Sorry for the long update, I can't believe I haven't written anything in close to 5 months. I am so drained, so I apologize for that. It probably feels smashed together, so sorry about that as well. Thank you guys for your sweet comments about my update about what was going on in my life. I love you guys and your so awesome. Please read and enjoy, also don't be afraid to review, I love reading what you guys have to say.
-Moon
It was late, Catherine could not close her at the late hour of the evening. The young assassin could not sleep wither it was the aggravation of dealing with the Contential Congrees. The delegates could not make up their minds about what to do about the British. The sleepless night could even be played to the fact that she had made contact with the Grandmaster for the first time four years.
She suspected it was the latter of the two, hearing about what he had to say to her gave her no insight of interest after the conclusion of speaking to him.
It was more then likely a trap, she thought, one that could honestly get her killed if she was not careful. For what he could say, it could all be a lie about the danger towards the congress.
After a sigh of defeat, she forgo any hope that sleep would come to the young woman. She decided that a proper drink would dull senses to help her sleep. The Irish lass rolled out of bed, she was in nothing but a long white nightshirt. She went over to her trunk where she had a change of clothes she brought with her. The young woman pushed her white shirt into her pants, tucking it in like a puffing shirt. With slipping her boots on, she knew she just needed a pint of a drink.
Catherine slipped out of her room into the hall, she could hear the soft mummers of the patrons downstairs. She could see that James' room light was on. Catherines did not wish to disturb her friend with her thoughts. She walked quietly downstairs to the tavern.
Catherine chose a table far from the other patrons so she knew that she would not be disturbed. The young girl who helped her uncle run the tavern. She was a young girl of 13 who had lovely brown curls that were pulled back in a ribbon at the top of her head. Catherine gave her a small smile before ordering a whiskey.
The young assassin tapped her fingers on the table as she was deep in thought. It was ostentatious for the Grandmaster of the Colonial rite to be coming through those doors at the Carpenter's Hall. How had he known that she was back in the Colonies? She meant to keep a low profile, but it occurred to the red hair girl that she did cause a commotion at the sale of the Natives land. Where William Johnson had met his end by the hands of Connor. A trained assassin who Catherine realized was much like his father from what Catherine sensed. They were two totally different people personality-wise but had a flair for surprises.
A strained of her red hair fell in front of her face. It was a loose ringlet that was thin enough to hardly be seen but still announced. She tucked it away from her face when she came to a thought. Much like most trades like merchants, or tailors. Most children take after their parents trade. It was a pre-deposition that all families faced when it came to the trade of the family. Catherine could still remember all the late nights her mother sat with her, teaching her the trade of running the inn. She remembered the sleepness she had in her eyes after a long day of work, complaining to her mother about wanting to go to bed.
Her mother just smiled and said she would need to know this one day if she was going to run the tavern. Instead of being a tavern keeper like her mother, she was like her father in his younger days. Taking up the mantel of the creed. Now he was a Templar and Catherine was having no plans of following her father's line of work. Maybe it was just fate to be in this line of work. Connor, his father, and grandfather had found their way into the life of assassins and templars.
Catherine's thoughts were distracted with a light thud of the pint of ale. She gave a slight nod to the barmaid before she picked it up to take a sip. She swallowed the bitter liquor, feeling it burn her throat on the way down sending warmth to the pit of her stomach. She decided she wasn't going to dwell on the thoughts of Templars anymore. The young assassin was just going to turn in for the night and head back to the Davenport Homestead first in the morning.
The tavern was filled with drunken laughter few of the patrons were making side-eye looks at the lone women. While picking at the wooden splints from the table, Catherine caught the eye of an older gentleman who looked quite amused at her. He grinned broadly, showing a row of rotten teeth. He pushed up from his table, stumbled from having too much liquor. Catherine avoided eye contact with the drunk while his eyes were fixed on her.
As he grew closer, Catherine could smell a horrid stench, she couldn't decide if it was his body odor or his clothes. Possible both. The young woman shielded her face with a face with her hand, pretending not to see him. Catherine wishes to not make conversation with the drunkard.
"Ello love, would you like company?" His breath almost made Catherine gag.
Turning her head away from the foul stench, "Sorry, I don't need the company." She held her breathe avoid smelling the man.
"oh come on lass," He leaned on the table until he reached to grab her wrist roughly. "Ye need company." The drunkard yanked the chair that was next to Catherine, the stench was hardly stainable at this moment. She tried to slide away from the man to stand up to return to her room. "Come sit on daddy's lap."
Catherine went to rip her wrist away from his hand, she had planned on giving the man a strong kick to the groaned. A vile look of disgust traced over Catherine's face as she gritted her teeth and tighten her knuckles until they were glowing white. "Fuck off." Catherine hissed at the drunkard. The young barmaid looked wide-eyed at the sound of the crude language. The man did not bat an eye at the foul language, he only grinned.
"Aren't you a little cheeky." The smell of liquor flowed like an airing gas from his mouth.
In a strike, the man gasped of pain as he was slammed on the table face-first from a figure from behind. Catherine jumped back in shock, she cast her glanced from the wailing drunkard up the hand and following the arms-length to who it belonged too. The young assassin was locked on focus Haytham Kenway as he was able to use his hand to hold the down the man while grabbing onto the man's coat.
Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she couldn't help but wonder how the Grandmaster had found her so quickly.
"I don't appreciate you speaking to this young woman in that manner."
Catherine furrowed her eyebrows in an angry arch. "I don't need your assistance."
The Grandmaster ignored the younger woman as he pressed on, "You will apologize to her." Haytham replied smoothly in his aristocratic voice. His navy tricorn hat shielded his cold grey eyes from her view.
In just those few words, he had captivated the man's attention and silenced his shouting. A chilling roll was sent down Catherine's neck, causing her to realize how calm and collected this man could be.
In an odd moment of timing, the young assassin was able to see the family resemblance of Connor in Haytham's face. Haytham's wrist ejected his hidden blade pointing at his neck. Though, Catherine had never seen Connor carry the same mannerism as his father.
The man gave a tugged, trying to free himself from the deadly grip of the Grandmaster. "Alright, alright!" He pleaded as his eyes darted back and forth before he locked them on the redhead. No one had been paying attention to the spectacle besides the young barmaid, who covered her mouth in shock at the sight.
"I am sorry lassie! Now tell him to unhand me!"
"It's fine," She glared at Haytham. "Let the fool go. He's already pissed his pants."
The evidence of the statement was a dark blotch spot on his trousers. Haytham knocked his head hard onto the wooden surface. The man slid off the table into a heap on the floor. Two of his friends came over to assist the drunkard to stand while he was escorted out of the tavern. The barmaid quickly stepped away from the table to give the assassin and templar privacy.
"What the hell was that, Haytham?" Catherine hissed, "How did you'd know I would be here?"
The grandmaster gripped the back of a chair that was across from Catherine before taking a seat in it himself. "I did that out of respect for your father. It would have been discourteous if I had not stepped in."
"You obviously have no idea whats it to be a woman in a tavern." Catherine took the pint in front of her to drain the last of her drink. " Haytham took the spot across from the young woman, she had a risen eyebrow towards the Grandmaster. "How did you know I was going to be here, or where I was staying?"
"You are not hard to track down, girl." He looked irritated at the fact he had to find her instead. "You can not follow simple instructions, can you?"
"Well, I did not want to meet you because frantically I don't believe it," Catherine explained plainly wriggling in her nose in annoyance. "How do you know you're not lying?" There was a stare-off between her and Haytham. Staring into his icy grey eyes, she knew the truth. She made a snort of disgust before speaking again. "It is. There is no plot against the delegates, is there?" Catherine asked as she sipped on her pint. "Are you just waiting to take me out back and slit my throat?"
"You aren't very inconspicuous about how you live your life, Catherine. I heard the stories of how a young Irish woman from Boston had saved the life of the future queen of France." He paused with a smug smirk before pressing on. "Or how about you purchased a bulk of land for the natives. You may be smart in your assumptions, Catherine, but you do not know to lay low." Haytham said as he clasped his hands together and set them gently on the table. "Though you are correct there was no plot. I wanted answers."
Catherine rolled her eyes in a defiance fashion, "I owe you none after what Charles Lee put me through back in Boston."
"He told me you had murdered Azura." Haytham locked eyes with the younger inexperienced assassin. As if he was trying to dig deep into her soul for a sign of an answer.
Catherine gave a solemn look as a shudder was sent down her spine as she thought about the Persian's woman death. "That was an accident on the stairs." The young woman touched her cheek, tracing the thin scar that she was given from that night. She could still remember the sting from the dagger as it slid across her cheek. "You should know your men condone rape of a young woman," Catherine said darkly.
Haytham blinked in disbelief before he could ask. "Oh, don't worry, Hickey was at least nice enough to put a stop of it before it took place. I do feel bad about the whole situation because she was trying to help me." Catherine looked down at her empty pint.
"How did William die?"
"I don't know…I was there, but I didn't see what happen amongst the chaos." Catherine lied. She didn't know if Haytham believed it or not. "Look I bought the land as a favor for a friend so that he and his people would not be harassed." Catherine tucked her hair back, at least she was telling a part of the truth. She did not want him to know of Connor, it was bad enough he had already known that he exists, but at least he knew well enough to leave his estranged son alone.
"I am going to ask this once, Catherine. Don't mistake this for empathy. Go back to Paris, now." He went into his coat to withdraw charter information for a ship that was leaving for France. "Everyone still thinks your dead and it's better to leave it like that."
"And if I don't?"
"You will be dead, but this time no one will actually know you were alive."
Catherine gritted her teeth, "I know you could actually attempt it, but really? I am not some terrified little girl and I can hold my own."
"I am sure the French Brotherhood has taught you a thing or two, but that does not mean you can face a tenured fighter."
The young assassin stood up to tower over the older templar. "I don't care, I'll do what I like. You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours. I just want to help my home and friends, it has nothing to stop your plans. I want us to break away from Britain," Catherine said the last part quietly but still with the same spite.
Haytham glanced with a disapproving frown. "You should leave the colonies, Catherine. I am saying that because I care for your father as a long-time friend and associate."
The young woman found it odd his tone softened at the mention of the shared relationship between him and Shay. Catherine became quiet and somber thinking about her father. "How is he? My Da."
"I haven't seen him in over a year, but I do get regular letters from him. You, young lady, have absolutely destroyed your father." He said in a disproving tone.
"I know…Not everyone can witness their own funeral."
Catherine remembered the icy Boston morning where her own funeral had taken place. She hid her face in disguised her face with a hood. The young woman was far away to not be noticed, but close enough to see the look across his face. It was heartbreaking to see, she had never seen a man so broken before.
"I didn't want it to be like that." Catherine glanced down at the parchment. She slid it back to Haytham, "You and your inner circle is not going to run me out of town. I have things to take care of here." She pushed herself up from her seat.
"You should be more cautious about who spend your time around, Catherine. Especially since you have such a close relationship with my son."
Catherine narrowed her eyes at him, she slammed her fist on the table. "That so clever to come from you. You really don't care that your right-hand man burned down Connor's village and was the reason his mother is dead."
There was no trace of an emotional change, he still kept his cool greys eyes locked on the young woman. "Tell me, how many sides of that story do you know of that?"
"Connor told me what had happened to him and I believe him especially after what happened in that warehouse. Are you going to try to defend him on that?"
"I am not going to sit here and make excuses for a situation that I was not aware of. Though, I will say that one of your delegates that you admire. What do you know about George Washington?"
Catherine turned her back to Haytham, "I don't want to hear about this."
"He had ordered the command to attack Connor's village during the Seven-Year War with the French and Indians."
Catherine froze in her spot, goosebumps crawled up her arms and neck. There was a moment before the younger Cormac turned away from Haytham. "You can see yourself out and pay for my drink. I am leaving in the morning, but not on that ship."
Before the Grandmaster could say another word to the young woman, she stormed upstairs to her small room. In the back of her mind, she could not let loose the words of what Haytham said to her. Was that the full story? Was Connor going after the right man?