I took my position, readying my bow. Below me, in the distance, the crowd gathered around the gallows, attracted to the prospect of death with morbid fascination. I fought to control the anger that built inside me as Charles Lee ascended the platform. The Templar paid no mind to the Assassin who was about to be hanged. His attention was on the crowd. He looked at them as though he were a king, and they his subjects. Beneath the false sense of remorse, I noted the pleasure in the mans features as he addressed the people of New York with a commanding voice. Even from my distance, I could hear him speaking. Hear the lies he told with a sincerity that made me nauseous. His tone was loud, filled with pride and mock sympathy.

"Brothers. Sisters. Fellow patriots. Several days ago we learned of a scheme so vile, so dastardly, that even repeating it now disturbs my being. The man before you plotted to murder our much beloved General."

I scowled at the words. The bastard was lying. Blatantly. I had expected some sort of announcement from the Templars, but not this. It angered me that they were placing blame on my husband for something they were attempting. Connor was trying to help Washington, trying to save his life. And his efforts were being repaid with condemnation.

I glanced at Connor. He stood proudly, unaffected by the lies that spilled from his enemy's lips. It stunned me that he would give his life with such honor for his cause. I wondered if he had any regrets about his decision. If he considered me or his daughter. It would be selfish of him not to. And Connor wasn't a selfish man. I suppose he thought we would be fine without him. A sentiment I didn't share.

I tightened my grip on my bow, notching the arrow into place. I narrowed my eyes at Lee. I considered how easy it would be to fire now. How much trouble would be adverted, how many lives saved, with just one death? It would be so easy. So very simple. I could kill him by releasing my grip. I suppose it could be considered an accident. I could make the excuse that I was nervous and my hand slipped. The result would be fortunate, wouldn't it? Lee would be dead. One of the Templars that my husband hunted and needed to kill would be dead by my hand. That would make me a murderer.

No. That would make me an Assassin.

I closed my eyes, pushing such thoughts from my mind. I wasn't an Assassin. I was the wife of one. And my main concern right now was my husband, not his duties. I didn't care if Lee lived or died. I only wanted Connor safe. Alive. With me.

I took a breath, exhaling slowly as I remembered the lecture Achilles had given me. The old man had resented my determination to take part in this rescue attempt. But, in the end, he had relented. He couldn't deny that I was the best archer, that having me take this position was logical. But he had cautioned me on remaining calm. He had warned me not to let my personal feelings interfere with the mission. His words played in my head.

"This task is not one that can be accomplished by will alone. Rely on your skill and reason. Stay detached. Only after you succeed can you give in to emotion."

After I succeed. That was what he had said. And I would succeed. I knew that.

I waited, relaxing as much as I could. A sack was placed over Connor's head and the noose encircled his neck. I tried not to see it as a personal situation, but as a perspective problem that needed solving. I knew what I had to do. I had to wait until the rope was taunt, until the man's weight would snap the fraying that my arrow would cause. That was the solution. The answer to the question. When that moment occurred, I made my move. I release my arrow, quickly readying another in case it would be needed. It wasn't. Connor's body fell, disappearing through the trap door on the scaffold.

I sighed in relief as my job was completed. I was about to leave the hiding spot when I noticed a commotion below. It took me only a second to deduce what was happening. Thomas Hickey was running toward Washington, a musket in hand. It was a desperate action. Forfeiting all pretense of innocence in favor of public assassination. It gladdened me that our plan had made the Templars resort to such drastic means. But I couldn't let them win. I took aim and fired an arrow into Hickey's shoulder. It didn't stop his advance, but it slowed him enough that Connor – who was in pursuit with his tomahawk raised – could catch up. I didn't stay to watch how it ended. I made my way out of the building and toward the street where my very alive husband was.

I reached Connor as he was speaking to Israel Putnam. The glanced at me as I walked within the circle of patriot soldiers, ignoring all of them.

"I'll be damned. You actually managed to pull it off."

I noticed the slight impressed look on Putnam's face. I had went to him for assistance when I learned he was in New York, but he had failed to provide any. He said he couldn't help save Connor. That the hanging was the result of political hogwash by the higher ups. I had accepted that, and stated that I didn't really need him anyhow. He had doubted me.

"Of course I did," I returned.

I looked back at Connor. He met my eyes, displaying a second's disapproval at my involvement before turning to the general. I had not expected a happy reception, but his ignorance stung.

"Where is Washington?" Connor asked. "I need to speak with him."

"Bundled off as soon as your execution went sideways," Putnam answered. "He's likely on his way back to Philadelphia by now."

Connor turned, intending to leave. "Then so am I."

"Something wrong?" Putnam called.

Connor paused, turning toward the general. "He is still in danger. Hickey did not act alone."

He turned again, walking toward where Achilles, Stephan and Clipper were waiting with his gear. I followed. Not saying anything, but watching him intently. I was elated that he was safe, but irritated that he had not even spoken a word to me. I hadn't expected him to thank me for my part in his rescue, but I wanted him to acknowledge that I was here. Yet he continued to walk, avoiding my stares.

The French man handed Connor his clothes, greeting him with respect.

"Thank you," Connor told him.

That he spoke to Stephan and not me grated my nerves. I was his wife. I deserved at least a short greeting. Even if it was forced and not polite, I wanted Connor speak to me. To at least look at me.

"Shall we accompany you to Philadelphia?" Stephan asked.

"No," Connor told him. "I will go alone."

"Like hell you will," I stated. I had grown tired of being quiet, of being ignored. I really paid no mind to the presence of all the soldiers and civilians who were milling about as I cursed at my husband.

Connor turned to me. It was the first time during all this that I had his attention. He gazed at me with anything but gratitude. His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed. He looked very unhappy with me.

"Go home, Faith," he said, not kindly. "Our daughter needs you."

My anger grew at the demanding tone he had taken with me. Connor had never spoken to me like that before. It was as though I had a place, and my place was not here. I didn't like being told what to do. I never had. Requests I could respect, but orders gave me a refusal to obey.

"She needs you, too," I retorted. "But that's never stopped you from leaving, has it?"

Connor looked down at me, his eyes flickered with rage. Our unity was a compromise. I had accepted what he did when I married him and knew that doing it meant he would be forced to leave at a moment's notice and remain gone for unknown intervals of time. I knew that. I had agreed to it. But, now, here I was, throwing his absences in his face because I was mad at him. It wasn't the correct course of action, not what a wife should do. But I felt he wasn't upholding his end of our bargain; to respect me and keep me by his side, no matter the circumstances.

I flinched when Connor raised his hand, certain that he was going to strike me. I'm not sure why I thought that. Connor had never once been violent with me. I trusted that he never would be. I think I feared he would smack me because I felt I deserved it. I had used his duties and our child to hurt him. But Connor only pushed some wet hair out of his face and glowered at me.

"Do as you please," he stated icily.

I hung back for a second after he walked away, exchanging a glance with Achilles. The old man watched me and I could see the disappointment in his eyes. Connor had not been the only one my outburst had shamed. Achilles was responsible for me. At least, he felt he was. My actions reflected on him. Much the way Abby's did on me.

I glanced down, watching my feet as I walked. Trying more than anything to avoid my father's critical gaze as I passed him. I heard his cane tap as he fell into pace next to me.

"I caution you to refrain from making such scenes in the future," he spoke gently. "Remember that all forms of combat must be handled with dignity."

I nodded, still not meeting his eyes. I really wasn't sure if Achilles was giving me advice on keeping my emotions in check of the sake of missions, or to help with my marriage. Either way, it was good advice. I knew I owed Connor an apology. And he owed me one as well.