Chapter 13: Avert Your Eyes

I do not own Assassin's Creed 3 characters. I do own MaryLynn, Madam, and the Maverick brothel.

Thank you to my boyfriend Joe for helping me with the proper terms for starting a campfire. I love you!

"Once it meant something to me.

I find it rather stunning.

I draped it in cold and clarity.

It's true, I find the look becoming.

Walk right through me, I'm not really there.

What could you see?

What could you find?

If we meet please avert your eyes.

What I'll never show, what you'll never find

Is explosive so hide your eyes."

- "The Love Letter" by Blaqk Audio

She awaited Connor's return from collecting small twigs and fallen branches. Rubbing her arms for warmth, her body began to adjust to the temperature. The humidity could be felt on every inch of her body. The thick moisture in the air was a disgusting suffocation, like famished leeches suckling on her skin. Preceding his quick search, Connor had confirmed that the cave was not the territory of an animal. Despite his careful investigation, he remained alert and constantly checked the large crevice in the mountains for any predators. Without him, MaryLynn was defenseless.

It was not long before the Native assassin returned. He cradled the gatherings in his muscular arms, swiftly making his way to a spot where the fire would be built. He had been careful in his selection of wood. Wet wood was useless for a fire. He then instructed MaryLynn in a monotone voice to collect stones from the cave while he separated the twigs from the branches. This collection was good enough, but it would take time to build a fire if the wood was too damp from the storm. Luckily, Connor was a patient man with situations concerning nature. Did he bear the same patience with people? Not so much, truthfully.

Before he began to prepare the fire, he reminded himself to give the blonde woman his coat to keep warm. The cave was cooler in temperature the deeper they had entered. He mentally cursed himself for not thinking of the gesture sooner.

"I'm sorry, you must be cold," said Connor hastily, removing his belt and weaponry from the coat.

"I'm fine. I think my body is getting used to the temperature anyway," she reasoned, accepting the coat from his large hands. "Thank you, Connor."

"I may need some cotton material," he said as he watched MaryLynn adjust the large white coat on her smaller frame. "Would it be too much to ask you for a portion of that napkin?"

"It's no trouble. I'm hungry anyway. Hell, I might eat all of the food, so I won't need much of the napkin then," she chuckled, pulling the coat closed.

Fetching the makeshift purse, she rushes over to Connor. Sitting across from him, she loosened the knots in the napkin. She then dumped the goods into her lap before handing the red plaid napkin over to Connor.

"Thank you," he mumbles, his eyes meeting her own for barely a second.

Pulling out a knife from one of the holsters in his belt, he began to cut off a good portion of the plaid napkin, tearing it into smaller pieces. Next, once he had enough strips, he rubbed the material together for heat in order to separate the cotton fibers. This would assist in catching a spark.

MaryLynn watched intently, fascinated by Connor's intense concentration and care for building the fire. She did not know that building a fire required such a careful process. 'Shows how much I know,' she thought nonchalantly as she rested her chin in the palm of her hand.

He then piled the cotton pieces into a neat dome shape. The small twigs were then settled around the cotton. Slamming two jagged stones against each other three times, he ignited the cotton dome with a spark. A tiny flame was born. He gently blew into the tiny flame, nursing it with the oxygen of his breath to build the spark. Satisfied, Connor occasionally nursed the flame with his breath. Once the kindling was immersed in the small flame, a slow process continued with the addition of the branches.

Eventually, Connor's patience had paid off. The blonde woman's eyes widened at the fire, watching its birth unfold before her eyes. It danced wildly from its source of life, the tips licking the air in hopes of touching the ceiling. She smiled at him, and yet he desisted from looking at her face. She was discouraged by this observation, her eyelids lowering with sadness. However, the blonde woman figured that he was probably still embarrassed by his abrupt reaction to their first kiss. 'He just doesn't know, that's all. It's not you. He doesn't think you're disgusting, so stop believing such things. He doesn't care about what you did for a living.'

The pair sat by the fire in silence for the next twenty minutes. MaryLynn was finishing off the dried berries and nuts lying atop the remainder of the napkin in her lap. The strips of seasoned, dried meat remained untouched.

"Connor, you should have the dried meat that Madam packed for me. You haven't eaten all day!"

"I am fine," he declined politely, poking at the fire with a spare stick to keep the embers alive.

"I insist, Connor. You are not going through the rest of the day on an empty stomach. Please, eat the dried meat. I don't even want to eat it, really. Please? I won't accept 'no' for an answer."

He finally accepted the offer, finding her pout and furrowed eyebrows irresistible. MaryLynn's hands him the strips of dried meat, a smile gracing her lips knowing that he was going to eat at least something on this trip.

Connor's eye contact remained limited as he ate the dried meat quietly. He spoke only when necessary, differing from their chatter before the storm.

"Hopefully this storm is temporary," he remarked, nodding his head toward the mouth of the cave. "By this point, we will arrive at the manor by night."

"That is fine by me," MaryLynn assures, popping the last berry into her mouth. "Connor..."

Her speech had broken into a pause, her facial features scrunching with worry. She couldn't ignore the kiss they had shared, and it seemed that it had affected his interaction, or lack thereof, with her.

"I'm sorry if I made you...uncomfortable earlier today. The moment was...I was...I felt..."

"I should apologize," Connor interjected, meeting her worried gaze fully.

"You silly man, you shouldn't apologize for that. I forced it on you."

"No," he said. "No, I…"

He struggled to speak, his mouth opening and closing. He stared at the fire, hoping to find the words best suited for this situation. He refused to look at the blonde woman when all that he could feel was his insecurity swelling over his troubles with intimacy. MaryLynn was concerned, and he felt that it was his fault that she took the blame for his reaction of pulling away from her warmth.

"I apologize for my... lack of…experience," Connor managed to speak in between pauses.

"You don't need to apologize for that," she assured repeatedly with open palms at her sides. "I'm very grateful for you. It seems I was very grateful."

She laughed nervously at her last statement, desperately trying to smooth out the situation. This was so alien compared to a session where all that was left to deal with was the money and a terse "goodbye." It was truly an unexpected moment with a real person whose intentions were just as genuine as his constant anxiety over his lack of social grace.

"Ummm," MaryLynn hums, trying to select her words carefully. "Connor, has any girl kissed you before?"

"Yes," he answered after a moment or two.

"Have you kissed a girl?"

"No."

"I don't understand."

Connor sighed aloud, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I have been kissed before. In my village, there was a girl who had been fond of me, I guess. I don't know why, honestly. I was no different than I was when we were merely five years of age. She kissed me during a game of hide-and-seek. I was only twelve years of age at that time, so I ran off, embarrassed and bewildered by the affection. When I was fifteen years of age, a woman had kissed my cheek for luck. That was you, MaryLynn."

MaryLynn grinned to herself, fondly recalling a younger version of Connor with a mop of dark hair covering his eyes, his limbs so gangly compared to his currently built frame.

"Again, I ran off," Connor continued, his eyes downcast with shame. "Over the years, women have...shown me their gratitude when chasing off taxmen rather than told me. I would not return the affection, excusing myself to continue my mission. I am much too overwhelmed by certain reactions that I experience."

He spoke the last sentence quickly as if the words were deadly if spoken aloud. Of course, words were not entirely deadly like the piercing of a heart with a sharpened dagger. However, they were like pins pricking into his stomach and heart as he uttered them.

"So," sighed MaryLynn, coming to a conclusion. "I'm the first woman you have kissed in return?"

The Native assassin nodded slowly. His eyes shifted upward to her face before returning to the fire. She could see that his dark eyes were wide, his pupils dilated.

"You must think I am terrible, unpleasantly inexperienced," Connor fretted over his insecurity. "I'm sure you have kissed better able men."

"I don't care about that, Connor. I think it's refreshing. Your innocence and all."

"You make it sound as if I'm still an adolescent," he pouted, cocking an eyebrow at the perceived insult.

"I don't mean to. People experience this side of themselves at different times in their life. You are pure, and I respect that. Believe me, you haven't the slightest clue how much I envy that purity."

"I don't understand why you feel this way. I suppose the phrase, 'To each his own,' is appropriate. I am happy that it was you that I have kissed in return."

The blonde woman's eyes narrowed as her smile warmed significantly. 'He meant your skill; not you, you fool.' The monsters in her head refused to give her the chance to embrace the tender moment. Negative thoughts were often the most difficult to vanquish from one's mind. It was as if another person existed in the mind, waiting to strike down any comforting emotion. Perhaps its purpose was protection from disappointment in trusting another person. However, this purpose was a harmful one, conditioning a pessimistic outlook on life that is more than capable of disabling a person's will to live. Regardless, MaryLynn was much too tired to dismiss the negative thoughts. Her warm smile faltered to a bittersweet expression, her blue eyes dimming as they slowly trailed to the side.

"I would not have wanted anyone else to trust," Connor continued to confess, leaning forward in hopes of making his words even more authentic to the suddenly distant woman. His vulnerability was at risk of being exposed at an uncomfortable degree, but he would not desist in trying to reach his dear friend.

Like any new territory, he would strive to understand how it functions, overcome the obstacles, and smooth out his own doubts in order to reach the end goal. She was a vast forest littered with weeping willows, concealing every piece of her unique personality and hidden secrets from his view. Over time, he will reach her, gently pushing away the metaphorical branches of blooms that she so coveted.

"You are so sweet to me," said MaryLynn in a quiet voice, her eyes almost dismissive in her refusal to look at the Native assassin's face across the way. "The best friend that I ever had. I'm glad that I could help."

She seemed sad in her voluntary distance. This kiss did not appear to phase her as much as it had phased Connor. 'Does she think of me as a client? Just curious?' Connor was bemused by her behavior, and began to pedantically question the situation. 'I kissed her! I kiss with intention…I think I love her. Does she see this, or does she not take me seriously? Is she ignorant of companionship because of her past? This is going to be most difficult in telling her how I feel. Showing my intentions may not be specific enough. She will just misinterpret my affections and push me away. I can already feel her begin to push away.'

He gazed at her downturned face, watching as her eyes focused on the stone ground. Her face was an open book revealing any and every emotion on those rosy lips; those pale cheeks; those big blue eyes with heavy eyelids hooding them. Even if the blonde woman attempted to mask the thoughts and emotions swimming in her head, she had failed to fool the Native assassin's sharp senses. He furrowed his brows, his lips slightly downturned with determination. 'Just do not discard me as a client. See me as something more.'

The rest of the time in the cave was spent storm-watching. The fire had lasted about an hour and a half. By then, Connor smothered the last of the flames with some dirt he had collected from just outside the mouth of the cave. MaryLynn had been resting for the past forty minutes, leaving him to his thoughts. Her body curled up in Connor's coat on her side, resting on her forearm as a pillow. He watched how peaceful she had looked as he remained awake. She had insisted beforehand that he sleep as well, but Connor had refused to.

"I will remain awake for safety," he had reasoned with her. "Animals are unpredictable. I'll sleep tonight."

He was captured by the manner in which the assassin hood had covered her eyes, blonde waves poking out and curling around the edges of the white material. He smirked to himself as he reclined onto his back, cradling the back of his head in cupped palms. 'She would be an awful assassin,' he mused, his smirk never faltering. 'She would apologize profusely after killing a target. Perhaps she would even bandage her enemies.' It wasn't in MaryLynn's bones to kill another, even if said other attempted to kill a part of her soul. He admired this peaceful resistance about her. Some would say that her open heart and no need to retaliate were flaws. Connor saw no such thing. She was free of anger, unlike him. Her heart never died. Sometimes, Connor feared that his own heart might die from the constant distrust of others, the anger that would blind him in battle. Somehow, MaryLynn eased his fear of this. 'Do not turn into me,' he silently prayed, his smirk fading to a serious expression. 'Stay loving, keep your heart open... for me.'

After another hour had passed, the storm subsided. He pushed his upper body forward to rise into a seated position. Once on his feet, Connor walked around the fire pit to reach a slumbering MaryLynn. Soft huffs of air escaped her parted lips. With a gentle nudge of his hand on her shoulder, he awakened the lethargic blonde woman. She mumbled incoherent nothings to herself, staring up at the man with faded eyes.

"Come on," he whispered. "We can leave now."

She nodded once, slowly, painfully trying to lift herself up from the stone ground. It was not exactly ideal for her back and sides. Connor offered his large hands to help her up, pulling her by the hands to her feet. Their bodies were in close contact once more, her feet fumbling from the grogginess of sleep. He steadied her, his hands leaving her own to grasp her forearms. MaryLynn departs quickly from the contact, her behavior bashful and reserved. He exhaled deeply through flared nostrils, his lips thinning as he tried to swallow emotion. She was scared. But why?

No matter. A safe trek to the manor was more important now.

MaryLynn had returned the coat to the Native assassin before exiting the large crevice in the mountain. Tying her black handkerchief scarf around her damp head, the blonde woman kept to herself for some time once they embarked on what was left of their journey. Connor respected her wishes as he picked away at the battered leather of his dark brown gloves.

A convoy came into view several feet ahead of the path. A flash of red could be seen in front of the wagon at a certain angle. Connor's pupils dilated as he spotted red coat soldiers leading the convoy to what was most likely a fort he had not liberated just yet. Connor was almost relieved to have something interrupt the silence hovering between him and his dear friend.

He grasped MaryLynn's wrist in his hand and pulled her aside roughly into the bushes, pulling her down with him into a crouching position.

"What was that for?" she sputtered, her eyes darting wildly for a possible threat. "What is it?"

"You did not see it?"

"The wagon? Yes, I saw the wagon."

"Clearly you did not see the men in red coats," he kept his deep voice low in volume. "That is a convoy headed directly to a fort. Most of those goods were obtained in underhanded manners. They cannot reach the fort. I'm sorry, but I must handle this situation. Remain here behind this tree until you hear me tell you otherwise."

"Please be careful."

A subtle smile tugged at the right corner of his lips.

"Don't worry. I have done this before."

Connor immediately began to scale up the trunk, disappearing into the maze of branches and wet leaves. MaryLynn covered her head from the onset of water droplets from the leaves, grumbling under her breath.

Before she knew it, the rattling of branches could be heard, followed by the unsettling cry of a man struck down to his death. Her eyes widened, her heart ceasing to beat for a moment or two.

She heard a series of grunts and growls, the piercing sheen of blades clacking. The screams had shaken her to the bone, the gurgling of blood causing her stomach to churn. She couldn't bear to watch him kill those men, even if they were of British authority. It was brutal enough to listen to the noises of death.

Once the screaming had stopped, she still could not feel the blood return to her face and hands. They were chilled from the fear and disturbance striking her body with paralysis. She was much too horrified to look from behind the tree at the sight that awaited her.

"It's safe," Connor called out to her.

The blonde woman could not move her body, her breathing shallow.

"MaryLynn? Come out!"

Hesitantly leaving her post behind the tree, she came face to face with the bodies decorating the crimson painted grass. They surrounded Connor's feet like a hellish halo. He was dressed in their blood, the final screams from their slit throats clinging to his being like insects. Blood had painted his face and the upper portion of his clothing. For a moment, MaryLynn could not believe that this was the same man she harbored affection for. Her hand clutched her chest at the sight before her as she fought to regain her breath.

"Did you not hear me? Are you alright?"

His voice was rougher, his eyes almost too clear and intense as they stared at her. She felt scared, but her subconscious mind would not allow her to accept such a truth. No, not about Connor…

"I'm sorry about the bodies. I will finish as quickly as possible. At least we now have a horse."

MaryLynn nodded frantically, at a loss for words. She almost could not process his words, the splatter of blood on his face much too distracting.

Connor sheathed the hidden blade with a flick of his wrist as he made his way to the wagon. Pulling open the flaps of the wagon, he came to find the horse rider cowering in a corner, pleading and crying.

"Please! Let me go!" cried the horse rider, his palms pressed together in a prayer for his life. "I-I was bribed into this! P-p-please, sir, spare me! I am n-not affiliated with those men!"

"Get out of my sight," Connor growled from deep within his throat. "Forget what you have seen."

The man clawed his way out of the opposite opening of the wagon, jumping over the horse to dash off into the woods. MaryLynn felt terrible for the man. He may have needed the money for his family for all Connor knew. What were the consequences if the man had declined the bribe from the red coats?

"You know, you didn't have to scare off that poor man," she voiced her opinion, slightly nervous as she anticipated what his reaction would be.

"It is no concern of mine why he chose to aid the red coats," he dismissed the situation completely as he rummaged through what goods were kept in the wagon. "Lexington is not too far from here. He will just run off to safety there."

The way he killed those men had disturbed her. One minute, he was a kind and gentle man. The next minute, he was a ruthless killer without batting an eyelash at the spill of bloodshed.

"It is my duty to stop convoys from reaching British forts," he reinforced his reasoning to the blonde woman.

Slowly but surely, his killer instincts began to settle down. He realized that MaryLynn was startled by what had just unfolded….by him. A subtle pang of guilt sank deep within his stomach. He did not know how to erase this scene so that she could regain a sense of tranquility. Her eyes were darting, only settling on him for a few seconds before looking to something else. With not much else to do, Connor rubbed his face clean of the blood with the back of his left coat sleeve.

"There," he breathed out. "Is this better? I'm sorry for my appearance. I understand this is not as familiar to you as it is to me."

MaryLynn nodded, her arms embracing her waist for comfort. Merely cleaning his face did not improve the situation. She could still see the blood staining his copper skin. She wondered if the blood truly washed off his skin after a kill.

"I just.." she attempted to speak, her throat dry. "..I have never seen you actually kill. I knew you did. However, to see it.."

"I understand," Connor interjected as he lifted one body at a time to toss into the bushes.

He figured that if he cleared the path of the bodies, then maybe the blonde woman would feel more comfortable walking out to the wagon. However, his attempts to ease her memory of this killing were futile, no matter what he did to cleanse the path. Once he was finished tossing aside corpses like long forgotten rag dolls, Connor had motioned for MaryLynn to come meet him at the wagon. She acceded with a quick nod of her head. With raised eyebrows and downturned lips, she cautiously stepped around the ground to avoid splatters of blood as if avoiding stepping on volcanic lava. The guilt in Connor's stomach swelled further. 'Can she handle me, the way I am?' he questioned himself as he hoisted himself up onto the rider's seat. 'She knows that I am an assassin, even if she knows nothing of the Brotherhood. Hopefully, I won't have to kill near the manor. The less she sees and the less she knows, the better.'

Finally, after a rather sporadic pantomime of raised arms and wide steps, the blonde woman reached the passenger's seat, lifting herself up to sit beside Connor. Gathering the reins in his hands, the Native assassin looked down at his hands. He noticed the physical distance between him and MaryLynn in his peripheral vision. She was still frightened, but it was noted that she attempted to brave the sight. He sighed deeply, having not experienced such guilt concerning a kill. He was not regretful of the kill, mind you. He was regretful of the decision to kill when a dear friend was close by to witness it all. He cursed to himself in Mohawk, shaking his head.

"What did you say?" questioned the blonde woman, not recognizing the language.

"Nothing. Umm…" he hummed as he collected his words. "This will make the remainder of the journey more comfortable. We will be arriving at the manor soon."

She merely nodded, nervously smiling at Connor before she looked down at her lap. Thinning his lips, Connor flicked the reins with a terse "hyah!" to signal the horse to follow the determined path.

The pair continued their way to the manor in silence. Both of them were tired from the day's events. The plush coolness of a mattress would be the most splendid thing in the world right about now.

She watched the grey skies slowly turn to black, the sun's setting concealed by bloated, gloomy clouds. She had barely seen the sun since early this morning. For the most part, the skies had been painted grey during this journey.

Eventually, they reached an opening in the forest that revealed a large manor down below. MaryLynn gasped quietly at the lovely sight of the faded, red brick manor. Despite its age, she found it charming from a distance, framed with verdant trees and shrubs. The bottom floor windows were illuminated in a golden glow of candlelight.

"That's it below, isn't it?" she questioned aloud.

"Yes. We have tried to restore what we could of the manor. It's rather old. When I first arrived here as an adolescent, it was falling apart. The cobwebs would lurk in corners and the furniture bore this thick blanket of dust."

"That poor man. He probably couldn't do it all alone. Thank goodness he had you."

Connor nodded once, adjusting the lip of his hood.

"I only did what he asked of me," he downplayed his kindness to the former master assassin. "It was best to restore the manor or else it would soon enough fall apart. The property would lose its value."

"Nonsense. You did a good thing. Don't dismiss that side of yourself. No one forced you to help Achilles. You chose to."

"I try to do what I think is right."

"You can't just say 'thank you' to a compliment, can you," giggled the blonde woman, the waves of her hair bouncing as she shook her head.

"No," Connor mumbled to himself.

Descending the path at an easy pace, Connor took the horse and wagon to the stables near the manor. He left the horse and wagon at a stable off to the far right, the brown steed settled in comfortably and free of the reins. MaryLynn slid off the passenger's seat, dusting off her emerald skirt. Looking across the way at the Davenport Manor, she began to realize that the moment to confront a new home was just minutes away. Her heart began to race. For no conscious reason whatsoever, her breath shortened, leaving her lips in a wheezing sound.

She panicked, exposed for Connor to see. The change had come, and she was not entirely sure if she was ready.

"I-I-I can't," she sputtered, her hands shaking. "I'm n-n-not ready. I c-can't, I can't."

He tried to calm her down, leaving the horse's side.

"You don't even know how the situation will turn out," he firmly told her." Breathe."

"I can't. Not now."

She shook her head frantically, wringing her hands as her breath quickened by the second. Connor became frustrated, his palms open and facing the blonde woman in a desperate plea for her to calm down. It was a long day, and they were much too close to the manor for MaryLynn to give up now.

"You can't or won't?" Connor challenged her, hoping to ignite a different, more proactive emotion in her.

"What?"

The startled look in her eyes faded altogether then.

"I understand fear, but this is stopping you from even trying something new. You believe that you don't deserve a nice life. I think you're afraid of a nice life."

"Afraid of a nice life?" MaryLynn reiterated, the panic settling down as another emotion flushed her cheeks and knit her eyebrows tightly. In its place was a spark of anger. "You have no clue what I have been through in life. I will go when I am ready!"

"You cannot stay out here!"

Apparently, Connor's temper began to spark as well.

Patience was wearing thin amongst them. The claws were coming out, and neither individual was in the mood to hold back their sharpened tongues.

"Watch me!" the blonde woman spat.

Where was this coming from? He had tried to provoke her strong will in order to cancel out her panic. It worked, only to leave him dealing with a huffing, stubborn woman. She crossed her arms before her bosom, pouting as she jutted out her right hip. 'Pick one emotion, woman!' Connor craved to shout at her.

"Fine," he said through grit teeth, his fists squeezing tightly at his sides.

Without warning, the Native assassin lifted her up by the waist and swung her over his shoulder.

"What in the world?!" MaryLynn shrieked, the world suddenly upside down in her vision. "Put me down! Put me down now, you brute!"

"You are facing your fear, even if it requires me to carry you there."

"Stop!"

He discontinued engaging with her as she pounded her fists against his back, his quiver and arrows rattling with the force. As she persisted in her frenzy of shouted profanities and pounding fists, Connor mumbled heatedly, "I'm too tired for this."

Terry, the Scottish lumberjack, could be seen off in the distance, throwing out scraps for the family dog. Leaning his head back, he spotted Connor carrying a yelling woman up the stairs to the Davenport manor. The strange woman called him "every name in the book," so to speak. The Scottish lumberjack laughed heartedly at the site, a hand placed over his stomach.

"'ey, Connor!" shouted Terry. "Tha's not how you get yourself a wife!"

Connor could not hear him over MaryLynn's yelling. He ignored his friend for now.

On reaching the front door of the manor, he tightened his grip on her waist with one arm as his unoccupied hand quickly sought out the golden knob to open the door. As the ancient door creaked open, he called out into the manor, "Old man, I'm home!"

"You call him 'old man'? That's rude! Call him by his name!" MaryLynn scolded as the pounding of fists faltered. They were radiating with heat and pain.

The Native assassin sighed heavily once again, his frown deepening. Within a couple of minutes, Achilles made an appearance in the foyer with his cane, making his way to the front door. The foyer was illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. The golden light had casted shadows, dancing upon the burgundy and gold rug on the floor. Achilles' wide-rimmed, dark hat was discarded, as well as his beloved beige coat. It was much too warm to wear heavy clothing, even when the sun had long set.

"What is all this commotion?" the old man inquired, clearly irritated. "You're being quite rude carrying that woman in that matter. She doesn't look injured."

"Rude? I am not rude!"

"Oh, yes you are!" shouted MaryLynn, trying to lift up her upper body by pressing her palms into Connor's back and pushing upward.

Achilles stroked the salt and pepper stubble upon his jaw as he exhaled slowly. He raised his eyebrows, his dark fingers leaving his jaw. His student had usually brought home with him bloodied clothing (which he had) and perhaps an animal or two. A woman? This was certainly a first for the young man. Of course, he had brought Myriam, the huntress, to the manor when found injured by rogue men. However, this blonde woman was clearly not injured, and she argued with Connor as if this was not the first time he had flared her temper. 'Ah haa,' a revelation blossomed in Achilles' mind. 'Best of luck to her in dealing with him.'

"Well," the old man began, "as lovely as her derrière is, I'd much rather introduce myself to her face if she is going to be living here."

Connor grumbled with a snarl, gently putting her down.

"Don't be frightened, my dear," Achilles calmly said as he took note of how shy and quiet she became in his presence. "I am Achilles Davenport, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to my home."

"Oh, Mister Davenport," MaryLynn said, lacing her fingers before her, "I will do everything I can to earn my stay. I can clean, I can cook-"

The old man chuckled, waving one dark hand in the air.

"Child, it is more than alright. Some help around the house is greatly appreciated, but do not feel that it is required."

"You were not as nice to me when I first arrived, old man," Connor commented, removing his white coat and tossing it aside on the floor. It was dirty to begin with and needed washing.

"You were an obnoxious brat banging on my door and climbing my house!" Achilles raised his voice. "She is polite and does not hesitate to yell at you. I approve."

Connor exhales through flared nostrils, all the while MaryLynn held in her amusement.

"Now, show her up to her bedroom upstairs. It is late, and I am much too tired. I'm off to bed. Goodnight to you both. It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss MaryLynn. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mr. Davenport."

"Achilles will do just fine, my dear. Connor, don't leave that coat on my floor. If you're going to wash it, wash it now or leave it in your room for tomorrow morning."

"I will, I will," he insisted, sounding like an adolescent.

Connor motioned for MaryLynn to follow him up the staircase to her new bedroom as the old man made his way to the master bedroom down the hall on the first floor. Before ascending the staircase, Connor took possession of a lit candle from a side table and used it to light the way to the dark upper floor. MaryLynn followed him up the stairs, remaining two steps behind him. It was rather dark, but she could make out the intricate patterns in the grey paneled walls. The deep creaks from the floorboards alluded to just how old this manor was. In a sense, she appreciated its age. It was lived in, and memories of a family lingered in every piece of furniture and decoration. 'What kind of family did Achilles have? What happened to his family?'

Once MaryLynn was shown to her room, the Native assassin stepped aside for her to enter. It was a quaint bedroom with simple oak wood furniture, a four-poster bed with a pale blue spread, a vanity with three mirrors, and a small window with violet curtains. In front of the foot of the bed were her belongings from the brothel. Her heart was eased. This was not so bad after all. Something about this bedroom had comforted her.

"It's lovely," she whispered softly, walking to the center of the bedroom and turning around to face her dear friend.

"I hope you enjoy it," said Connor. "MaryLynn, I am sorry about my behavior."

"Please, don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I guess it was a long day, no? We're just tired."

Connor nodded, agreeing with her reasoning. He wanted to apologize again for the gruesome scene in the forest. However, he had figured that if MaryLynn did not bring up the subject, then it was best to keep mum.

"Really, it's alright. Thank you for doing all of this for me."

"Of course. My bedroom is across from your own. Should you need anything, please tell me. Sleep well."

"You too. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He handed her the candlestick, assuring her that he can obtain another. She thanked him, slowly the closing door as she watched him walk down the hallway. At the end of the day, despite his "profession," he was a good man to her. And yet, the vision of those bloodied corpses and gaping wounds haunted her mind. MaryLynn swallowed deeply to dismiss the nausea.

"Forget about it," she told herself. "It's in the past. Erase their bodies."

It was not as simple as she wanted to believe. MaryLynn occupied her senses with something else as she flopped down onto the bed. Lying on the mattress, she certainly enjoyed the spring! Oh, how lovely this felt on her tired, sore muscles! Stretching out her limbs, she hummed sweetly. Before preparing for bed, she recalled the letter she had tucked into her bodice.

Propping herself up on an elbow, MaryLynn pulled out Madam's letter from out of her black bodice. She was alone, an appropriate time to read and appreciate the letter from the beloved Scottish woman. She undid the tight folding of the letter and was met with small, cursive letters.

Dearest MaryLynn,

I'm grateful for knowing how to write. Had I not been taught, I wouldn't be able to tell you what I am about to write to you. Consider yourself talented! Not many people can silence my loud mouth.

On the day I first brought you back to the Maverick, I saw a spark in you that refused to die. You may not have believed me if I had told you this. I knew you were sturdy and passionate. That bleeding heart of yours gets you into trouble, I'll say that! But, it makes you who you are. I know you will get a handle on your panic episodes. You're young, and you will become better able to handle unexpected events in life. As delicate as you can be, you are also made of iron. I would know. You lived under a roof with me for years!

I am proud of you, MaryLynn. You got out of here. Not many girls can say that and make a decent life. God blessed you, dear. I think He had also sent you Connor to take you to a better home. That boy is terribly troubled. Be careful. He comes with baggage. I don't have to know what his life was and is like to know this. I know you can handle him, though. But, as I have told you, be careful with Men of War. Your heart is precious, and I don't want it broken.

I guess I truly am a mother now! I never thought I would have children, but God made it so. You didn't spring from my loins, but I consider you my child. Now, to give away my child, it hurts very much. It's bittersweet, though. Don't worry about me. I know you are, but I figured that I should write that anyway.

If I could, I think I would go with you to that homestead community. However, my place is here at the Maverick brothel. My destiny is to watch over these lost girls. Knowing that I have seen off a former "Lost Girl," I know that I have succeeded in my destiny, and will continue to do so. I see a lot of myself in you. Maybe that's why I was drawn to you that day when I found you curled in a ball near a pile of crates.

I'm crying! I don't cry!

I love you dearly, Ms. MaryLynn Mortenson. I know you will live a proud life. There will never be another girl like you. Never. You are one of a kind.

Sincerely,

Euphegenia Douglas ++

Madam

The letter was decorated in the blonde woman's tears. A few letters were slightly blobbed from the plummeting tears. A hand was placed over her quivering lips as her heart burst with the utmost love and adoration.

Over and over, MaryLynn's blue eyes scanned over the older woman's birth name. She had never known Madam's real name until now. To see her name in writing was an intimate gesture for the older woman. She had opened her heart to MaryLynn in this letter, forever immortalized in black ink.

She pressed the letter to her chest as she said Madam's birth name again and again, a bittersweet smile stretching out her lips.

"Euphegenia Douglas. Euphegenia Douglas. How I will always love you."

Connor furiously attempted to wash away the blood from his coat down at the lake. He had already transported the goods from the wagon to the basement before setting off to clean his coat. He was embarrassed once again by the memory of the blonde woman's terrified face. He had hoped to clean the coat for tomorrow. Perhaps if she saw a clean coat, she would forget about the Assassin and see the gentle man once more. She won't have to be reminded of the raid.

Unfortunately, the faded blood stains proved that it was hopeless to remove the stains completely. Ellen, the seamstress, would be better suited to mend this problem. However, it was much too late to consult her for her services at this time of night. Connor was plagued by the illness of guilt in his stomach, wishing he had just brushed aside that one convoy to avoid MaryLynn witnessing him in action. He knew that she was petrified of him in those few moments after the raid. She would never admit to this. She would never hurt his feelings. But it was true. He felt like a fool.

Perspiration seeped at his temples and the back of his neck as his washing quickened to an unbearable speed.

"Please, wash away," the Native assassin pleaded. "Please."

It was hopeless. The blood could not be washed away, just as the petrified look on his dear friend's face could not be erased from Connor's mind. She was afraid of him. It was the last thing he had ever wanted for her to feel towards him. Although it was now in the past, he could not forget her face. He could not forget those wide blue eyes threatening to shatter in his presence. He was determined to smooth it over by keeping mum about the Assassin Order, and any other business he had to attend to involving death.

Connor hung his head low as he ceased his washing of the white coat. His knees were soaked from kneeling in the water. The suds of the soap bar had saturated the coat, but how much of the blood could be washed away? He persisted once again, rubbing the material with the soap bar fervently, furiously.

"Wash away. Wash away."

The past was never left where it should be. As far as Connor was concerned, the past would always haunt him. His failures would always haunt him.

++: The inspiration for Madam's first name actually came from one of my favorite childhood films, Mrs. Doubtfire. Every time I wrote Madam's dialogue, I would hear the voice of Robin Williams impersonating this fictional, old Scottish woman, whose full name was Euphegenia Doubtfire. I honestly don't know why, but that is the voice I imagined coming out of Madam's mouth! Of course, Madam is much more rugged and foul-mouthed than Mrs. Doubtfire. So, I decided to name her after Mrs. Doubtfire. The surname Douglas is an Anglicized form of Dubhghlas, which means "dark river." Madam is very private and does not share with many people her regrets, her loves, her pain, etc. She does not even reveal her real name to her girls, so I thought this surname was appropriate. A woman who laughs and cusses, yet never removes her emotional armor for anyone.

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for this update! I've been hitting a large, brick wall of Writer's Block. I am taking a break from this story for a while, and focusing on my original work. However, I am not abandoning this story! I have neglected my original work for some time. I just need a break from this story for a while, and hope to return with a fresh mind to start again. Until then, I will also be cleaning up previous chapters. Minor changes, really, but I will be editing.

Anyway, I was very excited to reveal Madam's real name! I added the footnote because I wanted to share with you how I imagine her to sound like and what inspired me to mold her. MaryLynn's panic in confronting the manor was sudden, especially when Connor triggered her anger. Please note that this was as realistic as I could make it. I am drawing from my own experience in struggling with panic attacks over the years, and I know that sometimes I can be snapped out of the episode with something that ignites my anger or passion. Connor's darker side is emerging, and MaryLynn is beginning to see the split faces of him: the ruthless Assassin and the gentle Mohawk boy who will do anything to make her smile. Witnessing a killing is very frightening.

Hope you enjoyed Connor dragging her to the manor. ;)

Thank you once more for your undying support and encouragement. You all are such a delight to chat with and your input is helpful. I write for entertainment purposes, and when I read that someone is having a good time reading this story, I am beyond thrilled and very happy. I may not be perfect, but that's ok. I love to write for the sake of writing.

Have a lovely week, everyone. I love you, and I hope to return to this story with a fresh mind! Thank you for understanding and for your patience! Read and Review ~~

~take care