bed sheets a bright red beneath him. It took all five of them to keep him from grabbing at his wound, but their attempts to keep his arms at his sides only seemed to throw him into some state of terror.
"Connor, it's Lyle White," the doctor said in a loud, calm voice. The panic in Connor's eyes eased as he spoke, but Myriam could tell that he likely did not know where he was. "You have been injured, and the wound is infected. We must remove the debris or it could continue to fester," he explained. It seemed to calm him slightly, or perhaps the burst of energy had already worn him out. Lyle took this as a sign that Connor was aware of his surroundings. "Did you try to close the wound on your own?"
"Please," Connor rasped, trying again to grab at his side as he threw his head back, groaning in pain. "Please don't..."
"I don't think he knows where he is," Diana said as she lay a hand against his cheek once again. "The fever has him delusional."
Though Connor writhed and groaned from the pain, he seemed at least to be less panicked. "Cora," he said, staring up at Lyle with renewed fear, as though he had just remembered something. "Where is Cora?" No one said anything for what seemed like several minutes, leaving Connor to repeat her name as they each waited for another to take the lead. No one could bear to tell him the truth. Myriam stared at him for a moment, her heart softening. Perhaps she had truly underestimated how much he loved her.
"Connor," Diana began, speaking cautiously, "Cora is-"
"On her way," Myriam finished, leaning closer. She could feel everyone's gaze upon her, no doubt full of shock. "Catherine has gone to fetch her," she said gently. Before there was any time to gauge his reaction, Norris handed Lyle a bottle of whiskey, and he tipped Connor's head back as Diana urged him to drink.
When he finally began cleaning the wound, Connor required restraint once more. His screams tore at Myriam's heart, and though she considered herself a reserved person when it came to most emotions, she found it difficult to bear witness to such a wretched sight. Connor fell unconscious halfway through the procedure, and Myriam was thankful for it, for both his sake and her own. When she stepped away from his limp body, Norris lay a hand upon her shoulder. She leaned into him, too emotionally exhausted to let her pride keep her from accepting comfort.
"Wood splinters," Lyle said, shaking his head as he deposited another onto a cloth. "I have no idea how he would have sustained such a wound..."
"Will he survive?" Norris asked. Myriam lay a hand upon her husband's neck in a gesture of comfort. Norris considered Connor his closest friend, and she knew how terrified he was. How terrified they all were...
"I wish I could say yes, but I do not know," he said as he began to stitch the wound closed. "It is a grave injury..."
The confirmation of their fears pushed everyone into silence. The five of them said nothing as they worked to clean the blood from his skin, remove his boots, and do what else they could to make him more comfortable. When they were finished, Myriam volunteered to stay with him. Norris insisted on staying as well, and after making them promise to fetch him if he woke up, Lyle took his leave.
The two of them sat in silence for a while, processing all that had happened. Every so often, Myriam would go to Connor's side to ensure he was still breathing, as though she were a mother checking on a newborn child. His fever seemed only to be getting worse, but all she could do was wipe his brow with a cool cloth, and it made her feel helpless.
"Let me," Norris said as she got up from her chair to check on Connor once more. When he was finished, he knelt by her side and took her hand. "He will be alright, Myriam. I can feel it." She nodded in response, looking away. As always, her thoughts could not escape Norris' notice. "Is something else wrong?"
"I fear that it was I who forced Cora to leave. I confronted her, and we argued, and now... Now it has led to this. Perhaps if she had been here this wouldn't have happened."
"You are not to blame, Myriam."
"I know, but I still feel guilty," she confessed. Just then, Connor stirred in his feverish stupor, and Norris went to check on him once again. Myriam knew that she had been wrong to blame Cora for what had happened so long ago. She had let her anger overcome her judgment, and whether her actions had somehow played a role in this or not, she still acutely felt the burden of the consequences of her pride.
Cora had hardly slept, anxious about what would come. They were to strike at noon, as the nearby bell tower tolled the seventh time. By then, the men within the fort would be swarming into the courtyard to escape the fire. While the others provided cover from above, Cora would take aim from the ground. If all went to plan, Oliver would be dead in moments. Even so, she had gone over a thousand different situations in her mind, played out hundreds of different conversations. Would he grovel before her? Would he weaken her resolve, get into her mind like he had so many times before?
"Are you ready?"
Cora looked in the mirror, not giving Victoire an answer. In her heart, she knew she was ready. She had been ready for this moment for a long time, and yet her aunt's words about revenge still lingered in her mind. Even so, she knew there was no other choice – this was more than only revenge. Perhaps if Oliver had receded into the background, she could have learned to let go, but he had not. And she could not forget, forgive, or let go – not when he still posed such a threat to those around him.
In her own reflection, she did not see a woman struggling with the idea of what she must do. All she saw staring back at her was a hardened woman with a steeled gaze. This was the expression she had carried for so many years in order to survive. For a while, she had been able to cast it away, but now she feared that part of her was lost forever. Regardless, there was no turning back now.
"Yes," she said finally, standing to look at Victoire. Her friend's blonde curls had been fastened into a long braid, not unlike the one that Cora routinely wore. Cora noticed a hardness in her eyes, too, and she wondered what things Victoire had seen to bring such an expression to her normally mirthful face. "I am ready."
They walked in silence to the point that had been agreed upon, the weight of anticipation quieting any conversation before it even began. When they stopped to part ways, Victoire turned to wish Cora luck, wrapping her in a tight embrace. When she pulled away, Cora grabbed her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Victoire... You have been such a dear friend to me. I don't know what I would have done without you."
Victoire smiled sadly, placing a hand upon Cora's. "Stop speaking as if you are saying goodbye," she said.
"I just want you to know, in case-"
Victoire cut her off, unwilling to hear such somber words. "You can tell me when you return," she smiled. Cora relented, laughing as Victoire embraced her once again. "Now go," she said, nodding at her. Cora took a deep breath and as she turned away she did not hear Victoire whisper for her to be safe, as if going back on her own demand not to entertain thoughts other than victory.
Cora could already see the first flames reaching into the sky as she waited in the shadows of the courtyard. After a few minutes, men began pouring out of the building, many beginning an attempt to put out the flames. It was only a few moments before she caught sight of Oliver himself. Obviously angered by the fire, he was yelling orders at his men. As chaos mounted, Cora glanced at the clock of the church just a few blocks away. She could just make out the hands of the clock signaling it was moments from noon. When the bell began to toll, she gripped her knife and began to count.
One. Oliver took hold of the front of a young Templar's jacket, shaking him as he spoke. Two. Cora pulled the cowl over her nose and mouth, standing up straight. Three. Four. Templars began falling to the ground, taken down by the bullets of Victoire and her men. Oliver stood wide eyed, terror gripping him as he searched for the source. Five. She began walking through the crowd. In the confusion, she was not noticed. Six. As she approached Oliver from behind, his closest men began to fall in toward him, as if to form some protection. When she was close enough, she took aim, letting the knife fly from her hand. Seven.
When the knife slid from the tips of her fingers, she felt a gaze fall heavily upon her. Looking to Oliver's left, she realized that it was none other than Jeremiah – the man who had kidnapped and maimed her sister. Though her aim had been true, Jeremiah pulled Oliver from its path. Cora's heart fell into the pit of her stomach as the blade found a different target, striking the young Templar from earlier.
Cora did not let the surprise hinder her. As Victoire continued her barrage from above, Cora quickly took out two of Oliver's guards, then drew her sword, daring not use her last two knives or any bullets in case of emergency. As she drew a path straight toward Oliver, he grabbed Jeremiah and another guard and fled through the gate. As she began to follow, a Templar blocked her path. It did not take long to finish him, but every moment was crucial. She could not let Oliver get away... Not this time.
When she finally burst through the gates, she could see no one.
"Oliver!" She screamed, traipsing through the fresh snow as she searched for him. There was no way he could have gotten that far. "Come and finish this!"
"It is already over," she heard him say from behind. Before she could turn, hands grabbed at her shoulders. Though she struggled and screamed, they forced her to her knees. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as Oliver stood before her, gun drawn. As he pointed it toward her, he smiled.
"I was a fool to let you run," he said. "I see that now." As he spoke, Cora noticed a figure dash across the rooftop just beyond Oliver's head. From the way he took aim, she knew it was none other than Clipper Wilkinson himself.
"You took everything from me," Oliver continued.
"No," she protested, to his surprise. "You decided to forsake all the good things you may have had when you started down this path."
"Easy words from someone about to die," Oliver said through gritted teeth, his jaw tensing with anger.
"Perhaps I will die this day," she said calmly, "but I have known love and friendship, courage and hope. You have known only hatred and anger. You died long ago, Oliver. This shell of a life you have lived is no life at all." Though she had meant these words for Oliver, somehow they hit Cora close at heart as well. There had been a time she had been consumed in hatred and anger and revenge, and it had nearly destroyed her. For once, as she looked upon Oliver's anger, she almost pitied him.
Overcome with anger, Oliver grabbed her by the neck. When he opened his mouth to say something, a shot rang out in the distance and the man to her left fell to the ground. Cora did not have to check to know he was dead. When the man at her right fell as well, Oliver loosened his grip on her, afraid he was next. Utilizing the opportunity, she twisted away from his grip and got to her feet. There was a forest just beyond the road, and she hoped to use the cover of the trees to regain the upper hand. Picking up her sword from where it had fallen, she sprinted to the tree line.
"Kill her," she heard Oliver scream.
Jeremiah hesitated, drawing his gun all the same. "But you said-"
Cora could no longer hear their conversation as she crossed the road. Here, the snow grew deeper, and she struggled to keep up her pace. Bullets whistled past her as the two men pursued, and she prayed she would make it to the trees before one or the other caught up with her.
When she finally reached the trees, she ducked behind a large oak and took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. A quick glance showed that the two of them were gaining on her. If she could only take one of them out... Leaning out from behind the cover of the tree would expose her to their fire, but she had no choice. It was kill one of them now or attempt to fight two of them later. She had to take her chances.
Drawing her pistol, she braced one arm against the tree, leaning out just enough for her to aim and shoot. Jeremiah was closer, but as she pointed her gun toward him, Oliver took another shot. Searing pain blossomed in her right arm, but despite crying out she did not let it stop her. Just as Jeremiah took aim as well, she pulled the trigger and hit him square in the chest. Oliver looked genuinely surprised when Jeremiah fell into the snow, but he continued on, obviously as intent as she was to end this.
Hoping for a better position, she continued deeper into the forest, jumping over a small stream and climbing a hill to claim higher ground. Ducking behind a tree once again, she peered out to keep an eye on Oliver's movements. As she searched for him, she heard the crunch of snow and turned, drawing her sword once again. The tree cover had prevented it from becoming as deep, and she was thankful for the easier movement as they circled each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. For a moment, she considered using one of her remaining knives, but he would see it coming and she could not afford to waste one. Even worse, she was out of ammunition. Luckily, it seemed Oliver was as well. All that was left was a battle of pure brawn.
Neither of them spoke, for there was nothing more to be said. Both of them knew that only one would come away alive, and for the first time she felt an unspoken respect, as though Oliver had finally realized he could be beaten.
Finally, Oliver leapt forward and their blades collided with the familiar clash of steel upon steel. The cycle of strikes and parries went on for what seemed like an eternity before Cora finally disarmed him. Before she could deliver the final blow, he grabbed her shoulder, pressing his fingers into the wound on her arm and making her cry out. She flinched just enough for him to hit her over the head with his pistol, sending her face first into the snow. Cora reeled, her head spinning as she tried to stay aware of her surroundings. Rising to her feet, she drew a knife from her belt and staggered toward him. He caught her first, landing a fist to the side of her face. Cora returned the blow, managing to knock him onto his back. Straddling him, she tried to press the blade into his chest, struggling against his grip in order to do so. Both of them grunted as they fought the other's strength, and soon Oliver managed to turn her onto her back. She struggled as he turned the blade against her, trying to push it away. Just as she thought she was having success at doing so, he ripped it from her hands and plunged it into her thigh, hoping to incapacitate her. The pain was impossible to ignore, and Cora cried out, reaching for her leg as Oliver climbed off of her, smiling.
Wiping blood from his mouth where she had hit him earlier, Oliver went to pick up her sword. When he bent over to do so, Cora slid the last knife from her belt and threw it with all her might, striking him in the stomach. Shocked, he grabbed at his belly and dropped to his knees in the snow. Cora let out a breath as she stood. It was over... It was finally over.
As she made her way over to him, the rush of her victory flooding through her, she picked up her sword from where it lay on the ground. Part of her wished to say something, but she found no words to convey what she felt. Instead, she stared down at Oliver's bewilderment with a mix of pity and pure exhilaration, for he would not harm another person ever again.
Oliver pulled the knife out, pressing his free hand over the wound though it did nothing to stem the flow of blood. With resentment in his eyes, he looked up at her, curses forming on his tongue. Before he could manage any words, he slumped onto his knees, his head dropping as the hand cradling his belly fell limp into the snow. Cora staggered backward, numbness overcoming her. Whether from the pain emanating from her leg or disbelief that Oliver was truly dead, she found that she could not remain standing. She fell to her knees, a cry escaping her lips.
As she came to her senses, she realized she had to get back to Victoire as soon as possible. She was no fool – her wound could be serious, and it was a long trek to the road where she might find help. As she tried to make her way safely down the hill, she felt herself beginning to truly feel the effects of her injuries. Her mind began to cloud, her focus going fuzzy. To make matters worse, she slipped on a rock when crossing the stream and fell into the freezing water.
Though she managed to crawl out, she found she no longer had the energy to get to her feet. The tree line seemed forever away, and for the first time she began to fear that she would not make it. The water, snow, and blood loss quickly took their toll. In minutes, she was shivering violently, and though she had managed to use a tree to pull herself up she was stumbling with every step, using each tree she passed as a way to hold herself up. In her desperate confusion, she pulled the knife from her leg, casting it aside as drops of blood stained the snow.
When she finally made it beyond the tree line, past Jeremiah's body lying in the snow, she caught sight of the road and dropped to her knees, unable to go any further. She had no idea how long it had taken her to get out of the wood... Minutes? Hours? There was no way to know. What she did know was that she could feel everything – the numb tingling in her toes, the pain of every movement of her leg, the throbbing from where the bullet had grazed her arm.
The road was just beyond her reach, yet she found she could not cry out through the dizziness, nausea, and harsh shivering. Afraid she would pass out, she lay back, hoping to regain enough strength to make it the rest of the way. Surely a moment of rest would help. As time went on, though, she found that she had been wrong. Soon, she was fighting to keep her eyes open, willing her body to get up and move. Despite it all, she soon slipped into unconsciousness.
Mina pulled her cloak tightly around her body, trying in vain to shield herself from the wind that seemed to cut through every layer of clothing. As she approached her house, she noticed her neighbor pounding incessantly on her door.
"Anna?" she called, completely unsure what had the women in such a frenzy. "What in the world is going on?"
"Isaac and I were coming back from town and we came upon a woman gravely injured," she said urgently, gripping Mina's arm as if to pull her along.
Mina slid from her grasp, motioning for the woman to follow her inside. "Have you called for the doctor?"
"He is attending to a birth clear across town," she said. "You are all we have." In her home country, she had been a midwife, and therefore had some knowledge of medicine. It was this that led her neighbors to seek her help when the town's doctor was away. Though the bulk of her knowledge and skill rested in the topic of childbirth, she knew how to dress a wound and treat simple ills. "I will do what I can," she said as she hurriedly gathered some supplies, "but if her condition is as serious as you say, I doubt I will be of much help."
As Anna detailed the woman's injuries, Mina replaced the vegetables in her basket with some supplies she might need. After recruiting some men to help transport the woman into town, the women set off. When Mina finally caught sight of the woman in question, it looked to be quite a scene. Anna's husband held the unmoving woman's head in his lap, and it seemed as though a crowd had gathered around them. Someone had draped a coat over her, but as Mina dismounted and set off toward them, she began to fear that the cold had already taken its toll.
"Make way," she ordered as she approached the crowd of spectators. The first thing she saw was the bloodstained snow. Pity overcame her for the poor woman… Between such blood loss and the extent of the cold, she had little faith that her skill would save her.
Yet when she looked upon the woman's face, her heart nearly stopped. "Mein Gott," she muttered. "I know this woman." Before her was none other than Cora. She had taken such a liking to the young woman when she and Connor had stayed at her home, and she could not bear the sight of her in such a state. She was obviously unconscious, her face pale and her lips blue. She smoothed the hair from her face, holding her breath as she felt for a pulse.
A young boy had his hands pressed against Cora's thigh, likely in an attempt to stop the bleeding. "Is she alive, Frau Zenger?"
"Just so," she said, finally coming to her senses. Though she had initially been resigned to the woman's fate, she was now determined to do all she could to save her. Calling Anna over, she turned to the woman and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Listen to me," she told the woman, trying to draw her from the shock of what she was witnessing. "There is a doctor in the city by the name of Jamie Colley. He will help us, but he must be sent for immediately. Can you do this?" Anna nodded, and after Mina told her where to find him, she set off on horseback.
Mina knew there was little she could do for Cora out here. Their best chance was to get her inside and warm her up. Tending to her wound would do nothing if she died from the chill. It took longer than she would have liked to transport the woman back to town, and by the time they arrived she was not sure whether or not Cora was even breathing. Luckily, though she would have to wait for Jamie to treat her wound, she knew how to deal with effects of cold on the body. After the men had laid her in the bed, she set to work.
Now that she was able to examine her more closely, she could see that Cora must have fallen in a stream, as her clothes were soaking wet. "Women only, for the sake of the lady's dignity," she said. As the men shuffled out, the rest of them began removing her wet clothing. After wrapping her in several layers of blankets and ensuring that she was no longer losing blood, all there was to do was wait. Mina paced as she waited for Jamie to arrive, wishing her husband would return, as well. Though she longed for his company and strength during such a time, he and their son were not expected to return until nightfall.
It seemed like hours before Jamie finally arrived, though Mina had no doubt it was far less time than that. "How is she?" he asked as he entered the room, setting his bag down as he knelt at her side, lifting the blankets to examine the wound.
"She seems to be a bit better. Her breathing is stronger and she has regained some color, but I fear for her… I do not know how long she was out there." Jamie nodded in response, prodding her thigh with his fingers. "Is it bad?"
"It looks as though the wound was made by a blade, so I am not overly concerned about debris remaining within. It seems to have gone through the flesh of the outer thigh, so though it is deep I do not think it punctured any major vessels. I suppose if it had, she would long be dead by now. Still… Between such blood loss and the afflictions of hypothermia, she is in a grave position. If infection sets in…"
Mina nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. Though Cora's lips were no longer that terrifying shade of blue, the woman still looked close to death. Though it was not a notion she wished to entertain, Mina figured they should be prepared for the worst. "Are Connor and Victoire in the city? Perhaps I should send for them…"
"Victoire is here, as is Cora's brother. Perhaps it would be best if you sent word."
"And Connor?"
"You will have to discuss that with Victoire," he said, seeming somewhat uncomfortable with the topic.
"Will you be alright here or should I send someone else to fetch them?"
"You go ahead," Jamie urged. "We will be fine until your return."
With that, Mina rode for the city. She found Victoire at Dobby's, pacing back and forth with worry. Any remaining hope fell from her face as soon as she saw Mina at the door, as if she could sense the news that was about to be delivered. Victoire asked only simple questions, maintaining her composure unlike Cora's brother, whose distress was much less understated.
Jacob was home by the time the three of them arrived. As Mina paused to embrace her husband, Victoire flew into the house. She was met first by Jamie, who held a hand up as if to caution her. Though she stopped to heed his words, Riordan fell to his knees beside his sister's bed, his distress audible even from the other room. Victoire winced at the sound of his pleas, but tried to keep her attention on Jamie.
"What happened?"
"Mina said her neighbor found her bleeding in the snow. By my guess, she was there quite a while before someone came upon her. Any longer and death would have been certain."
Victoire let out a breath she had not known she was holding in. "So she will live?"
Jamie looked away. "I do not know. Though the wound to her leg was not fatal itself, the blood loss in combination with the effects of such exposure to the cold… We can only wait and see."
Nodding, Victoire glanced into the room, where Riordan seemed to have fallen quiet. She could not see Cora from where she was standing, and part of her was not sure that she wanted to. She remembered well how terrifying it was to see her so pale and close to death. It was not something she wished to relive. "And Oliver?"
"I sent some recruits to scout the area," he said in a hushed voice. "They found his body just past the creek." At least some good had come of this… Still, part of her would have traded Oliver's survival for Cora's life, though she was certain her friend would have rejected such a thought if she knew about it.
Victoire entered the room quietly. Riordan still knelt by the bed, his hands wound tightly around Cora's. Victoire placed one hand on his shoulder, the other smoothing the hair from her friend's face. Somehow, it was worse than she feared. Cora was pale and limp, her lips white and horribly chapped. Buried beneath layers upon layers of blankets she seemed small and frail, and it was all Victoire could do to keep from weeping at the sight of her in such a state.
Eventually, she sat down in a chair across the room, watching carefully every time Jamie came to check on her. When the night was half gone, he announced that she had begun to develop a fever. Victoire sunk into the chair, feeling so horridly helpless. Mina tried several times to convince her to get some rest. Though she knew she was right, Victoire couldn't bear to tear herself away from keeping vigil over her friend.
"Here," Mina said softly a bit later, handing her a cup of tea. "I can fetch a blanket if you wish to-"
"No, you have done more than enough," Victoire said, accepting the tea with a meager smile.
"It does not feel that way," Mina sighed, taking the seat next to her. "I can't stand the waiting," she whispered, trying to keep Riordan from hearing them. Though he had recovered from the initial shock of seeing his sister in such a state, Mina did not want to worry him further.
Victoire nodded in agreement. "The not knowing is always the worst part."
After a few moments of silence, Mina leaned closer. "I was thinking that, if God forbid, she does not survive…" Mina paused, closing her eyes for a moment as if to rebuke herself for speaking such words. "Should we not send word to Connor? I do not know all that has transpired between them, but I know the feelings I saw between them when they were last here. I think he should know."
Victoire had been harboring similar thoughts. Despite everything, she knew she could never face Connor again if she did not at least give him the chance to come. "Let us see how she fares, and if she deteriorates - "
"No," Riordan said harshly from where he sat at Cora's bed. "I forbid it."
Shocked, Mina set her cup of tea on the side table. "Excuse me?"
Standing, Riordan turned to face them. His anger, no doubt worsened by fear and sorrow, was clear even before he spoke – the tension in his jaw and the fists at his side gave him away. "You heard me. I will not allow it."
"I do not see how you have any right to - "
"I have the only right," he said through gritted teeth.
"Riordan, please," Victoire said, trying to deescalate the situation. Cora had told her of her brother's anger toward Connor, misplaced as it was. Victoire was only surprised he had not shown it earlier. "I do not know what secret prejudices you harbor toward Connor, but for God's sake, this is not the time to dwell on them."
"It will not happen," he said stubbornly, turning his back on them as he sat down once more. Victoire felt her own anger rise, but Mina lay a hand on her arm as if to caution restraint. Though she wished more than anything to let it turn into an argument, she knew this was not the time.
The rest of the night passed slowly. For a few moments Cora gained consciousness, but the hope that came with the sound of her voice was quickly snuffed out when she mistook Jamie for Connor. Even so, Riordan refused to allow them to send for him.
By dawn, Cora's condition had worsened to the point of real concern. If Victoire had thought her pale before, now it was as though she was already dead. Her breathing had become more shallow and she shivered violently. The few moments she spent awake were clouded by delirium, and as her fever grew higher Victoire could see Jamie's growing concern.
"There is nothing more I can do," Jamie said around mid-morning. "The wound is not infected, and I see no sign of recognizable disease. All we can do is hope that the fever will break, but I do not know how much longer she can last in such a state." After that, the thick air of grief settled over the house, as though Cora's fate was sealed.
"This isn't right," Mina whispered to her a while later. "Connor should know." Victoire nodded, pursing her lips as she glanced into Cora's room, where Riordan still stood guard over her. It was as though the prospect of losing his sister had already driven him mad…
Victoire grabbed Mina's hand, leading her to the kitchen. "I can send word to Duncan. He will make sure Connor is told, but…"
"But it could be too late," Mina finished for her. "I should have done it anyway," she mumbled angrily. Victoire looked away. It all seemed a dream, as though none of it was really happening.
The sound of footsteps drew her from her somber thoughts. When she looked up, she was surprised to see that it was Riordan. The man looked completely dejected, resting one hand against the wall as if to keep himself upright.
He did not make eye contact as he spoke. "You were right," he said softly. "Send for Connor."
"I never should have waited this long," Victoire said back to him as Mina went to alert her husband. Riordan only nodded, looking sheepishly up at her for a moment before turning back and disappearing outside.
Ellen was already nodding off when Myiram entered to relieve her. It seemed the whole township was taking their turn at Connor's side, despite the fact that he had passed the worst of it and needed less round the clock attention. When Myriam had come to check in on him the previous night, he was awake and talking, though sparingly. It was several days before they were sure he would make it, and though Lyle said he would live, it was clear that the recovery would be long and painful.
"Ellen," Myriam said softly, laying a hand on her shoulder to rouse her.
"Sorry," Ellen whispered, "I must have drifted off…"
"Why don't you get home to Maria. It grows late, and I am sure she would like to have you home."
"Indeed," she smiled, leading Myriam into the hall where they could talk without waking Connor. "He had some broth when he was awake a bit earlier, but I would encourage him to try to have more if he wakes again. Lyle says he needs to get his strength up, but you know how stubborn he can be."
Before Myriam could answer, Norris came bursting through the door, calling out her name. From his heaving breaths, it seemed as though he had sprinted there. "Read it," he said, thrusting a piece of paper at her. Hushing him, she ushered him and Ellen into another room. "Cora is gravely injured," he said in an urgent breath. "Jacob wrote to tell Connor that he should come."
Ellen put a hand over her mouth, leaning against the wall for support. "How much more can this town take," she breathed. She speaks as though Cora were one of them, Myriam thought bitterly.
Yet, if she was being honest, Cora had indeed become one of them. She was a fool to pretend otherwise. Ellen's pain was more than justified, and Myriam rebuked herself for falling prey to her anger once again.
"We should wake him at once," Norris said, waving the letter around as he spoke.
"No," Myriam said, blocking her husband from going to the door. "He was just beginning to move on. He needs to focus on his own health."
Norris shook his head in disgust. He rarely showed his anger to her so plainly, and Myriam was rather taken aback by it. "If she dies and he finds out about this, he will never forgive you," he said harshly.
Myriam sighed, looking to Ellen for support. Unfortunately for her, it seemed that Ellen and Norris were in agreement. "He is in no state to travel, Norris," she explained, trying to reason with him. "Lyle would put him in restraints before allowing him to leave that bed, and you know it. If he knew, it would only bring him despair, and that is the last thing he needs right now." Though Connor had not mentioned Cora since his fever broke, Myriam had no doubt that he would attempt to go to her if he found out she was so near death. No matter what had transpired between them, she knew he still loved her.
Norris shook his head, no longer angry but still standing firm in his position. "Myriam…"
"Let him hold onto her."
Norris leaned his weight on his back foot, finally yielding to her. "I thought you hated her."
No, she thought to herself. Though she still let herself get caught up in anger and bitterness from time to time, she had come to understand and even respect Cora, though she would never admit it. "If the hope of her will bring him back and keep him alive, then so be it."
A/N: Though long overdue, here we are! This semester has been extremely time consuming as all of my classes are writing heavy, so I sadly haven't had much time to devote to writing this. That coupled with a terrible bout of writer's block culminated in such a long update time. Luckily, I am already well underway with the next chapter and am hoping to have only two or three weeks until the next update. The semester is beginning to wind down now, so hopefully I'll be able to turn the next one out more quickly! Only two more chapters now! I can't believe the end of this story is so close. Thank you for all reviews and follows! Don't forget to drop a review, it definitely helps to encourage me to work through any writer's block! Thanks for hanging in there with such a long time between updates, I always feel terrible that it ends up being so long but alas... I am a slow writer, unfortunately.