Okay here is an updated version of this chapter! I didn't change anything major, just added to the story. My whole process is adding items that would make more sense, but would not subtract. No major things to the story will take place, but I hope you enjoy the remaster of this. I will be adding scenes that I wanted to explore, but decided against. I really hope you like it.
I did remove things that I thought was too cringy in my opinion, that made me twitch when I read. I will be bouncing back and forth between updating the chapters here and posting in Her Game of War.
I shall be posting once a week, I am pretty much reediting and rewriting certain aspects of this story.
-Moon
Shay lingered in the doorway, watching his only child sleep. Her red ringlets framed her peaceful face, a sight that never ceased to amaze him. The fact that a seven-year-old could infiltrate his ship without detection was astonishing. He had always known Catherine was clever, more clever than he often gave her credit for.
The Sea Captain wasn't sure how he would explain his delay to Master Kenway. Haytham might find it humorous that a young child was accompanying Shay, though this wouldn't be the first time they met under less dire circumstances.
Shay pressed his lips to his sleeping daughter's forehead. She turned onto her side, her back now facing him. He took a moment to make sure she was comfortable before quietly shutting the door behind him. As he walked across the deck, Gist was waiting for him.
A couple of the crew gave a side eye to Shay after he left the quarters, the pure chaos that inbroke the ship once the 7-year-old was discovered. First it was thought that she was a stow away, only until Shay had emerged from his quarters to find Catherine being man handled by one of his men, she clawed at the man's arm eventually biting into his exposed flesh, drawing blood.
Which was impressive, but Shay was extremely apologetic to his man. He made Catherine apologize because it was indeed her fault that she was in that position. Shay understood Catherine was fearful, but only if she had been done it was expected there would be not the position she was in.
Though after much of the commotion ended, it was decided to take her to New York with him. There was no time to turn around back to Boston, not until he meets with Master Kenway.
"How's our little stowaway?" Gist chuckled, leaning on the ship's railing. His hat tilted over his head with a teethy grin. "I think Porter isn't going to live down being bit by a toddler."
"She's seven."
"I can never tell the difference, wither they are 4 or 8, they all look the same to me."
"She'd be extremely tall for a four-year-old." Shay sighed, too exacerbated to deal with Gist's jokes. "You knew her when she was four."
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time." Gist said, "Kids stay kids until they aren't, I don't pay attention age until their voice cracks and their stature matches."
" I don't know how I'm going to explain to her mother that she slipped onto the Morrigan," Shay muttered, gritting his teeth. He could only hope that Rose wouldn't think he had kidnapped his own daughter.
"I wouldn't want to be on that end of the conversation with the Missus, I will make sure you have a wonderful eulogy."
Shay groaned, "I am more worried about Rose's state right now. Ever since Catherine was born she hadn't let that girl out of her sight. Even with the Brotherhood gone now, Rose is terrified Catherine will wind up into something."
Events that Shay made fear for Catherine as well came sprawling in his mind, he'd almost lost Catherine at the age of three. As a father, he should be there to protect her, though her mother was equally as capable to take care of Catherine's own safety.
"Why not bring her along?" Gist asked.
A fowl grimaced was spread across Shay's face at the very idea, recalling the last time his daughter had been around Assassins. "Are you mad? She's just a child." Bringing Rose would of been ideal, if it wasn't for Catherine.
The thought of his daughter in the midst of a battle scared him. Scared him more then the precursor sites and what they could do.
Gist shook his head, unsure that Shay got the concept of what he was referring too. "I mean, educate her about the Order! Imagine the asset she could be in a decade."
Shay shook his head. "Rose and I both agree that Catherine should be blind to all of this." Shay took a deep breath through his nose at the very concept of this situation. "Though, I don't know how I'll hide all this from the Boss."
Gist nodded again. "Aye… well, I don't think anyone would mind if you show up with a child. Lee might get his knickers in a twist, but the Grandmaster should be understanding." Gist looked behind Shay and cleared his throat with a smile. "Looks like someone's up again."
"Papa?" Catherine's sleepy voice called out.
Shay blinked twice in surprise. It was the second time his daughter had caught him off guard.
He turned around. "Lass, you should be in bed." He quickly scooped her up from the wooden deck.
The little girl was barefoot and wasn't wearing a jacket. She was shivering against his chest, but he slowly removed his own outer coat as he slipped out of his heavy coat. He laid it against her to protect her from the cold ocean sea winds.
"What are you doing out here sprout?" Shay asked as she nestled herself against the captain's chest.
Gist had watched the two of them before leaving them in peace. "I am going to head below deck to get a shut eye for a few hours." He turned and bowed his head at the small girl. "Try not to give your father anymore heart attacks miss. Cormac."
"I won't, good night mister Gist." Catherine said in a sleepy voice.
Gist smiled before disappearing below deck to his own cabin.
She rubbed her sleepy eyes and laid her head on his shoulder, her curls brushing against Shay's shaven cheek. "I couldn't sleep, the swaying. It's hard."
Shay let a faint smile spread across his lips. "Of course." An idea struck him, a way to help his daughter calm down for the night. "Come with me."
He walked up the steps and took the wheel from a sailor who had been on the night shift. The crew of the Morrigan was sailing through the night, bound for New York. The sailor gave a quick nod before heading below deck to rest. Shay set Catherine down on the wooden deck and kicked a wooden crate over to serve as a makeshift step stool so she could reach the wheel. His black jacket swallowed her whole as she wore it.
He kept a tight grip on it, knowing full well she didn't have the strength to steer the ship on her own.
"Now, my sprout," he smiled, "the ship is yours to command. We're at half-sail, which means our speed is cut in half. Give the command for full sail, and we'll pick up speed."
"Is this the fastest ship in the Atlantic, Papa?" she asked, her brown eyes shining with wonder. Shay felt immense pride for his only child, but he also felt a pang of regret for leaving his family so often.
He smiled. "Yes, my love." A thought crossed his mind, Catherine might be piloting her own ship. This ship. The Morrigan.
He didn't have much to give in the way of presence, but he could provide in ways that ensured she grew up in a secure, strong environment. He made sure money was coming in, ensuring that his small family never faced hard times.
Shay Cormac made sure his wife and child were happy. He did everything he could to help his wife's dream of owning a a bed and breakfast- an Inn- come to reality when it came time to decide on a place to settle somewhere they could be on their own.
Rose understood the importance of his work to the Templar Order, to make sure the world was safe. She had witnessed firsthand the harm that the Precursor site did to the world. She stood beside him in the Arctic as she bore witness to the fall of the Brotherhood, a world they had both known.
Now she lived her dream as a inn owner in Boston by the seaport, waiting for his return. On this last trip, he couldn't keep his hands off his wife.
Her soft touch, the floral perfume she wore, the way she held herself.
if he could, he'd put her up in the most expensive house, but Rose would never let him. She was too proud, a trait he loved. Instead, she asked that he set aside a large sum for her to run a business with an attached home. The Snowdrop Inn was their pride and joy, their home. Once he found the box, he'd never leave his family again.
Shay looked down at his precious daughter, who giggled as the wind and sea air hit her face. It stung his heart to know that he would have to leave her behind once again. But it was all worth it for the greater good. He was determined to ensure she had a safe future and the childhood she deserved.
7 years later
The pub was lively for a Sunday evening, keeping both Catherine and her mother, Rose, on their toes. The night was winding down, with the crowd slowly thinning as patrons prepared for the start of a new workweek. Fourteen-year-old Catherine hummed to herself as she set a tray of empty pints on the counter, where her mother stood ready to fill them.
The Snowdrop was one of the most thriving pubs in Boston Harbor, frequented by men who worked on the nearby docks and sailors from incoming ships. Catherine had been helping her mother here since she was old enough to carry a tray. Some would argue that a tavern was no place to raise a child, but Rose did her best to run the business while being a single mother. And she would fight anyone who dared suggest she was anything less than a good parent.
"Little Cathy! Another drink!" one of the patrons called out, his voice slurred with drink. "You look more like your mother every day."
Catherine knew it was a false compliment. While she shared the color and texture of her hair with her mother, her features were distinctly inherited from her father. She had his sharp eyes and pronounced nose, along with his strong jaw and thin lips. Yet, despite these inherited traits, her features remained delicate and graceful.
Her hair, a darker shade of red, resembled the deep hues of autumn leaves just before they fell. Her mother often remarked that Catherine was beginning to look more and more like her father, a comment that always stirred a mix of emotions within her. At a smaller height and stature than both her parents, Catherine sometimes felt overshadowed by their presence. She wondered if her resemblance to her father a blessing or a curse was, especially as she prepared to step into a world filled with danger and uncertainty.
Freckles dotted her pale skin, which always seemed to flush red, whether in the cold of winter or the heat of summer. Her appearance had made her the target of teasing when she was younger; other children in the neighborhood would mock her, making fun of her appearance. But Catherine never let their words bother her. Rose had always told her to be proud of who she was.
Catherine walked over to the patron who had called for another drink. "Paul, don't you have a wife and newborn son to go home to?" she asked, pouring him another pint. Her voice carried the lilt of her Irish heritage.
Both of her parents were Irish. Rose had been born in Massachusetts on a struggling farm, along with her older brother. Catherine's father was the son of Irish immigrants who had settled in New York. From what she had been told, her parents had met as children.
Paul chuckled lowly. "I promise, lass, this is my last one before I head home."
"I'll hold you to that," Catherine replied with a teasing smile before returning to the counter. "I think that's the last round for tonight." She set the tray down, leaning on the counter to gaze up at her mother.
Rose was cleaning one of the pint glasses before placing it under the bar. "Good. I need you in bed early tonight. I have errands to run in town tomorrow and will need your help," her mother said, her accent slightly heavier than Catherine's.
"What shall you want me to do?" Catherine went behind the counter to help her mother to start the evening clean up.
"I need you to make an errand to the Green Dragon, the owner is expecting payment since I bought those two kegs from him last week. I need you to take over the funds and receipt. Then I need you to return to help stock inventory."
Catherine made a slight face, indicating she had other plans in mind. "I'm going to meet up with James tomorrow… later in the evening." She knew her inventory would likely take all day, spilling into the evening. "I promise, I can finish the rest on the day after,"
James Quinn was one of Catherine's oldest friends. They had known each other since the day Catherine had shoved James into the mud after he whacked her with a stick. She had been just shy of seven, and he was a strapping boy of nine. Their friendship was strong, though rumors of romance between the two often swirled. Some even whispered of wedding bells in the future, but Catherine didn't let such gossip affect her.
Rose made a face, recognizing that her daughter's words sounded more like a plan than a request. "Oi? What exactly are you planning on doing, my sweet child?"
"James has something to show me near the market by King's Street-"
Rose cut her off before she could continue. "Isn't little James the one who's been leading those small protests around the city against the British, eh?"
"About that—"
"The lad isn't dragging you down this dangerous road, is he?" Rose gave her daughter a firm look. "I don't want you getting involved in these gatherings."
Catherine didn't want her mother to know her true intentions. "It's nothing, just spending the day with a friend," she lied, knowing her mother could likely see right through her.
But Catherine felt her lie was justified. The truth was that a small group of colonists was planning a surprise protest in front of the State House. Catherine had been attending these secret meetings with James for a few months now. Catherine and her mother were blessed and lucky to live in such a luxury area in Boston, the pub was bustling with higher income clients that struck business deals and meetings. Where the richer folks would come together to spend the evening away.
She had witnessed that the British were ripping apart local businesses with higher taxes. The Crown was destroying people's livelihoods. Catherine wanted to be a part of the change, much like James, he had shown her a whole new side of Boston with the inner works of the anti tax revolution.
Rose was quiet for a moment before gently grabbing her daughter's chin, looking her in the eyes. "Be safe.I want you to get done with the list of things I have given you, but I will allow you."
"I will, Ma, though James kind of has a point. " Catherine leaned in to whisper, cautious of any Loyalists who might still be in the room. "The British can't just tax us however they want.-"
Rose held her hand up to her daughter, "The age of enlightenment has transcended all over Europe, but not in my household. I don't want another talk about this, your father works directly under the crown and you should be blessed this is the life he has provided us."
Her mother took a deep breath; her daughter was so stubborn, just like her father. This girl was filled with so much pride that sometimes she didn't see things clearly. Rose took a moment to think about her estranged husband of almost 17 years. Catherine had only seen her father a few times in her life.
Rose knew Catherine looked up to and admired her father. She prayed Catherine would never know the true nature of his work.
"What about the rest of the colonies?" Catherine asked.
Rose shushed her daughter. "We'll talk about that later. Now, can you go clean the table in the corner?"
Catherine huffed a little but obeyed her mother, knowing that conversation would never come. Her mom was a master at avoiding subjects that she deemed inappropriate.
Catherine smiled for a moment as if she wanted to ask for something but wasn't sure how to phrase it.
"What is it, girl?" Rose asked.
"Is Da's letter here yet?" Catherine asked, playing with her fingers.
"Yes, I tucked it away on your desk." Rose placed a pint of ale on the counter. "Happy birthday, darling. His letter arrived earlier than expected."
Every year around her birthday, Catherine would receive a letter from her father. She would write back; her mother had taken care to make sure she would send the replies properly. Though Rose had instructed her to keep a bare minimum on how many letters she had to send in a year. She tucked the letter away with the others she had stored throughout the years, waiting for the day he could come home. His last visit was when she was only eleven.
Rose looked at her only daughter and saw how much she had grown over the years. Catherine was still stubborn like her father, but she had his determination. Rose knew her daughter was going to be an extraordinary person. There was no ounce of evil or cruelty in Catherine's soul. She understood the difference between right and wrong. Even with all the trouble brewing in Boston, she stood up for what she believed in with a strong sense of justice.
Rose had one wish for Catherine: that she would be happy.
Catherine lit her small bedroom with the oil lamps that hung from the walls. A soft, warm glow was cast over the light pink walls that had faded over the years. The chipping paint was covered with realistic drawings of ships in port, the people of Boston, and patrons of the inn. She had a unique gift for drawing anything from memory.
The room was simple, decorated with a desk, a bed, and a single wardrobe. She didn't have many clothes, just a few dresses, skirts, tops, and a single pair of trousers. A small shelf was nailed to her wall, holding a few dolls and a couple of books that she read in her spare time. Her mother had made sure she knew how to read and write, unlike most girls that she knew.
Catherine walked straight to her desk to find the envelope. She looked forward to her father's letters. She wasn't exactly close to him, but she still adored him. He was a good father when he was home.
The sealed parcel laid on her desk, with a water stain on the bottom right-hand corner. She could tell it had been through quite a journey, but she didn't hesitate to open it. Inside the folded letter was a gorgeous necklace with a golden cross pendant with a shining red stone emblem in the middle. Going over to her mirror, she placed it around her neck touching it.
The letter was written in neat, cursive handwriting that she recognized as her father's. She sat on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest as she relaxed against the headboard, and began to read.