Holy Shnikeys! 2016 and we're almost halfway through! I'm sorry once again people, for not being on top of things. Past six months have not allowed me the time to work on this, as this particular chapter has been around for a long time! But here it is finally! My apologies once again, life is life. Hope you enjoy :) More to come!

Driftwood

Boston Harbor: April 1774

Dawn, Day 23

The darkness never seemed to end.

The night was stretched far too long, and the storm above never caved in. The girl upon the small crate fell victim to the beast that was her beloved sea, undeservingly facing its mighty wrath. How the waves continued to thrash and swallow her whole, tossing her weightlessly between the surface and the deep. How the ice never numbed against her skin, or the salt ease it's burning in her throat and eyes. Her screams were silenced by the roar, and her tears earned her no bargain and plea.

Every kick felt useless. She couldn't tell whether she was going forward, going back, or not moving at all. She kept her stinging eyes to the lights she labeled as home, and gave all her might to push on. The Storm wouldn't let herself be taken this way.

Thrusting the power in her legs, she drew herself in by hugging the crate and closing her eyes tight….

…

"Storm-girl! Storm-girl!"

Emma heard Madelyn's voice in the howling wind.

"A violent storm, that's what you are!" her older sister continued. "Nothing but a wretched, foul, wild creature from the backwoods. A savage who doesn't belong here!"

Emma turned her tired head and squinted in the darkness. "Mady?"

"He was our father first! He's mine, you see!" The shrill of pain in her thirteen year old voice. "I have his light hair and green eyes! I do ! I do, see?!"

"Smack!"

Emma jumped at the memory upon her floating crate box. Feeling the sting of the slap across her face, she cried out in return to the sea. "I'm sorry!"

"Sorry?" An incredulous smirk crept upon the fair girl's face. "Sorry for stealing my father from me? For intruding into our home and interrupting our perfect happiness?"

Another "smack!"

Emma winced. "Stop it!"

"No! All of that was the least you could do! You made him smile again. Actually smile!"

Tears fell upon Emma's cheeks. "I didn't mean it!"

"My mother had not passed a year yet. We were all so sad in this little house when I did all my best to make everyone happy, to make him happy again." Madelyn grew rigid. "All he needed was another little girl, one with deer clothes, stupid black hair, and those cold grey eyes..."

Emma heaved and coughed as she anticipated her sister's condemning words.

"…those eyes withholding the storm."

Massachusetts Frontier: April 1774

Same Dawn, Same Day

A brooding figure overlooked the valley.

Still as the sleeping mountains around him, Connor stared intently into the sea of trees turning from grey to green beneath the rising sun. A light breeze came in and shook his white hood, encouraging a shiver through his bones that was all too familiar. The morning mist was taken in deeply by his lungs, as he would inhale the fresh alpine scent.

He would look away, to a lone pine on his left. Upon it were distinct vertical marks, all lined jaggedly in a row. A fingerless glove went to stroke the depiction on the rough wood, and he would sigh. Twenty-three days it had been since he was last home. Since he had last played with Kale, listened to Achilles grumble, and wake up in his bed.

Twenty three days since he had last seen her; embraced her tight, smelled her hair. Over three weeks in which he had last stared into her piercing eyes and felt the warmth of her lips.

Where was she on this newfound day, he thought to himself. Was she just as worried about him as he was for her? Did she spend nearly as much time merely thinking of him, when he did of her? He smirked. She probably busied herself as it was, playing with the raspberry faced boy or working under the salty sea captain.

Another sigh. He missed her entirely, and counted the days for home. After this mission, he could finally salve the appetites of his heart, and return to his predisposed happiness at the Homestead with her. Hopefully he would be allowed to linger there for a while, as the next mission wouldn't come for some time.

It better not.

"Ratonhnhaketon!"

The voice of his dear friend, Kanentokon, emerging from up the hill dissipated his cloud of forlorn thoughts. He immediately shifted his stance to greet him.

"Ratonhnhaketon!" Kanentokon repeated with heavy panting. "It is time."

Connor pushed no inquiry. He sent sharp amber eyes to the ledge across the lake before him, detecting his plan of navigation across the rocks and trees.

"Scale the cliff side and trek the foothill." Kanentokon suggested. "Our scouts have found Johnson among the Council before the great house on the ledge. There are many guns and men on his side."

"I will see to their futility," Connor promised his friend. "No harm will come to our people, and this man shall surely not succeed this day."

"I should hope so, go quickly."

At that instance, Connor lunged forward. Clutching his tomahawk, he casted his buck hide boots forward upon the smooth granite surface. A few paces before encountering a drop that led into the lake, he made ready to soar through the scattered towers of rock and tree.

But then it hit him.

Deadlocked toes halted at the very edge of the great rock he stood on, his body teetering for balance. A sharp breath escaped his lips as he swore he forgot to breathe for that mere second. His eyes only blinked in reaction to his near mortal fall and sudden change of heart.

Something was not right.

"Ratonhnhaketon!" Kanentokon rushed to his side. "What is the matter?"

"I feel…" Connor searched for his answer.

"Unsettled?"

"Yes," Connor wouldn't deny it. "Greatly so."

Kanentokon gave a furrowed look to his normally brave friend. "Is it the mission? Taking this man's life is surely a weighty due-"

"No," Connor kept his eyes outward. "Something else."

"Then what? Is a bear coming? Red soldiers?"

"I have felt this feeling before," Connor continued. "A very long time ago."

"To the dawn of our lives?"

"Quite."

"You mean the-"

"Fire. When my mother died."

"Raton,-"

"I had this same feeling within as my mother was dying," Connor relaxed his stance and faced his friend. "In the woods right as I awoke and came running, the time in which the rubble condemned her to her doom, I felt this pit in my stomach that kept sinking."

"What are you saying, friend?"

"I must go," he began to face behind him and start walking. "Someone is in trouble."

"Ratonhnhaketon, no!" Kanentokon lunged after him with a halting hand upon the shoulder. "Your place is here, danger is imminent here! To your home!"

Connor stopped and sighed. "I understand these negotiations are vital but I must step away."

"She is safe!" Kanentokon grabbed his shoulder again as if friend tried to pull away. "Ratonhnhaketon, she is safe at your home, surrounded by many. There is no need to abandon your task for some fickle feeling!"

Connor looked back into the woods in which led him here and pondered. He hoped his friend was right.

"Please you must stay," Kanentokon continued. "Take care of Johnson and leave as soon as it is done. Then we can have our safety and stake again for our people."

The assassin kept silent.

"Please."

"Very well." Connor released his suspicion. "I will continue on."

Daybreak, Day 23

Seagulls cried overhead.

Though not fully awake, she could make out the wind blowing through her long dark tresses. Emma realized that she could not feel its biting touch, or feel anything anymore. Her legs, every able muscle in her body, ached and throbbed with the exhaust of her fight. She weakly shifted her leg for another kick…

But she would not move.

The water would not move.

"Come on," she commanded her body. "Keep going-"

She suddenly realized the newfound texture upon her skin. Little grains enveloped upon her hands as she pushed for a stroke. Water was no longer lapping at her sides. Her crate was gone. A hand immediately shot to her face, feeling a collection of the gritty and dry substance sticking to her iced skin. Sand.

She immediately shot her tired grey eyes open. The ground below her was of pebbles and sand, white and dry, that gave way to an empty beach surrounding her. Her eyes continued ahead, to where a tall mossy stone wall stared blankly at her, harboring a world of faint secret dialogue, horse trots, drumrolls, and wheels creaking above and beyond it.

At the sound of the familiar opus, she sucked in her breath and raised her torso with her weak arms. Holding herself up and allowing no breathing whatsoever, she scanned carefully at the world before her. Indeed, the mossy wall stood front and center, but extending endlessly on both sides of her. The tops of brick buildings were seen beyond the crest, and as Emma looked both ways, she could make out the tops of gathered sailing masts. She listened to the buzz of the city, confirming the actualization of her situation.

With a jolt, she turned her view behind and gazed. The Boston harbor was sitting in its usual cold and bleak self. The morning had cracked with a faint white light, a pale blue sky emerging ahead. Fog rolled in from the distance, clouding any sight incoming ships or ones passing from the night. Tiny waves sloshed quietly behind her, and her crate was in pieces far off to her left. A sharp shudder escaped her lips.

She was home.

After a few moments of this realization, she got up, but had great difficulty.

Upon the heavy sand, she struggled and limped across the terrain. Having no strength left, she concentrated so hard to keep herself moving. She was numb from being frozen and simply exhausted. This may be the longest walk of her life.

She made her way towards the towering masts ahead. As she approached the yard, she could make out that it was indeed the Southern docks, where her home was once made. Permitting a weak smile, excitement and unbelief rushed through her veins. She could see them all again.

She would force more earnestness in her legs. Her steps made only slightly faster, she kept her eyes glued on her destination ahead. The beach was so long.

Finally, she approached the first dock. Local fishermen gave blank stares at the disheveled and seemingly dying girl, but Emma merely kept walking with her stupid look of eagerness on her face. Murmurs escaladed as she walked past, but she let the sails above her enchant her with the song of home. Remembering how the Virginia was located more towards the end, she exited to the pier from that first dock.

It was supremely quiet. Save a few men upon their vessels or fishing on the docks, no one was in sight. It felt strange to be on even more solid ground, as the cobblestone streets led her the way. Gaining more momentum and distance, she finally laid eyes on her ship. Nothing would make her feel happier. But as she looked at it, she saw how no one was upon it, and gave it a quizzical look.

"Sunday," she told herself. "All is quiet on Sunday."

She turned around and faced the opposite side of the pier. Few bodies were walking down it, minding their own tasks. How she had forgotten so much.

Then one figure caught her eye. A head of unruly black hair was walking away from her, striding farther away from her in a long brown overcoat and similar boots. His shoulders were wide, and white hands swaying with his momentous march. He seemed inquisitive and watchful, looking around for something.

Emma blinked and breathed. "It can't be."

She skipped forward. Limping in great haste and literally carrying her wet weight with her, she tried as much as she could to chase after the figure. Her heart raced as she pushed herself, giving out her final ounces of strength.

"Julian." She heard her voice murmur quietly. "I'm here, Julian, right behind you." She shuddered and breathed and grimaced against her weakness. "Right here."

The figure didn't respond. He kept going down the pier, relentless in his stride. Emma nearly cursed him for it. "Julian!" she cried just a bit louder. "Over here!"

He still didn't respond.

Pushing herself even harder, she managed to get to a pathetic jog. Breathing heavily, she held her side and furrowed her brows in determination. Her body was weakening by the second, and she knew it wouldn't last long. People continued to give strange glances but she wouldn't care. She will reach him.

Her body didn't like that idea. After a few moments of this earnest chase, Emma's body gave out. The legs beneath her collapsed, and submitted her to her knees. She groaned with annoyance and pain. Tears filled her eyes in desperation and frustration. She would then place one hand on the ground, and another outstretched to him. He was still going fast, but was now about twenty yards away. She gave her all in the last feeble and hoarse attempt out of her lungs.

"J-Julian!"

He stopped. His blue eyes blinked at the sound of the familiar voice. If this was what he thought it was, the end of all fears would be over. The chasing and wondering and wishing would finally end. He released a shudder and felt his heart race. "Don't be fooling me," he told his mind. "Please let this be."

Then ever so slowly, he turned himself around. His eyes went cautiously as they made their travel. The pinnacle of his hopes rested upon this moment.

Then sitting in front of him, was his friend in sight.

"Emma." His eyes shot wide open. "EMMA!"

Emma saw her attempt had worked. Tears spilling from her tired grey eyes, she subdued herself in as she awaited her dear friend. Julian came running to her with all his might, anxiousness and desperation radiating from his face. With outstretched arms, he rushed to her and met her upon the ground. On his knees with matching tears he sent his arms around and crashed into her.

"Emma!" He cried out again. "I can't believe you're here! Are you alright?"

Emma swallowed as she allowed more tears to come. She ignored his question and took in the sensation of his warm face upon hers. She meekly clutched his rough jacket and smelled the reminiscent black tar he worked with. He would place an ardent kiss her forehead.

"God, this is a miracle," he searched her for any sign of harm. "Are you hurt? Has someone been keeping you all this time?"

She kept silent and let the tears fall.

"Later then, right now, you're home," he whispered tenderly. "I found you, I finally have you again. Or rather, you found me, goose." He started to laugh with that famous smile of his. "It would only be so fitting for you to come to me first."

Emma weakly chuckled.

"Hush, we'll get you home," he started to raise her. "Drenched in the cold, I'm sure you're not alright at the moment."

She shook her head.

"Its alright, I promise to take care of you," he held a hand beneath her chin. "I always will."

Fresh tears, mixed of joy and pain, welled up and trickled.

"Come, stranger," Julian pulled away and gently lifted her up. "I'm afraid we can't stay out too long, the city's looking for you, you know."

She lifted her head up to him. "Looking for me?"

"You're officially wanted," Julian said with a hint of pride. "Must've pissed someone off before taking off for three months."

Emma's mind spun in fear and wonderment. She had been warned of this. "I-I don't even know.."

"Poor thing, that's too much to handle," he carried her swiftly back towards the docks. "We'll go back to the Virginia and lay low there for the rest of the day. Since it's Sunday, soldiers aren't so sprawled out."

Emma's head began to hurt and her eyes were drawing heavy.

"Just promise me to stay in the ship, I'll be there the whole time but we must make sure you are not found."

Emma began drifting into an unconsciousness and mumbled weakly.

"I doubt that will be an issue," he tried to make light of the situation. "You look pretty worn out."

She drew to a silence.

"And stay alive," his tone became soft as he carried her off. "I won't lose you again."

Massachusetts Frontier: April 1774

Same Daybreak, Same Day

Connor breathed in the cold mountain air.

This was early morning, the sun was barely rising. He crouched silently upon the high roof, narrowing a violent stare upon his newfound target. Jaded by his white hood, he carefully articulated the entire content of the situation, noting of his brothers and tribe's allies circumventing Johnson himself before the house. Red coats and long rifles were prevalent upon the scene, itching for Johnson to give his sudden command.

How the native listened. The rustle of the trees, the fog rolling through the mountains around him, the whispers of fear among his people, and the effervescent ramblings of the Templar associate. He placed a hungry hand over his tomahawk, waiting for the perfect moment to bestow his fatal blow. An eagle swerved overhead and cried.

The moment had come.

In a single and flawless leap, Connor jumped. Perfectly timed, the assassin unraveled his weapon and held it high as he came directly down upon his opponent. Johnson was met with a sudden crash upon his body, immediately nailed to the ground he wished to take. Before the man could comprehend what was happening, a tomahawk met his chest, and sent the two into a space of white and silence. There the two talked of Johnson's evil intent, where Connor would learn the truth and take a paper from Johnson's front pocket.

Once reality resumed, Johnson was dead and Connor was soon to be next. People shrieked at the onset of the violent act, and the British guards rushed in reaction. Hearing the calls for his death, Connor was prepared to fight. There he would knock and dodge every blow given to him, gritting his teeth as he was able to disarm rifles and cast his own blades into necks and chests. Other times, he would merely roll away from brutes and their axes and clubs and exchange his own weapon into their backs. A jab into his side would send him crying in agony at the pain, but refuted it with an angry thrust of his secret blades. He then kicked away a charging man and was able to take his rifle, hold it up to his neck and snap it. For the final soldier, who was seen running away, Connor tucked in his elbows and made wild pursuit of him. Once he had good range of him, he jumped and landed on the man's back. Pinning him down, he took his tomahawk and hacked into the man's back multiple times.

Once the fight was over, Connor rose back up. Sniffing his nose, he sheathed his weapon upon his bloodstained robes and took a deep breath. He had succeeded in his first mission.

He had no time to waste. After giving a nod to his people by the house, he went on his way once again. Out to the frontier, he would go up through the trees and make his way back to his dear friend upon the cliff rocks across the valley.

"Ratonhnhaketon.." his dumbfounded friend stared at the bloodstains. "I suspect all went…well?"

"I accomplished what needed to be done," Connor confirmed as he wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "Johnson is dead."

"Our land?"

"Our land is ours as long as we keep fighting for it. This battle will not be the last."

"Must I call for you again?"

"If you must. But we each have our part in this, Kanentokon…Do not hesitate to lead the way."

Kanentokon rose up and opened his hand. "Thank you my dear friend. Safe travels as you go away once again."

Connor placed his own hand upon his friend's shoulder. "You as well. I look forward to going home."

Kanentokon smiled. "I recommend you washing out those robes before you see her. I've heard blood doesn't seem to keep them around for long."

The assassin chuckled. "Might work with her."

"As it would only be so just," his friend shook his head. "Better still, at least make it seem like you're trying to impress, huh?"

"I will Kanentokon..go in peace."

He carried on with his promise. Off to the nearest river he went, doing his best to clean his stained garments along the shallows, his tomahawk too. He liked seeing the red slip away downstream.

The sun above was making its climb in the sky, casting a shine upon the trees. In the forest he lingered, the light crept in between the pines' boughs, and lit his way. Birds sang their songs and crickets hummed with the escalating warmth of the air. Connor's lung breathed in deep once more, and thought nothing more of than home.

After allowing his robes to dry, he climbed a curved stump. Onto a lone and topless pine he would jump, and from there leap onto a string of reaching and entangled branches. He flew through the waltz of the lighted canopy, pace quick and boots silent. Leaves brushed past and the deer made no stir.

In his flight, he felt the transparency take place. He traded the weight of his mission for feelings of comfort and home and her. A sort of excitement began to set in, a much nurtured anticipation for the company of those he loved most. How would he make his entrance there? Maybe he would make it in time to join Achilles for lunch. Maybe he could surprise Emma, bringing her bluebells that blossomed along Prudence's herbs.

His mind stirred with ideas until he finally reached the edge of the Homestead. A stretched field of tall golden grass skirted the familiar woods, whispering him closer. He cared not for the potential amount of hare that lay here, but leaped off the branches and walked to a slow. He took in the sight and the smell of warmed pine and earth. The sun was high in the sky by now, and he marched gallantly towards home.

Past the field and through the quick brush of trees in this southwestern corner of the Homestead, his amber eyes made way through the clearing. Upon the edge of this wood was the main path, and upon it stood a small boy.

Kale was sword fighting, stabbing the helpless piles of leaves and pines about him. Green eyes narrowed in concentration from beneath his facial purple stain. The clunky wooden toy hit all of its due targets, and its wielder exclaimed in random shouts of determination and satisfaction.

Connor lifted the corner of his mouth as he approached near. "Remind me to never cross your path of rage, young master. I see the danger you behold."

In an instant, the boy stopped his duel. Eyes wide and mouth agape, a big smile plastered across his small face at the unexpected arrival. "Connor!"

Little legs bolted. With outstretched arms, Kale ran over to Connor, still clutching his sword, and crashed into the native's thigh. Embracing him tight, Kale giggled in pure happiness. "You're finally back!"

"That I am," Connor placed a fingerless glove upon shaggy brown head and shook. "You have been busy still."

"Oh yes," the boy shone eyes up to him. "I've been practicing everyday."

"That is very good."

"Mhm! I want to be as good as you, and then beat you!"

"Beat me? You wish for a challenge?"

"I wish to be the best!"

Connor chuckled. "I believe you could be."

Soon his eyes searched the area around him. He looked back down on the boy. "I'm surprised to see you alone here, without Emma. Where is she?"

Sudden a cloud came over Kale's bright face. "Miss Maywood is not here."

Connor gave a wry look and continued to look around. "Where is she then? On the Aquila? Inside a house?"

Kale shook his head.

"What do you mean? She's got to be here somewhere."

"She is not," Kale said somberly. "She went with the captain a few days ago."

Connor bent down to the boy's level and looked stern. "With the captain?"

"Aya."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Nope."

"Do you know when she is to return?"

At that moment, Kale kept silent and looked at his right arm. Her braided leather tie hung loosely on his arm and he would undo it before holding it up to Connor. "She gave me this, promising me that she would come back soon."

Connor took the trinket gently into his hands. He carefully studied it as tinges of worry brew in his core. Was his previous instinct back in the woods with Kate being truthful?

"You can hold onto that if you want," Kale offered. "It makes me feel better when I miss her."

Connor clutched onto it tight. "Thank you Kale, it will help. I will give it back soon."

The native departed the boy and made intent strides towards the Manor. Achilles would have an explanation for this. Up the stairs to the porch he went and then through the front door. Smells of chamomile and pine swept the air.

"Achilles?" Connor cried out with a hint of anxiousness. "I have returned."

"Oh hello dearie! You're home!"

Connor furrowed at the effeminate voice. That wasn't the old man.

"Lily-"

"Come in the back dear, I'm in the kitchen."

He walked across squeaky floorboards and obeyed her. Her golden figure was chopping potatoes on a great table before the window.

"The master is at bed, on time for his afternoon nap," she greeted him with a sweet smile. "How are you? Is everything alright?"

"I am not certain," Connor spoke. "I heard Emma was away."

"She is indeed," Lily said with tender regret. "Shame that is, how excited she was to see you. Watched her window every day-"

"Where has she gone?"

"Oh nothing to worry, dear," the old maid brushed a hand in his direction. "Robert had an assignment out on the sea and wished for her company. She's a good worker, and she was going mad around here."

He blinked with unsettlement. "Did she say where she was going?"

"I'm afraid not dear, when Faulkner pulled her away for the idea she packed right away. Left before the dawn the next day."

Connor looked down at the great table. Something didn't feel right.

"You needn't worry, they should be returning any day now-oh!"

"Lily?"

"No, oh look! Look out this window, I see sails!"

Connor rushed beside her and looked out. The window gave way to view of the cliff that overlooked the bay. Sure enough, white sails came around the corner.

Before Lily could acknowledge the humor of the situation, she turned to find herself alone. Connor dashed out of the room and out the back door, not even bothering to close it behind him.

Out he went, tearing up the terrain as he flew down the path towards the bay alongside the edge of the descending cliffside. He raced the great ship, barely making its speed as it pulled in gracefully to dock. Connor watched as the sails were steadily folded up and as ropes were thrown to crewmen on dock to tie her down. He soon followed the curve of the path and darted over to the docks.

He came to a slow. His eyes scanned the crewmen on shore. His heart raced in his chest and eyes darted across the many faces. He searched earnestly for a dark coat and black hair. No trace of her here, so he then looked on deck as much as he was capable.

A rather unforgiving sight from his stance on shore, he turned to his attention elsewhere. The crew he had been studying was not in usual demeanor. They were seemingly too quiet, if not somber, the looks on their faces downcast and anxious. No singing or praises, just the hurry of their pace of work.

"Emma!" he called out. "Emma come onto shore!"

No response.

"Emma?" he tried again. "Maywood? Maywood come to shore!"

Crewmen nearby didn't paid no heed. Faces down, they continued to bustle along their work.

"Tell me, was she with you?" Connor turned to one sailor. "Or he, the one with the dark blue coat and grey eyes?"

Grumbles and shakes of the head ensued. These men were disturbed, but Connor wouldn't give up.

"I demand you to answer my question!" he spoke to the mass of them. "Tell me where Maywood is, she was kept upon your voyage!"

Scurrying and silence followed.

"You will tell me where she is!"

"No one can, laddie."

Connor stopped and turned to his right to face the voice. It had come from his captain and sea mentor, Faulkner, who in his hardy gusto became ragged and beaten before the native's eyes. He was leaning against a tower of crates to help him merely stand. Connor gaped at the black and blue that painted the old scraggly face, swollen eyes casted and dried blood draping over his mouth.

"Faulkner," Connor was speechless. "What has happened here? Who did this to you-"

"It's my fault, lad," the captain interrupted. "She was in my care, and I failed her."

"What matter do you speak of? The Aquila?"

Faulkner coughed in his pain. "No, lad. Maywood. She's gone."

"Gone where?"

"Without a trace," Faulkner swallowed. "Holstings. He had come along-"

"Your accomplice."

"Or so I thought," the captain continued. "He had been watching her. Giving her a real fright. She came to me about it and I dismissed it."

Connor began to feel anger burn within.

"But we caught him in his uncertain behavior, and I was reprimanding him when he attacked. I told her to flee from the deck, and that was when he came from behind and struck me."

"Where is he?"

"Lad, there is no use to-"

"Where. Is he?"

Faulkner sighed at the native's justified rage. "In the brig."

Boston Harbor: April 1774

Afternoon, Day 23

Darkness enveloped all existence. Emma could hear the roar of the storm around her, waves and the thunder crashing simultaneously. She felt like she couldn't breathe, her body gasping in desperation for air as she fought the vigorous waves. It was strangely hot, and even more so cramped and suffocating.

"Lass, flee!" she heard Faulkner in the wind. "Flee for home!"

The familiar sound of the gun shot cracked and she thrashed around in panic. Hoping to dodge the bullet, she swam harder and faster away, but only seemed to move slower. The tears came again and blinded her vision against her current impairment of restless waves. The taste of salt burned in her mouth and throat.

"Go you must get away!" She heard him again. "Flee! Flee for home!"

"CAPTAIN!"

Emma's eyes shot wide open as she startled awake. Sitting up, she felt the tears and sweat drench her body, her heart thudding inside her chest. Panting heavily, she studied the room around her and found that she was in the galley of the Virginia, tucked inside a cot on the floor surrounded by lanterns.

"Faulkner," she repeated to herself. "The Aquila."

Suddenly, the sound of rushing feet came into being. Boots rushed down narrow stairs from above, ones belonging to a worried Julian. "Emma? You cried out, are you alright?"

Her grey eyes look startled to him. "He's not okay. He's not alright."

"Who, Emma? Who is not alright?"

"My captain."

Before Julian could come any further, Emma threw herself off the cot and dashed. She ran ungracefully across the boards, sprinting right past Julian and up the stairs.

"Emma! Emma come back!"

She did not listen. Up onto the bright deck, she was blinded by the sunlight but made her way across deck. Her load was lighter, no wet clothes or even an overcoat, just plain cotton shirt and pants and free hair. Never the matter, she used it to her advantage as she flew. Immediately, she went to the rails and began untying the ropes that held her ship in dock as quickly as she could. Her fingers worked the intricate knots, untangling their strong holds.

"Emma!" Julian's voice came back. "Emma what are you doing?!"

"I must go back," she said more to the ropes. "He needs my help."

"Emma,"

"NO!" she screamed at her friend's grasp on her. "No, you must let me do this, he needs my help!"

"Emma, listen to me!"

"Get off me!"

"They're coming!"

"I said, get off-"

Julian then used his last resort of force. Prying her hands off, he subdued her activity in his grasp and put her arms behind her back. Then he lightly kicked her behind her knees to bring her to the ground, which she surely did. Once on her knees, he locked both her arms in one hand and forced his other upon her neck, where he encouraged her to lay all the way down. After pinning her down, he joined her level and looked into her eyes with sternness and a harsh, "Shhh!"

She actually listened, and blinked at him as the noise of drums came forth. Down the street they rolled, in a linear and repetitive fashion, growing louder as they came closer. Julian's bright blue eyes didn't blink as they strolled by, wide with fear at the soldiers' reckoning. Emma remembered their familiarity, and awaited alongside in silence.

It had seemed that the squad had lingered longer than usual, they were sure to have heard something peculiar, especially on a Sunday. The two Boston natives waited quietly anyways, and anticipated their silence and eventual disappearance. Once the sound faded, Julian let her go and carefully lifted himself up to his knees. She freed herself as well and mirrored his position.

He looked at her tenderly before speaking.

"You can't be running off and screaming like that."

"I know, I just-"

"What was that all about?" He gave her an incredulous look. "It seemed like you were making to leave."

"I was."

"Why?"

"Because-" she licked her lips and looked to the side. "My friend is in trouble. We were sailing off the edge of the harbor when he was attacked- I just left after he was hit-"

"Are you crazy?" He nearly laughed at her. "Did you have a bad dream that you decided to live out and finish?"

"But it wasn't a dream, it actually happened, Julian. I was there, last night."

"Okay," Julian sighed. "I don't know what your story is, where you've been this whole time and who you were with, but as of now you need to understand something."

"Which is?"

"Which is that you are very much a wanted man in this city." Julian said soberly. "Your face is on every wall and corner, if those soldiers, hell if any person around here recognizes you, you will be taken. Gone forever."

Emma furrowed her brows and looked beyond their ship. Her home had indeed gotten dangerous, as Faulkner had warned.

"I'm trying to keep you safe." Julian continued. "I have been looking for you ever since the day you left and I can't take you home until the night comes. Visibility is lower then."

She turned back to him.

"For now, you need to stay in the ship, and below deck. Nightfall is in a few hours, so you should get some sleep in the meantime. I'll be keeping watch."

Emma sighed and gathered her senses. "Thank you, I'm sorry. I'll be better after more sleep I think."

"I do too."

Right then, Julian inched over to her on his knees and opened his arms. In he would take her, nearly without permission, and hold her tight against him. "I'm glad you're back," he whispered.

Emma stayed quiet and took in the embrace. How she missed her greatest friend. But pretty soon she detected a strange tinge in her spirit. As Julian held her in his scent of tar and dampened fabric, she only thought of Connor. He wasn't the one holding her now, securing her in his great presence and pine induced musk. It was strange. There was no mountain air around her now, no sounds of wood chopping or eagles crying. No more gleaming tomahawk or gallant strides, penetrating gazes nor playful smirks. The reality hit harder than she anticipated and caused her heart to sink back again. How little he knew of her condition now.

"Let's go below," Julian stood up and extended a hand to her. "Puritan New England on Sabbath is a bad day to choose to be out in the open. Especially if you're a wanted criminal."

Emma smiled at his familiar wry humor and took his hand.

"Eli should be here soon. He's been helping me search for you."

"I can't wait to see him."

"Good. He'll be happy to see you too."

"Mm."

"But you do look awful. Whitened skin and tired eyes."

"Thanks."

"I guess all that excitement would keep you standing, but I see now that its starting to ware off."

"Why would you-" Emma started to lose her balance and consciousness. "..would you say that-"

Before she could finish her sentence, her body followed Julian's observation. She blacked out and went limp, nearly crashing into the deck. Julian lunged and caught her just in time atop the galley stairs.

He sighed as he carried he gathered her in his arms. "That's why."

Davenport Homestead: April 1774

Afternoon, Day 23

Peeling away from Faulkner on shore, Connor duly made his way to the ship. He would scale her sides with ease, a sense of anger fueling his pace. On deck, his boots would thud loudly calling attention to his presence, and his rage. Down the stairs into the galley he would glide before turning left towards a corner. A hallway took him towards the end of the ship and there iron cages stood dusty and tall, bearing for once indeed a captive.

Connor made no attempt to make careful study of the man behind bars. He merely caught on to the fact that he was drear and silent in his slouched upright stance, and was in perfect range. A gloved hand reached right forth through the bars and snatched the edge of a green coat in a mighty grasp, then pulled. A scraggly face was slammed into the iron, bewildered eyes meeting Connor's wrath.

"Where is she?!"

Holstings grimaced out of what he could of the unexpected blow brought to his head and merely groaned in response.

"Fool!" Connor jerked the jacket forward, slamming him once more. "You will give me an answer!"

"W-who is.." Holstings began to gasp and tremble at such pain. "Who do you mean?"

"Emma Maywood! The woman aboard the voyage you sabotaged, snake." A fire alit the amber of Connor's eyes. "You were the last to do away with her, so you will tell me where she is!"

Holstings tucked his lips with quivering breath. "You are mis-staken, sir. I did away with no lady."

"But you did!" Connor shook the collar of the jacket. "You harmed the captain before doing so, striking him before going after her."

"She?" Those sickly green eyes grew intrigued. "She? She was no her. She was he," he let out a hoarse laugh. "My eyes deceived."

Connor bit his lip and began to place his hand upon Holsting's neck.

"Alright, alright!" he panicked at the potential choke. "I'm sorry, I honestly didn't know. She a he."

"Yes but what did you do with her?" Connor started to let out his sleeve's blade. "What evil did you impose? What place did you assign her?"

"I see I was wrong," Holstings nearly smiled at the gleaming blade. "You're the Assassin."

Connor furrowed. "You are Templar?"

"You were the one I was hunting, but I thought it was she."

"Who sent you?"

"She fit all the descriptions."

"Who do you work for?!"

"You'd have to kill me," Holstings flashed a bloody smile. "He would kill me anyways, given my failure."

"I will gladly oblige," Connor glared with intent. "But I will make you suffer before to get the answers I need now tell me! Where has she gone?"

"I cannot provide you with that, sir."

Connor pressed the tip of the blade into the informant's skin.

"Surely, I can't!" Holstings felt the blood trickle. "You see, I did nothing to her."

"Lies."

"No, no I couldn't!" He blubbered. "She was too quick."

"Where has she gone, then?"

"Why does it matter?" Holstings swallowed. "Not an Assassin, a woman on board is worth little. Hardly of use in this game you and I play."

"It matters for the fact that you will slowly die if you do not give me what I ask," Connor threatened once more. "Again, you will tell me or-"

"Ah wait now." Holstings smirked. "I see now, you care for this woman. Yes you're quite fond of her. True love is it?"

Connor snarled before letting out a scream of rage. "I will end your life here!" He started skidding the blade across. "Do not toy with me!"

Holstings trembled in remaining spite. "Careful now, you don't mean to kill me. That's against your code."

"You are an enemy harboring an asset of our desire, it would be against my code to let you live."

"Well truth is I can't tell you where she is." Holstings coughed with gratification. "I can't because the last I saw of her was in the dark of night."

Connor listened.

"On deck she was, awaiting my charge. A storm was coming, I could tell." He swallowed at the memory. "But that's when she did it."

"Did what?"

"Made her escape," he smirked at the assassin. "Took a little midnight dive off into the Boston harbor. Into the cold and dark of the deep, alone and afraid. She should be dead by now."

At that instant, Connor retracted his blade, placed his other hand in and grabbed the jacket in all capacity. From there he slammed Holstings head into the bars once more in rage and full might, finally casting him off to the back wall of the cell. The bruised captive lay groggily on the floor, face bloodied and hands trembling.

"I have plans to make use of you yet," Connor pointed as he turned away. "We are not finished here."

Holstings merely groaned and set his head down.

"This is only the beginning."

Connor would quickly greet the afternoon sun up on deck once again. His strides were long and hasty, making way towards his wounded captain. Gliding across the decks and landing flawlessly upon the docks, he appeared with a hardened expression.

"Laddie, you found what you-"

"When is the soonest the Aquila can depart again?"

Faulkner blinked as best he could at his young sea apprentice. "Depart? Lad, the crewman have just returned from a night's long journey, not to mention a fight. They overthrew the bastard you saw in there."

"That is irrelevant to Emma's case," Connor defended. "She is lost at sea and we are her only hope. We must make ready for sail-"

"With an exhausted crew and lack of supplies? The captain coughed. "There is no way, lad. Not with the crew and the Aquila in all their wanting. Time is needed for rest and stocking."

"There is no time for Emma!"

"Perhaps the time has already come," the captain said tenderly. "Its been more than 12 hours since. We don't know what's become of her lad, whether she was picked up or-"

"Don't bother."

Connor immediately left the docks. The rage was hard to contain, welling up in his eyes and locking up in his shoulders. He left frustration and angst in his wake, refusing to believe the extreme of what Faulkner suggested.

How could he have let this happen? How could she? She promised him not to go near Boston, given their knowledge on the violent stirrings. His instinct in the woods was right after all. But the threat came from within, from a man trusted within the community. Faulkner had his full confidence, despite Connor's early suspicions about him. Leaving her with him was where the native failed her, and he let that ring through his ears.

"Never again," he vowed to himself by gripping her hair band tightly. "I shall not fail you."

Replies to Reviews:

The Sacred Panda: Thank you so much! It absolutely warms my heart when you say that you love this story and look forward to what's ahead! Danger is always afoot!

MohawkWoman: Thank you for your compliments and understanding my update timing problems! I'm so glad you enjoyed the diary format of the last chapter, I particularly enjoyed that as well! I hope to continue exploring that. Its also been fun to explore Connor's non-assassin side, so I'm glad that I can make him stand out that way :)

lisamariem: Thank you so much! Read this straight through?! Holy cow! You have no idea how much it means to hear that. I hope I can keep you interested :)

Guesty Jan 6: Wow that was a long time ago. I'm an awful person. Your words are incredibly kind and touching, thank you for your praises. Its words such as yours that help keep me going with this. I enjoy the heck out of writing this stuff so it means so much to have somebody share in it with me. Emotions, trauma, joys, everything :) Its astonishing to hear that I was able to convey that from you, such an honor!

HaywireEagle: sigh...you are so right. On all those things. I tried my best to stay as true to the story. I did tweak some detail so my story could be the way it is. I'm sorry to disappoint :(