Chapter One: A Lasting Impression

A fat orange sun shone brightly on the high seas as the Siren's Call glided through the dark, murky sea water, a proud ship that sailed under a French flag. A young woman stood at the prow of the ship, leaning against the railing. She was dressed in a pale blue coat, a white ruffled scarf protecting her neck from the bitter wind of fall. Blond curls fell around her dainty face, blue eyes gleaming from under dark brows. She watched the landmass before the ship come steadily closer, growing in immense size. The girl could hardly contain her excitement at seeing the new world, even from this far away, that she leaned over the railing more, her wide eyes enlarging with excitement.

"Angelique!" a man shouted.

Startled, she jerked back and turned around, clasping her hands innocently at her stomach.

"Yes, papa?" She asked, addressing the man in dark brown that approached her.

Her father was in his late forties, with thinning brown hair covered by a powdered wig and a gray beard to match. He stood before her now, two heads taller than the thin girl. He placed his hands on his hips.

"What have I told you about leaning on the railings?" He said sternly, his French accent thick.

Angelique twirled a curl around her fingers as she glanced down at the wooden planks at her feet.

"To not to…" She said softly, knowing she was in trouble.

The old man studied her a moment, then his face softened.

"Ah, come here. I cannot be mad at you," He said, opening his arms wide to offer an embrace.

She eagerly bounded up into her father's arms and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, grinning. He patted her shoulders before they pulled apart again.

"I only worry, Angelique," he explained, "You have only just turned seventeen, and still haven't married. There are many desperate young men in this new world that would take full advantage of such a pretty, unspoken-for young woman," he said, tousling her curls, "Not to mention those savages in the wild parts of the land."

Angelique shuddered. She'd always been taught that the natives of this new land were a race to be feared. Nomadic and primitive, they were still dangerous, as they learned quickly. Dark skinned people with a taste for anything that can be ripped apart, and particularly liked young women, married or not. They had no concept of marriage, and probably no religion.

She nodded her understanding and he smiled.

"Now, remember; stay near me and your mother when we dock. The ports are plenty big and full of people this time of year coming in to trade to get ready for winter."

Angelique nodded, eager, but then again, not so eager, to see this strange land. Her and her father stood side by side at the rail, watching as the docks came into view. After nearly an hour, they were finally able to leave the ship. Angelique bounded down the ramp with more energy that when she had first gone up this long slant of wood. The docks were heavily crowded with people. Soldiers from Britain, dock workers, merchants, vendors, and shoppers.

Angelique glanced around, bewildered and excited by the new world that rolled out before her eyes. Everything was in dull shades of green and brown, with an occasional flash of blue or red, but it was far more exciting to behold than Paris or London. The young French woman spun around, trying to look at everything.

She didn't notice that she had wandered away from the ship, and neither did her family. Her pale blue coat and tiny figure was completely blotted out by the large dock workers dressed in brown. Angelique's wide blue eyes drank in every building, every sign, every wagon and stall, person and animal. An excited smile spread across her pale pink lips as she meandered through the crowd. She was so lost in her own excitement that she didn't notice the trio of British soldiers that had sauntered up behind her. She had wandered down an alley between two shops, where an old woman was selling quilts.

"What's a pretty girl doing out here by herself?" One man chuckled.

Angelique whirled around, blond curls flying.

The three men had her cornered, and the old woman didn't seem intent on helping.

"I-I only just arrived," She said quickly, "My papa is probably looking for me…"

Angelique inwardly cursed her quavering voice and its low volume.

One man gave a nasty grin, baring his tobacco-yellowed teeth.

"Your father, eh? Where might he be?" He asked, testing her fib.

"C-close…" She said, taking a step back.

As she moved back, they took long strides forward. Angelique glanced helplessly at the old woman. The crone still hadn't moved her dark hands from the knitting needles on her lap.

Angelique swallowed hard as her eyes darted back to the red coats. They were much too close now. The French girl wrung her left sleeve nervously, retreating a little more hurriedly now, though she was already trapped, as the alley was blocked by a pile of wood and a row of storage barrels filled with whiskey.

"Going somewhere, girly?" one sneered, reaching for her.

Angelique shrieked as she was yanked forward, hands reaching for her coat buttons.

One man suddenly grunted in pain just as they pulled her coat open, ripping her ruffled ascot. Silence fell in the alley as everyone froze. One man, who had made the noise, looked stunned, and then fell face first into the cobblestones. A long knitting needle stuck out of his back, a large puddle of blood seeping through the thick red fabric of his coat. All eyes looked behind him, to the old woman. The 'old woman' was now standing, her hunched, trembling demeanor gone. One arm was extended from under her shawl, showing a dark, muscular arm in a white sleeve and decorative armbands.

The other two snapped out of their daze, shoving Angelique to the ground. She gave a pained yelp as her arm scraped the rough ground. The British soldiers leveled their bayonets with the stranger's gut, ready to attack. The 'old lady' grasped her shawl and skirt, ripping them off in one fluid movement. The figure underneath wasn't old, and it definitely wasn't a woman.

A rather muscular man stood in the old woman's place, wearing a long white coat, a hood hiding most of his face. His other clothes were dark, and seemingly made of animal skins. The man pulled a strange-looking tomahawk from his belt and a hunting knife seemed to appear in his other hand. The two soldiers blanched visibly at the sight of him, and Angelique wondered if they knew him.

One man charged forward, thrusting his bayonet at the man in white. The white-clad man easily batted it aside with the blade of his tomahawk. He turned on the ball of his foot and brought his hunting knife around, to the British man's unguarded neck. Angelique screeched and covered her eyes as she heard the wet sound of gore splattering the cobblestones. Angelique heard a few more clangs of metal on metal before the muffled thud of a heavy body hitting the ground.

The young woman was sobbing into her balled fists now, afraid of what she'd see when she opened her eyes. Quiet footsteps approached her, and her heart began to pound harder. Was the assassin in white coming for her now? Had she become a loose end for what she saw, and he was now going to kill her?

Her slight frame shook in terror as she sobbed harder, scared for her life. But then the footsteps stopped before her, replaced by a short rustling of stiff fabric. A warm, callused hand rested on her elbow.

"Are you all right?" A soft, accented voice asked.

Angelique looked up, peeing at the man from under her lashes. The man's skin was dark, and his eyes were coal black, making the light in them shine like stars. His features were soft and wide, but he had high, sharp cheekbones, giving him an exotic appearance. 'This must be one of the natives I was told about,' the French teen realized.

Angelique knew that she should have done something. Punched him, run away, scream, anything. But she was too entranced by his dark, exotic looks and clothes, the rich voice with an unrecognizable accent. Dumbly, she nodded slightly, sniffling. The man's dark eyes moved from her tearstained face to the splotchy scrape along her arm, where here sleeve had ripped. Gingerly, he rotated her arm so that the light was shining on the wound. Then he pulled out a long strip of cloth from a pouch on his belt and started to wrap her arm.

She watched him as he did, her wide blue eyes flicking between his face and his hands. Angelique began to wonder why the Europeans called these natives 'savages.' If this man was an example of his kind, then they had been poorly labeled. She wondered if all of his kind were this gentle and kind. In addition to being as deadly as an entire pack of wolves.

"I am no healer," Said the man, interrupting her thoughts, "The wound will need to be washed and properly dressed."

He tied a tight not in the fabric and she winced as the bandage pressed painfully against her scrape.

"Hunter's hands," he explained apologetically.

The man stood and looked out to the mouth of the alley, before returning his attention to Angelique.

"I can escort you back to your parents, if you'd like," He offered quietly, extending his hand towards her.

Angelique hesitated, unsure. But then she reached up and grasped his hand before she really thought about what she was doing. The dark man pulled her to her feet and wrapped an arm around her protectively, pulling her against his side. Angelique was secretly glad for his warmth and strong arm as she shook like a leaf at his side. Her brilliant eyes took in the gory sight of the alley. She turned away, burying her face in the man's side. The man led her from the alley and back into the throng of life. He navigated her between stalls, warily watching passing red coats. She pointed him in the general direction of where she believed her family's ship had docked.

As they walked, she couldn't help but notice that this strange man smelled of pine trees and rain. Angelique leaned against him, small compared to his muscular body and bulky gear. As they walked, she leaned her head against shoulder, still shivering.

Eventually, they managed to find her parents. Her father had come running to her and gathered her in his arms, calling her by her pet name as a child, "Minou." The man in white stood back silently, a bit uncomfortable. Angelique's father looked up at the man, about to explode on him. Angelique immediately leapt to the stranger's defense.

"Papa, this man saved me from a couple of men…they had my cornered and…." She started, before her eyes started to tear up again.

The old man's eyes softened and he nodded his thanks to the stranger.

"If there's anything I can do for you, Monsieur…" He started, but the stranger only shook his head.

"I need nothing," he said, turning and walking away.

Angelique broke free of her father's arms and rushed forward.

"Wait! What's your name?" She called, "I'm Angelique!"

The man in white paused a moment and glanced back over his shoulder, though she could no longer see his eyes for the fabric of the hood.

"You can just call me Connor."

And then he vanished into a wave of people.