1763, New York
Catherine was so small and frail, Shay didn't know how to approach her—how to speak to her when it was time for him to depart. Down at the end of the pier, he could see Master William Johnson speaking with Haytham.
He was no longer angry about the small girl sneaking aboard and disrupting his plans to leave the colonies again. Catherine, being an insightful child, always knew when something bigger was happening around her.
"Da, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mess things up…" Catherine looked down at her feet, her travel cloak clinging to her small frame.
"Do not apologize," Shay said, reaching out and gently running his fingers through strands of her red hair as the wind swept them into loose waves. "You were the best surprise… even though you gave myself, Gist, and the crew quite a fright."
"I already apologized to Mister Porter," she said. "I even offered him my apple when I did."
Shay gave a small smile. "You're a kindhearted girl," he murmured, grasping her tiny hands in his gloved ones. "But I still have to go."
"But why?"
Shay hesitated, his expression softening. "I have to, a stór. One day, when you're older, you'll understand. But for now, I need you to take care of your mother." His gaze locked onto hers, searching for understanding in her round, dark brown eyes.
Catherine stared up at him, her childlike features filled with uncertainty and sadness. She clung to this moment, as if holding on to him would stop time itself. Shay wished she could stay this small forever, safe, innocent, but he knew this would be the last time he saw her at this age. Who knew when he would return?
Every time he left, it became harder. His throat tightened as he gazed into her eyes, the same eyes they shared. He had fought sea battles, faced death countless times, and stood against men he once called brothers.
But this? Leaving her?
Every time…it was the hardest battle of all.
"Be my brave girl. Can you do that for me?" he asked gently.
Catherine nodded, her small shoulders trembling. "I will, Da," she whispered before hiccupping and throwing herself into his arms.
Shay held her close, inhaling the familiar scent of salt and leather as she buried her face in his coat. He shut his eyes briefly, pressing a kiss to her curls before finally forcing himself to stand. With careful hands, he adjusted her travel cloak.
"Be a good girl for Master Johnson, aye? No mischief, no running off," Shay reminded her with a small smile, though his voice was thick with emotion. "I don't want to have to worry."
Catherine nodded earnestly, she opened her mouth wanting to say something, but closing again. Johnson knelt down next to the girl giving a slight rub on the shoulder. Catherine turned to face him.
"Don't worry, Captain Cormac," Johnson said with a reassuring grin. "I'll see the lass home safely to your wife." He crouched slightly to meet Catherine's gaze. "I am Master Johnson, I haven't seen you since you were no taller than my knee," he mused, his voice warm with familiarity. "I couldn't ask for a better traveling companion back to Boston,"
Catherine averted her eyes but offered a polite, quiet hello, burying her face in the collar of her cloak.
William straightened with a warm smile. "We'll have plenty of time to get better acquainted on the journey back, aye?"
Johnson stood and patted the girl's back reassuringly. "Shay, don't worry—she's in good hands."
Shay exhaled, nodding. "Thank you, Johnson." His voice nearly broke, but he took a steadying breath through his nose.
He reached out, gently stroking Catherine's fiery curls before adjusting her bonnet with careful fingers. His touch lingered for a moment, as if trying to memorize every detail of her small face. Then, he took both of her hands, squeezing them tightly before pulling her into a fierce embrace.
When he finally pulled away, his fingers lingered on the green ribbon, tracing its texture with slow, deliberate movements. With practiced care, he combed her hair into place himself, gathering the curls before tying the ribbon into a neat bow. Being a sailor, he had learned to work with many different knots, a simple bow for a little girl was no challenge.
Along with their trip to the market, he had purchased a variety of things for Catherine to take back with her, including a beautiful green satin ribbon. If Shay could have, he would have bought the entire stall of ribbons just for his daughter to wear but the sea captain would of done it too, but knowing her pockets would be filled to the brim, weighing her tiny legs down. She had picked out a few herself, even choosing a particularly expensive purple one. It was the most expensive ribbon he had ever purchased, but he never complained. Seeing her smile and adorning her hair with something beautiful was worth it. He would have bought every ribbon in the market just to see her in finery.
He noticed that little girls often liked to wear ribbons in their hair, sometimes matching the color of their ribbons to their dolls. In the spring, the girls would wear flowers in their hair. An imagine that was faint in his imagination Catherine tying her hair in braids with the other girls from Boston putting ribbons and flowers in her red curls.
That's all he could do, imagine his daughter's life.
"Your ma keeps telling you to keep your curls out of your face," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "I think this will hold up until you return to her."
"I'll write home soon," he promised. "I love you."
Catherine clung to him for one last moment before William gently gestured for her to follow him. Shay watched as his daughter took careful steps away, her tiny frame dwarfed by Johnson's presence.
A voice at his side broke the silence.
"You should count your blessings you weren't halfway across the Atlantic."
Shay turned to find Haytham Kenway beside him, watching as Johnson led Catherine away.
Shay exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "If I had taken our child to Europe to hunt magical artifacts, Rose… well, she'd have me drawn and quarter…" he muttered, rubbing his temples. He could only imagine the distress Rose must be feeling, she had never let Catherine stray far from her side. The early years of Catherine's life had been marked by hardship. When Shay had fully committed to the Templars, the Assassins had not only targeted him, they had gone after his wife and child.
Shay shut his eyes, but the memory surfaced against his will. The terror of a father watching ruthless men come after his family. The blood. The screams of a three-year-old child
A firm grip on his shoulder yanked him back to the present. The presence behind usually stood with authority, and order, gave a moment of comfort. Turning back, he saw the all too familiar grey eyes of the Grand Master. His expression had a hint of concern.
"She's safe," Haytham assured him. "I kept my word." His voice was steady, resolute. "I told you, as long as you're out there, I'll make sure they're protected."
Shay exhaled; his jaw still tight and he felt his wisdom teeth grind. "I imagine it hasn't been easy. Rose hates you."
Haytham let out a quiet snort, amusement flickering across his face. "I respect a woman who speaks her mind. But so long as she knows the Order is there should she ever need anything,"
Shay crossed his arms, his gaze distant. "Rose is too proud to ask for help. Mind you, the tavern is doing fine."
In truth, it was more than fine. The correspondence he received spoke of a thriving business, and Rose had provided for Catherine better than he ever could have imagined. Their daughter wore fine clothes, received a proper education, and never went without a warm meal. It was more than Shay had growing up. He made sure to even purchased an blue caplet for her travel back to Boston to keep her warm.
When he saw the blue capelet when he was getting her a few essentials while she was stuck in New York, his eye caught on the blue fabric. He remembered how Rose wished for such an color in her wardrobe. Blue being the most expensive, and something that ever young courting lady would want in her wardrobe.
Rose had spoken of buying Catherine a blue dress once she was older. An coming of age present that Shay did not want to think of for a very long time. When his hands traced the fabric of the cape, he put down enough funds that could would of sustain him when he was child. Rose had always reminiscing about how she had dreamed of wearing one as a young girl. When Rose was pregenat with Catherine in her early days, Shay swore that he would provided that at least for their, if they had a daugther, bought it for her himself, but Rose brushed him, stating that they could never afford such a thing. Now, Rose had an sucsseful tavern She had always been stubborn about such things, despite the small fortune he had accumulated in real estate. An investment made possible by Colonel Monro's guidance. That nest egg had been meant for them, for Rose to use as she saw fit.
Now that he had the funds, Catherine would get what ever she wanted
When Shay sat at their table and saw the pure silver cutlery she used to serve their meals, he realized that he would never have to worry about their well-being again.
Haytham arched a brow, his voice carrying its usual air of amusement. "And what do you think is the cause of that? How do you suppose she's managing with little to no business experience?"
Shay frowned slightly, a thought creeping into his mind. He had never questioned it before, but now, in the presence of Haytham, realization dawned.
He turned to the Grand Master, narrowing his eyes. "Wait…..you've been interfering?"
The illusion he had held onto so dearly of Rose managing everything on her own…shattered in an instant. But to his own surprise, he wasn't angry. If anything, he felt relief.
Haytham merely shrugged, unbothered. "I had Johnson oversee things, given his business dealings. And, well, your wife seems to tolerate him more than she does me."
Shay huffed a quiet laugh. "He's always been kind to her. Especially back when we were at Fort Arsenal." Those days felt like a lifetime ago now, simpler times before war and duty had changed everything. His gaze softened. "So it's been you, having Johnson keep an eye on her? I told you, all you had to do was keep an eye on them."
Haytham hesitated, a rare thing for him. The ever-pragmatic, calculating Grand Master seemed, for once, unsure of how much to say.
Then, finally, his voice dropped to something quieter, something more sincere.
"I do it because I care."
It was barely above a whisper.
Shay studied him, searching for something in his expression. Haytham Kenway, a man who wielded control like a weapon, had gone out of his way to ensure Rose and Catherine's well-being. Not out of duty. Not out of strategy. But because he cared.
Shay knew why.
The silence stretched between them, charged with an unspoken understanding. He took a step closer, so close that he could feel the warmth of Haytham's presence.
But instead of speaking, instead of acknowledging what lingered there in the space between them, he simply nodded. "Thank you."
Haytham held his gaze for a moment longer before breaking it, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around Shay's shoulder in a rare gesture of reassurance.
Together, they turned to watch Johnson leading young Catherine toward the harbor.
Haytham exhaled softly, then asked, "Do you have time for a proper goodbye?"
Shay didn't look away from his daughter, his voice barely above a murmur. An agreement…more like an promise he held after hurting the ones around him.
"I thought we agreed… no more proper goodbyes."
"And so we had…"
Davenport Homestead, Present year 1770
Achilles wore a concerned expression as he watched Connor and Catherine step into the manor. Charles strode in behind them, his face set in a firm, unreadable expression.
"Don't worry; they're unharmed," he assured.
"I was never once concerned. They're grown," Achilles replied, though his sharp gaze lingered on Catherine. "I just wonder if she might have gotten in over her head."
"Well, I did," Catherine admitted, crossing her arms. "Considering the Templars had a whole kidnapping planned."
Achilles' expression darkened. "Catherine, they now know you're involved now. That means they likely know another Assassin is operating in the colonies."
"I'm safe, but keeping a low profile," Dorian said, stepping forward and crossing his arms. "Apologies for not making contact sooner. I had to bring my son, it was safer to stay quiet."
Catherine turned to face the Master Assassin, curiosity flashing in her brown eyes. "What is the plan now?"
"I will get this box back to Europe with me." Charles stated taping his chest where the box was kept. "When the precursor box was stolen from us, we followed an possible trail that it was sent to you. I was tasked to find it. The Parisian Brotherhood sent me to retrieve it and smuggle it back to Europe until we can find a permanent home for it. If it fell back into templar hands, especially since they still had the manuscript after all the years."
Catherine lowered herself into a chair, studying him. "What about the manuscript? Shouldn't we try to get that back as well."
"We leave it," Dorian said simply. "Without the box, the manuscript is useless."
"But we can't just leave it to them!" she argued, sitting forward.
Achilles fixed her with a steady gaze. "Forget it, girl."
"Achilles—"
"I said no." His voice was final, edged with something raw, pain, perhaps. "Too many good men and women died fighting over that book. Don't be one of them."
Catherine could see the weight of old wounds in his eyes, the ghosts of the past clung to him. When she first arrived at Davenport Manor, it had been in a state of disrepair, a shadow of what it once was. The Brotherhood in the colonies was all but nonexistent, reduced to an old man and two teenagers desperately holding together what little remained.
Through time and tutelage under Achilles, she came to understand the full extent of what had been lost. After the systematic slaughter of the colonial Assassins—at the hands of her own father, no less—Haytham Kenway had overseen a sweeping purge of the Brotherhood. He had taken the fight straight to Achilles, burning the Assassin headquarters to the ground and leaving only the manor standing. From there, nature reclaimed what was once theirs, the wilderness creeping in bit by bit, as if erasing their very existence.
It made sense now. When Terry and Godfrey had been clearing the land, remnants of burned-down buildings still lingered, a silent testament to what had been lost.
"I understand," she said carefully. "But it's time to fight back. We should at least investigate the manuscript's location, see if it's still in the colonies. I'll work personally with Dorian to find it, I won't be alone on this. Besides, it could give us insight into the Templars' plans. That would help Connor's work, wouldn't it?"
Achilles exhaled sharply, slamming his cane against the floor. "If you insist on heading down this path, so be it. I can only provide you with tools and knowledge. You're a stubborn girl, and the last time I ignored a Cormac, the entire Colonial Brotherhood went…well. I don't need to tell you." He stood up grabbing his cane.
Dorian smirked, glancing at the Irish girl with interest. "Well, you certainly talk a good game. I'll see what I can uncover. I have connections with people still loyal to the Brotherhood. I'll return to Boston and keep my ears open."
Boston
The sound of the cobblestones echoed under the boots of the Captain of the Morrigan. The sharp crunch of rock beneath his feet mixed with the splashes of water that had gathered in the cracks of the street, remnants of a recent rain. This was his first time returning to Boston in nearly four years. The last time he had set foot on these familiar streets, he had a wife and daughter by his side. Now, his wife was dead, and his daughter was nowhere to be found. The city felt colder, emptier, like there was not one shining sparkle in the whole forsaken city of Boston.
Last night had been rough, when Shay walked into the Boston headquarters of the Templar Order, to his great displeasure, it was in Lee's house. They typically met at the Green Dragon, but this discussion was deemed private. Tensions were running high among them due to the recent turmoil, and the memory of Rose's death was still fresh in his mind. The anxiety gnawed at him; Rose's death had been painful enough, but if anything happened to his daughter, he didn't know how he would cope.
The ship captain had planned a surprise visit to his family, eager to spend the year with Catherine. She was growing into a young woman, and he just wanted to be with her. However, the lead on the Precursor box had gone cold once again, and he needed to revisit the situation. That was, until Haytham's letter arrived, delivering devastating news, the ink barely dry.
When Shay learned it was Lee who had fired the smoking gun, he lost all control. In an instant, he had Lee by the coat, slamming him against the wall. Johnson had to intervene, forcibly prying Shay away before he could do any real harm. It wasn't just Lee's actions that triggered Shay's fury; it was the cruel words that followed.
"She shouldn't have been in the crowd; her mother should have been smart enough to keep them out of that mess. The girl should have known better-"
He had punched Lee.
Haytham had given Shay a day to cool before Shay would kill Lee after he was the only one to reign in the Assassin Hunter in.
No one understood the extent of Shay's rage. How could they know that his wife and daughter would be in that crowd? How could the Templars foresee that Catherine and a native boy would try to intervene? Shay couldn't fathom why it was necessary for the British to open fire on the crowd, but Haytham insisted it was an accident. The objective had been to disperse the crowd and create chaos, but the cost of lives was far too high.
Rose and Shay… they had been married for so long, yet Shay had been gone longer than they had actually been together in their entire marriage. Despite the distance, despite the time apart, Shay still cared for Rose, loved her. She was the mother of his child, after all. But deep down, he was never sure if Rose had ever truly forgiven him for the death of her brother. And part of him still couldn't forgive himself for it either. He knew it had to be done, but that didn't make it any easier.
They had kept their wedding vows, or at least, Shay had tried. But there were reasons, deep, painful reasons, that had gotten in the way of fulfilling those vows. His vow to the Templar Order, the promises he made to Haytham… These were things that had pulled him away, things that he had put before everything else. And while he didn't regret his commitment to the Templar cause, especially the time he had spent with Haytham, it still weighed heavily on him.
While Rose remained loyal, there were moments that gave Shay pause—moments where their bond seemed strained, uncertain. Yet, Rose had once expressed that she didn't care if Shay laid with woman, or man.
He clenched his fist, the memory suddenly rushing back. It was a time so long ago, but it still lingered like a shadow, sharp and painful. The image of blue-gray eyes flashed through his mind, uninvited, stirring something deep within him.
It had been a fleeting moment, one that was never meant to happen, but it had. And now, even after all this time, the memory of those eyes haunted him, a reminder of what he'd lost and what he'd allowed himself to feel.
He looked upon Lee's house again, as he began, Taking a deep breath, Shay knocked on the wooden door. A young maid with golden hair answered and led him to Lee's study. He learned her name was Charlotte when Lee snapped his fingers at her to bring tea. Charles Lee glanced up at Shay, and a moment of tension filled the air; it was clear neither had forgotten the altercation from the night before.
The silence broken abruptly from the dound of study door opening, the maid letting two men into the room. Shay glanced from his spot to lock eyes with the very eyes that haunted him stared back at him, the eyes of Haytham Kenway.
The Grand Master entered the room, with Johnson trailing behind him. The olde of the two templars, William Johnson, glanced about, as if he was checking to make sure there was no murder had occurred. Thomas had soon came, but behind him trailed an unknown woman, but Shay didn't question her existence.
Johnson patted Shay on the back. "Don't worry, it's alright." William Johnson gripped his shoulder firmly, his tone reassuring. Johnson was always kind to the Cormacs, he even had been the first one out of all the templars to hold baby catherine.
They were picking up their conversation from the night before. Johnson was here to help, as he had been before. He had provided aid on the Frontier, searching for any sign of Catherine, whether she had taken to the wilderness or sought refuge among the native tribes. The Boy from the Massacre could have taken her somewhere for shelter, and she may of gone back to the same place.
Shay was eager to see his daughter, but no one mentioned her. "Where is Catherine? You said you would find her."
"Gone," the woman spoke. "I'm Azura. I work with Catherine at the Snowdrop."
Shay's attention sharpened. "Gone? She's still missing?"
"No, she was home for a while, but after an attempted kidnapping, she disappeared." Azura glanced at the Grandmaster with a look of annoyance, subtly questioning his judgment. "Master, Kenway and Hickey believed it would be prudent to plan a kidnapping," she added.
Shay raised an eyebrow into the glass of his drink.
"We became concerned about the company she was keeping," Haytham's voice cutting through
"Who?" Shay racked his mind, desperate to know who could be involved with his daughter.
Haytham took a deep breath before responding. "The Assassins." He paused again. "They seem to have taken an interest in your daughter since your wife's death."
Why would they? Rose had cut ties with the Brotherhood after Liam's death; in fact, she had been fighting against them at every turn.
"I don't understand, the assassins haven't stepped foot in the colonies for about a decade now. Not since we took control." Shay said, standing up. "I have to find her before she gets into trouble. Where is my daughter now?"
"She left Boston," Lee interjected. "You just missed her by a day."
An arrogance of annoyance was on his tone carried in the way that he wanted to be so detached from the conversation. Like the mere thought of Catherine Cormac was not worth talking about, business should have been tended too, more important.
Shay gripped his glass fighting the urge to have an repeatand sank into a chair. "What do you want me to do? I can't keep leaving. I need to put the search for the box on hold until I know my daughter is safe." For the first time in a long while, he was putting his family ahead of the Templars.
"I understand. We need you here for now," Haytham said, placing a hand on Shay's shoulder. "War is brewing again."
"Of course, sir."
Haytham nodded, then looked at Charles and Johnson. "I'd like to speak with Cormac alone."
Without a word, the other two senior Templars exited the room. "There's a rumor that Achilles might be recruiting again, but we're not sure," Haytham said, his tone serious.
"Achilles wouldn't do that, not after what happened," Shay replied, shaking his head. He still recalled the anguish in his old mentor's cries as the Templar walked away with Haytham following the standoff outside the destroyed temple years ago.
"You don't think she's actually training to become an Assassin?" Shay felt a pit form in his stomach at the thought of his daughter learning the deadly skills of the Brotherhood.
"I don't know," Haytham admitted, biting his lip.
Shay knawed at the inside of his cheek, trying to process the implications. "Catherine knows nothing; she's just a girl."
"With a stubbornness that reminds me of you," Haytham noted.
The sea captain snorted in response. "She gets that from her mother." Shay crossed his arms, remembering his wife's sharp wit. He would cherish her memory for the rest of his life.
Haytham shook his head. "She has your perseverance, not to mention those striking eyes."
Shay gave a faint smile. "Catherine has always been a strong-willed child. I have a mountain of letters from Rose proving that."
While Shay felt pride in his daughter, the idea of her becoming an Assassin rocked him to his core. The little girl he had once seen sitting on the stairs with pigtails was now all grown up, with her own thoughts and ambitions.
"Haytham, let me be home for a while; let me find my daughter."
Shay gave a pleading look to Haytham, but the Grandmaster touched his shoulder with concern. He wasn't just Shay's mentor; he was also a close friend. Haytham had kept his promise to watch over Shay's small family. "I swear, I will do everything in my power to ensure Catherine returns to you safely, but…"
"But what?" Shay asked, dread creeping into his voice.
"If she does become an Assassin—"
"I will change her mind; no one will lay a finger on her." Shay felt anger welling up inside him. So much time had been taken from his family because he had been consumed with finding that damn box. "I will not let my daughter pay the price for the Assassins." He clutched the chair tightly, feeling the weight of the notorious nickname that had followed him for years: the Assassin Hunter. He had never been proud of killing those who were once his brothers. Now, what Haytham was asking seemed impossible.
"I am asking you to take care of it, Shay."
"I can't just—"
"I have a son," Haytham interrupted, his voice firm. "From a Native woman years ago… He's the same age as your daughter. They seem to know each other, but I haven't seen him since the shooting."
Shay was stunned, unsure how to respond. "Sir… There was a slight mention of a Native woman with whom you shared a summer love. How could you just find out about your own son after all these years? I'm so sorry."
"He was the one helping Catherine to stop the shooter. I don't know if it's true or not… I haven't had a chance to see the boy up close yet."
"I can find out more about him while I look into this matter," Shay offered.
"No, for now, just focus on your daughter. The boy hasn't been seen since the Boston Massacre."
Shay was quiet for a moment before walking over to a table that had scotch sitting on the side, "I don't think Lee would mind if we stole a drink." Shay looked over at the Grandmaster, "When Catherine was born...I wasn't there…but when I first saw her…she took my breath away. I was watching from the roof to see Rose putting Catherine down for bed. She looked tired and depressed, so I came through the window. Knowing the risk that she could easily tell Liam that I was alive." As he talked he poured them drinks. "It's never easy to be away from her' kids." Shay walked over to him handing a glass to him. "So congrats, you're a da."
Haytham clanked his glass and both men drank in celebrating in silence. An unspoken bond was between the two men as they shared that bottle.
Shay Cormac touched the doorframe of his late wife's home. The warmth and happiness this place once held had long faded. An emptiness lingered in the air as Shay stepped deeper into the apartment, his fingers tracing shapes mindlessly on the walls. He studied the old etchings carved into the doorframe, tracking Catherine's growth over the years on her birthdays. The last mark stopped when she was twelve—she must have thought it silly to keep up with it as she grew older. He had missed so much.
A few hours prior, he had parted ways with Haytham, who had returned to his estate in Virginia. Their meeting had been brief, but after sharing a drink, Haytham confided in him that the "native boy" would be dealt with if he interfered with Templar plans. The chilling words shocked Shay, for Haytham was speaking of his own son, his own blood. Haytham's warning about Catherine lingered in Shay's mind:
If this gets out of hand, I ask you to take care of her by any means necessary.*
Shay's heart ached at the thought of Catherine entangled with the Assassins. Was his own blood now his enemy?
His gaze drifted to the armchair where he used to hold her as a child, her small form nestled against his chest. The little girl who had waited for his return was gone, replaced by a woman with her own thoughts, choices, and alliances. In her letters, he saw traces of the young woman she had become, far from the child everyone still thought her to be.
If only he could talk to her, set things right… tell her he would never leave again. Then everything might be okay.*
Shay froze at the sound of footsteps in the tavern below. For a hopeful moment, he thought it might be Catherine, but the steps were too heavy. Descending the stairs, he was met not with his daughter but with a young man he didn't immediately recognize.
"Catherine?" the young man called, his brown hair scruffy, his face barely more than a boy's, likely about eighteen years old. "Oh, I'm sorry, the tavern's closed."
"Aye, I know," Shay replied, running his fingers down the stairwell rail. "My wife ran this place for over a decade. Who are you, boy?"
The young man blinked, clearly surprised, and stammered, "M-Master Cormac? Uh, I—I'm James Quinn."
James Quinn. Shay recalled the boy who had lingered around Catherine on his past visits. Haytham had mentioned a young man fiercely loyal to her. That might explain why he had been arrested along with her. There was something familiar about the name Quinn, though, and not just through Catherine.
"Is Catherine here?" James asked. "I came to check on her after she hadn't reopened."
"I came here to find her, but she isn't home," Shay replied.
James huffed, a look of annoyance softened by sadness. "She's been pulling vanishing acts lately."
"Any idea where she might be?"
"Probably out with that native boy in the frontier," James muttered, bitterness on his face.
The remark stirred something in Shay. Perhaps Catherine wasn't with the Assassins, perhaps she was simply hiding with the boy. "I'm concerned for her safety," Shay said. "Is she all right?"
James nodded. "Yes… she'll be fine. Catherine just needs time." He began to turn, retreating toward the door.
"James, wait. May I ask a favor?" Shay called after him.
"Anything."
"If you hear from her, let me know."
James nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the old sea captain who had suddenly reappeared. Shay saw the sympathy in the boy's gaze. "I will, sir…"
"Good lad. You should head on home."
James paused and glanced back. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir. I… I was with Catherine when Mrs. Cormac passed. Rose was like a second mother to me and my sisters when my own mother was ill. She'd take care of us while running the tavern."
Shay smiled, grateful to know how many lives Rose had touched. She'd been Boston's beacon of kindness, the type to give the shirt off her back on a cold winter night or a meal to anyone without means to pay. That was his Rose—his bonnie lass.
"Thank you for telling me Catherine wasn't alone that day," Shay said quietly.
James hesitated, a dark memory clouding his expression. "She wasn't, not until the British broke into Dr. White's office. We were ambushed, but Catherine fled through a downstairs window. I… I was arrested, and she vanished with the native."
There was a hint of jealousy in his voice at the mention of the boy.
Shay, catching on, asked, "What do you have against him?"
James's jaw tightened. "My father died toward the end of the Seven Years' War. Killed by natives."
Recognition dawned on Shay. "Was your father Richard James Quinn?"
"Yes, he was a soldier. Did you know him?"
Shay shook his head. "I've… heard of him."
James nodded and excused himself, mentioning his work. Shay watched him go, memories swirling. He remembered Richard Quinn well—not merely as a soldier but as a novice Assassin he'd once crossed paths with. Shay had ended Quinn's life.
Now, haunted by past mistakes, Shay's focus returned to Catherine. She was, after all, a part of that past, and the fragile hope of saving her was perhaps the only salvation he had left.
-
Water cold as ice that is all Catherine felt when she awoke from yet another nightmare, sweat dripping down her face. It was always the same, the massacre, replaying in her mind, refusing to let her forget. She stood among the panicking crowd, racing through them, desperately calling for her mother, who was calling for her daughter in return. Then a gunshot rang out, and she watched in horror as her mother fell lifeless to the ground. Lee loomed on the rooftops, aiming another pistol at her, ready to pull the trigger. This time though, it was different, when she watched Lee fired the shot, she didn't run. She didn't scream. Instead, as the shot rang out, the ground beneath her vanished, as if the gallows trapdoor had been pulled. She plummeted, not into darkness, but into water, frigid, endless, pulling her under.
For a moment, she floated, weightless in the silence, as though the world above had ceased to exist. Then came the sensation of sinking, of drowning, of being swallowed whole by the icy depths.
And just before she could slip beneath the surface forever, a strong arm would reach for her, pulling her from the depths. She never saw the man's face—never had the chance.
Because that was always when she woke up.
Each time, Catherine would jolt upright, her chest heaving, her face damp with tears. The weight of the nightmare clung to her, suffocating, lingering long after she opened her eyes. She would sit there in the darkness, breathless sobs escaping her as she fought to steady herself.
Some nights, she would creep out to Connor's room like an sad little child that she felt like, but he would hold her in bed.
Trying to comfort her.
Connor would never question her coming in for comfort, he would shift over for in the bedside, before she could even ask. She would take in the scent, ceder and pinewood, and leather from his gear that he wore that day. This friendship was the most important to her, she didn't know what she would do without him.
Though the nights when Connor seemed to be away, on an errand for Achilles, or out hunting. She would still crawl into his bed. She would curl up beneath the quilt, subconsciously, she would roll into his pillow, wishing for the sun to rise faster.
When the hues of pink, yellow, and orange of the morning dawn peeked over the horizon, Catherine would forget it all. She threw herself fully into training, whether it was combat under Achilles' guidance or free running through the trees, Aries always at her back. Accompanied by Connor as they ran through the trees.
The crisp air of the wilderness was exactly what she needed, a stark contrast to the suffocating confines of Boston. It had been a months since Charles had returned both Connor and Catherine to Achilles.
Catherine quickly resumed her training upon returning home. Though she had only been gone a short while, though she struggled with one area. Musket, firing an gun. Every time she heard a shot, she froze in place. Her heart would race, her fingers would tense up, and struggle with the weapon. Her face went pale that was linked to the pounding stinging pain in her chest. Like it was rising from her belly to all the way to her face. Connor had to step in for her to take a break, while Achiles watched. She would eventually get it.
Though beyond training, she kept up with letters to James about her new life, after she left Boston with no word to him. It was easier to get letters to the city, now that Terry and Godferry started selling the lumber, shipments were frequent enough that she was able to send one every few weeks or so.
He responded in a friendly tone, but Catherine could sense the tension in his words, a clear sign that he was on edge about her leaving so suddenly again. Catherine hesitated before telling James where she had been hiding. She didn't want to put him at risk, but at least there was some good news. The Templars hadn't come knocking on his door in search of her. That small relief allowed her to breathe.
The other piece of good news was that word had reached her that her father had returned to Boston. He had been hanging around the tavern since the day after she left, searching for her. What terrible luck. Catherine felt a knot in her stomach. He was looking for her, but she wasn't sure if she had the strength to face him, not yet.
So, she took each day as it came, the pain of her mother's death still too fresh to deal with the weight of anything else. The days bled into weeks, and those weeks slowly turned into months. Spring and summer passed in the blink of an eye, each season a blur of motion. Before Catherine knew it, six months had passed since her mother's death, and she still felt as lost as she did the day it happened.
Connor helped her with the practice with late-night sessions. Her sword hand grew stronger every night with the constant reminder of a throbbing arm. Her muscles still ached from last night training. It took a moment for her to climb out of bed to get dressed changing into baggy men's clothes for her to do the tasks that needed to be done around the homestead.
Aries was just awake rustling his feathers as he watched her from his perch as he begs for her to open her window. He made a squeaking noise to alert her.
"A'right boy, I'll let you out." She pushed back the current to allow the morning beams to shine through the glass. With a gentle push, she opened the window for the bird to take off to hunt for himself. "Don't be gone long."
She watched the bird soar off towards the tree where he would find the best game.
The air exhaled it's summer season to inhale the crisp fall air. Catherine always loved this time of year, watching the seasons change from summer to fall. The leaves coloration were always so beautiful in Boston when it became late fall. The light breeze of late August made Catherine's curly hair bounce from her bedroom window. Sticking her head out the window, she could see the harbor where the Aquila stood in her former glory. Today was the day that they run her sea legs as Robert Faulkner requested. Excitement pumped her veins as she strutted out the room with a grin. Connor was just waking up himself, he was obviously tired from last night's training session.
"Good Morin, Connor,"
He rubbed his eyes as his stomach seemed to rumble. "Good morning." He yawned.
"Come on, I'll make breakfast this morning as I promise. I hope porridge sounds okay." She smiled, "Maybe fresh apple as well."
Connor made a face in disgust at the taste of porridge, he obviously didn't like it. Connor quoted it as "A bowl of mush."
"Connor, we have a long day today, we promised to meet Faulkner down by the harbor."
Catherine practical skipped down to the harbor, running ahead of Connor filled with excitement after a quick breakfast. Achilles was still asleep when the two teenagers left. Catherine was embarrassed that she left the kitchen in a bit of a mess, but she was going to take care of it when she came back. Connor had never seen Catherine this energetic before. It was out of character, but it was nice to see her smiling.
The two teens made a quick walk down to the bay where Faulkner was making a last-minute inspection of the ship.
"Permission to come aboard?" the girl shouted to him.
"Aye, Cormac, you too lad!" Robert Faulkner shouted back down with a smile.
Connor went to follow Catherine onto the ship as she eagerly climbed aboard. "Not yer left boy! It's rotten luck!"
"It's true, "Catherine called out over her shoulder, "But even a woman such as myself will be bad luck to be aboard?" She gave a questioning look to the old sailor, but he gave her cheeky grin,
"Not if I can teach you to sail lass if you're able I don't see why not." He patted the teenage girl shoulder."
Connor study every inch of the ship as he walked across the deck in awe, he touched the railing to feel the wood and tugged on a rope. "She seems…able."
"Aye, she is solid, Weatherly, and sleek. She'll fetch twelve knots in a stiff gale. Not a ship from here to Singapore that can outrun her on her best day." He bragged as he walked about the ship before turning back to the two teenagers, "What do you say we take her out? Show you what she can do first hand."
Catherine nodded, "Aye, let's do it, shall we?"
Connor grabbed Catherine arm before she would up to the helm. "Where would we go?"
"It so happens she still needs guns, and the officers to command them…we will launch straight away!"
Catherine smiled, "Don't worry Connor, you will get your sea legs."
Faulkner chuckled, "She is right," He cleared his throat, "We are shipping out boys!"
"Haul in the mainsails! Get up the rigging! Let's get her out where she needs to be!" Robert walked up the steps to the bow where he took the wheel.
The right timing seems occurred when Aries cry gave wind as he took a perch on the railing. He startled one of the sailors that hussle across the deck to make way. Cathrine leaned onto the bow next to the shrouds as the wind picked sea air filled her hair as they picked up speed.
Connor walked up to stand beside her to watch as the land passed when they went out to the sea. "Should of we said goodbye to Achilles?"
"I am sure he will understand." Catherine smiled as she breathed in the breeze
Connor watched the girl come to excitement as they launched away into the Atlantic Ocean. It was like seeing her in her natural element. He stared as happiness and excitement slowly filled her brown eyes, he couldn't help but stare until she caught him. A red crimson blush spread across his cheeks when she caught him. He cleared his face of any sign of embarrassment,
"Everything alright, Connor?" She asked
He shook his head, "I am indeed."
"Good, I was worried, you'd be getting seasick."
Connor smiled, "You think I can't handle the sea?"
"We shall see about that," She patted his shoulder.
A few days passed before the Aquila made a stop outside of the Vineyard. Catherine watched Robert Faulkner command the Aquila with a firm command. "So, Cormac, ever sailed before?"
Catherine thought about it for a moment, "Once…when I was a child, I snuck aboard my father's ship. Boy…did that set everyone in a tizzy."
Connor raised an eyebrow, "You never told me that story…"
Catherine smiled, "My father wasn't exactly thrilled to drag a child to a secret Templar meeting. At the time…I didn't know what it was, but I meet Johnson, Lee, and your father. After the meeting, I was escorted back to Boston by Johnson."
Connor looked a little shock, "I am surprised they never tried to make you join them."
Catherine shrugged, "I think my father didn't want me to be a part of it until I was old enough."
" So, You threw your lot with the assassins?" Faulkner walked up to the two teenagers after overhearing them.
Catherine snorted, "Aye, I did, I guess I'm, not my father's daughter."
Faulkner cleared his throat, "I beg to differ, I am going to make a sailor out of you both,"
He was true to his word in the coming days.