CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Sir," the young soldier said, stepping into the dimly lit room. He could see the other man sitting at the desk, his quill moving steadily. The young man wondered if he had even heard him or if he was just making him wait, and he shifted uncomfortably. For a moment, he wondered if he should leave the master to his writing, but that would not do. He had to be told... Though in truth, he feared the reaction he would receive. "A report, sir, from Davidson and the others."

At that, the quill stopped, and he set it onto the desk silently, his face still as glass as he glanced at the boy. He couldn't have been much older than sixteen, with his bare face and the way he shook in his boots. It was getting harder to find fresh recruits, what with the end of the war. The people had become more bold, more resistant, and they were stuck with the few that were able to be scared or bribed into service, usually some young man with a wench and babes to support, or a farm and brothers and sisters to manage after the deaths of his parents. Unfortunately for them, that meant inexperience and disorganization, something he had no stomach for. Davidson had promised to train them up, but with this foolish girl causing so much trouble, all else had been pushed to the side. Sighing, he gave the boy a small nod, motioning for him to continue.

"They seem to be heading south, though their destination is not known. The Assassin made easy work of the men William Beeson sent, and Barton's men came close, but..." He hesitated, swallowing as he tried to gauge the other man's reaction. He sat rigidly, his fists clenched and his jaw set tightly.

"Out with it!"

"They escaped. Davidson followed their trail as long he could, but it was lost. Davidson writes that Barton is dead. He awaits your orders but suggests that the best thing would be to turn back and reassess the situation."

As soon as the notion of giving up the search had left his tongue, he had stood up, anger and impatience flashing in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was calm – chillingly so, especially with the contrast of his body language.

"You tell him that if he so much as considers stepping back into the city without the girl, he might find me much less merciful than the last time he failed me."

The younger man stood rigidly, nodding curtly in response to his cold words. The last time... He had not yet been employed here, but he had heard the story all the same. Though he couldn't seem to recall what it is Davidson had done, he did remember the punishment he received...

It was said that the he had gone to his home and shot his brother-in-law straight through his eye from quite a ways off, though he suspected that was partly exaggeration on the part of the men. Still, though, such cold butchery of an innocent man had not sat well with him when he had first arrived. What really unsettled him was hearing what he had done to the man's wife, Davidson's own sister, right in front of him... If that was mercy, it certainly did not make him want to so much as bother the man.

"Send Joseph immediately," he said sternly.

"Right away, sir." As he turned and went, the soldier could feel nothing but pity for the poor girl he was chasing. When he closed the office doors behind him, he sighed loudly, running a hand through his hair. Though his job was essentially to act as a message boy and help organize correspondence between the master and the other men of rank, he rarely had to actually speak to him. He was more than thankful than that – the man gave him chills.

When he walked into the tavern, the men yelped excitedly at his arrival.

"'Ere ya are, Red, we were jus' talkin' about ya," Simon said, slapping him on his back as he tried to make his way to the table where Joseph was sitting.

"Had a bit to drink, have you?"

"Nah," he said, drawing out the word and shaking his head. "I hold mah drink ways better than any of yous young little ladies, I do," he said, pointing all around the room and then at Red as he gripped his shoulder, trying to keep his balance as he walked.

Red tried to suppress his smile, but when Simon broke out into song, he couldn't hold it back.

"Come on boy, les hear those singin' lungs a yours! Have a drink!"

"Not now," he said. "Business." Truthfully, Red had no taste for rum or ale or whatever it was that the men had in their pitchers this time, but he wasn't about to make that known. He was already known as the young, inexperienced message boy, there was no need to enable them further.

"Don't mind him," Peter chimed in, laughing. "You know as well as any that Simon can't drink for shit."

Disregarding Simon's protests, Peter led Red to his table full of rowdy men, offering a chair.

"Thank you, but not tonight," he declined, holding up his hands. "I actually need to find Joseph, he-"

"A wench!" Simon yelled, barging between them. "Ain't nobody that'll says no to a pretty little wench, even our little red-hair boy!"

Red's blush betrayed him far before his words even had a chance to. Peter and the others laughed loudly, leaving Red to rest a hand on the sword that hung on his hip, perhaps only to remind himself that he was no longer the boy these men claimed. His boyhood had ended long ago...

"Enough," a voice called, silencing the others with his authoritative tone. Joseph stood, obviously agitated, and made his way towards Red. "What is it?"

"The master requires you," he said, standing a little straighter.

"You know you can stop calling him the master," Peter laughed, slapping a hand on the younger man's shoulder. The others laughed with him, but Red ignored them, anxious to get Joseph back in a timely manner. Joseph nodded, walking out without a word. Red hastened to catch up after freeing himself from Peter and Simon's insistence that he stay and enjoy the night.

Red waited outside while Joseph went in. It was quiet at first, and for a while Red thought that perhaps he had overestimated how much his news had bothered his boss. But then, out of nowhere, he yelled "Find her! How hard could it be to find a woman and a damned savage?" Joseph's muffled voice, calm as ever, was trying to console him, Red knew, but there was only so much one could say once he was angry.

Sighing, he leaned against the wall, wishing he was anywhere except for here.

Some time later, Joseph finally opened the doors, and Red straightened up, saluting, expecting him to walk past. Instead, Joseph gestured towards the door.

"He wants to speak with you."

"Me?"

Joseph nodded, not bothering to see if Red actually entered or not before walking away. Red watched him go, glancing at the door before taking a deep breath and entering.

He was facing the window, the soft, darkening light of the late summer evening casting his shadow across the room.

"Red. I have a proposition for you."

William was in his study working the books when the footsteps came pounding towards his door. He closed the book gently, being careful to mark his place, and stood, expecting to see one of his sons, or perhaps one of his men with news of Rachel.

Instead, the hands that threw the door open were the last ones he would have expected.

"What in heaven's name are you doing here," William asked, taking a step backwards as the man came barreling towards him, something much harsher than anger contorting his features.

He grabbed his cravat and leaned in close, rage seeping through every pore in his body. William stared at him wide eyed.

"Why am I here? Your bitch of a daughter, that's why."

Rachel. Oh, what had she done now...

"Please, be civilized. This is no way to conduct business."

For a moment, William thought he was going to move his hands a little higher, wrap them around his neck and wring the life from him. But then, the man drew back, letting him free. The calm demeanor that he usually held returned to him, and he put his hands behind his back, raising his chin and taking a deep breath. As William smoothed his clothes, he watched the other man, trying to carefully consider what words to say.

"What has happened?"

"Your men were killed by that Assassin dog. He holds your daughter, but there is no need to fear. I will retrieve her."

William tried not to show his discomfort. Oh, what a fool his daughter was... How simple all would have been if she had simply done her duty! Now she had not only endangered herself by falling into the hands of this... this savage brute, she had endangered her family, as well! Silently, he cursed her, but all the same made a brief prayer that the man would stay his hand from her. Oh, but the things that Assassin he had done... He had killed his own father! There was no way Rachel would come home to him unscathed.

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I expect you remember John Davidson?"

Oh, he remembered, alright... The poor fellow whose brother-in-law was murdered and sister raped by that Assassin. Ever since, he had turned cold and cruel, almost as much so as the Assassin himself. William felt no comfort knowing that his daughter would be in his care, but anyone was better than that Assassin, and besides, Davidson would not lay one finger on her if his superiors ordered him not to.

"Certainly, a very capable fellow. Has he a lead?"

His placid face broke for a moment, but fell back into place even quicker than the look had appeared. "No. The Assassin has made sure of that. But it is no matter. I have sent more men, and they will come across her quickly. There are many rivers and other obstacles where they were last seen, and I have ordered my men to be posted at every bridge, every river able to hold a boat, each town to retrieve supplies... They will find them sooner than not, you have my word."

Relief washed over William, but it was short lived.

"And once she is back," he continued, "I will teach her a lesson, and if she breaks, perhaps our deal will still be salvageable."

William tried not to wince. If she broke? His daughter was wild, surely, foolish and idealistic, but the way he was speaking against her seemed so... harsh. For a moment, he wondered if he agreeing to this deal had been wrong.

"Perhaps," William began, wondering if it was wise that he should say anything at all. "Perhaps we can forget Rachel and continue with our plan without her. Surely she was never truly needed for our agreement."

"Enticing, yes, but I must decline."

"Perhaps if you just considered -"

"I will not be made a fool of by a woman and a savage, Mr. Beeson," he said, lowering his voice as he spoke. "She will learn a great lesson, so that whatever fool must have her will be assured to have a wife who knows her place. That poor fellow will thank me. And so will you."

William tried to disregard the tone with which the other man spoke, but the sinking feeling in his stomach prevented any such thing.

"Not to worry, Mr. Beeson. I am a merciful man. Your daughter will come to no harm that will not make her a better woman. It will be a service to her, and I will expect your appreciation."

William stood silently, hands behind his back as he gazed at the floor, trying to find the words to say, but unable to even understand how he felt himself.

The other man sighed and began to pace.

"I hope I have made myself clear," he said, his voice low.

"Of course," William said. When the man had left, he went straight to his desk, finding a blank piece of paper and messily scrawling a message.

He had to hire better mercenaries, that he knew. He would pay them double to bring her back unharmed, triple to kill the Assassin. One thing he had learned was that with most men, lust and barbarous acts could be prevented with extra coin. And for Rachel, she might depend on it. It was clear that there would be no going back in his deal with this man. Rachel had to be found, and it was better for his own men to find her rather than the others...

When they came upon the safe house, Connor was relieved to see two familiar horses tied up outside. There was no time to go searching for David and Miles, and Connor had grown impatient and anxious at the vast expanse of uncertainty that surrounded the situation.

He glanced at Rachel, who was practically nodding off in the saddle. They had ridden hard all day in order to reach the cabin before nightfall, and she was still exhausted, emotionally as much as physically, from the day before, though she had tried to conceal it. Connor led his horse closer to hers in order to rouse her, reaching out and lightly touching her arm.

"Rachel," he called softly, not wanting to startle her.

"What," she mumbled sleepily, sitting up straighter and forcing her eyes open as she tried to make it seem as though she had been awake the whole time.

"We are here," he said, sliding the reins from her grasp as he led their horses towards the others. She made no response, instead trying to rub the drowsiness from her eyes. Though she had not truly been sleeping, she was so tired that she was slightly confused. Her head was betraying her, no matter how many times she pinched herself or rubbed her face. When she realized that Connor had dismounted, she did the same, widening her eyes impossibly large in hopes that she would be able to regain control of herself, instead of feeling as though each limb was working of its own accord, rendering her unable to do anything competently.

When she finally managed to swing her leg over, she almost fell, but managed to steady herself.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked, his hands hovering near her.

"Yes," she managed, once her feet were firmly on the ground. "Just clumsy, is all. Do you think Miles and David are here?"

Connor furrowed his eyebrows, glancing towards the horses. Rachel followed his gaze and felt the blush creep into her cheeks. He must think her absolutely insane by this point, she thought as she laughed softly. Connor placed a hand on her back lightly, leading her towards the door.

When they entered the cabin, Miles and David were sitting in front of the fire. As soon as David caught sight of them, he jumped up, throwing his arms wide.

"I knew it," he exclaimed wildly, eyes locked on the way Connor had his hand on Rachel's back. "I knew it!"

"Calm yourself, David," Miles said, rolling his eyes as he got up. He grasped Connor's arm in greeting, gesturing to the fire. "We have just prepared dinner, please, make yourselves comfortable."

As Rachel made for the pitcher of water, Miles kept his attention on Connor. "What brings you back? I assumed we would not meet again until you had returned from taking Rachel to Virginia."

"Things have changed," Connor said, his eyes briefly drifting to Rachel, a gesture which did not go unnoticed to Miles. "There is much we should discuss."

"Of course," Miles said. "Please, eat," he insisted.

"If you can stomach it," David said, grinning. "Miles is not the best cook."

Miles glared at him, shaking his head as he made a bowl of soup for Connor. "Always so kind, aren't you, David?"

"Truthful, I am," he said, making an exaggerated face of disgust as he took another bite.

Rachel could hear the banter between the men, but Connor's voice was absent from the chatter. He was unusually quiet, and Rachel did not try to hide her concern, watching him openly. She disliked when he was so withdrawn, and how often he seemed to retreat into his own thoughts. What she would give for a smile, or a laugh...

After she had splashed water on her face, she felt much more alert. Stretching, she sighed, wondering how long they would have to have that fire going. It was far too hot outside to keep it going throughout the night, and as she sat down next to the others, she wondered why they had not just made the fire outside.

"Are you hungry, Rachel?"

She wasn't, but she nodded, taking a bowl of soup anyway so as to be polite.

"So what happened," Miles began, turning the mood much more serious. Even David's playful grin disappeared as he set his bowl down, his brow furrowing as he leaned in.

"I overheard the men who have been following us, and it seems they do not want Rachel in order to draw me in. They just want her, though I can come up with no reason why."

Miles looked at Rachel as if he thought she was hiding something, and she pulled her knees close to her chest, unable to keep his gaze. A long silence followed, and Rachel found herself wishing they could have waited to speak of this.

"Why did you run away Rachel?" Miles' voice was gentle, yet Rachel could feel the mistrust behind his words.

"I wanted my own life," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I was tired of being told what do to, who to be..."

"Is that all," Miles said, his gaze too intense for Rachel's liking.

"What does it matter to you," she snapped, the exhaustion bringing forth her temper. "My reasons are my own."

"Not if they have put us all in danger."

"Miles," Connor said, his voice a warning. Miles looked at his friend, but did not rid his face of the doubt he had expressed in Rachel's intent.

"Rachel," David began, regarding her more gently. "What Miles so rudely failed to get across was that it is important for your safety, and all of ours, that we know the full truth of everything."

"I have told you all I know," Rachel said, standing. "What more can you desire from me? I can create a fanciful story if you wish, to satisfy your desire for a scapegoat, but then I truly would be lying."

David sat back, trying not to laugh, and Miles punched him in the arm.

"Ow!" He whined, rubbing his arm. "What was that for?"

"It is not funny," Miles said through gritted teeth.

"I think perhaps we should revisit the matter in the morning," Connor offered, standing as well. "We are all exhausted, and arguing will bring us no closer to the answer."

"Very well," Miles nodded, before looking to Rachel rather sheepishly. "I am sorry. I was wrong to question you."

Rachel nodded in acceptance, but though she had always been taught to accept an apology like a lady should, she was wild now, and she need obey no rules of men.

Water surrounded her, choking her, crushing her, strangling her in some terrible prison... She thrashed, reaching out for anything to grab onto, but all she felt was cold, cruel liquid slipping through her grasp. Terrified to open her eyes, yet even more afraid of the darkness within her own mind, she began to panic, and forced herself to look around. The salt stung her eyes, but she did not close them, looking for the surface. When she finally recognized the shape of a boat and the sunlight above the water, she kicked her legs, pulling at the water to try and get to the surface.

As she got closer and closer, she could almost feel the sweet air rushing mercifully into her lungs, but just as she reached towards the surface, hands closed around her leg, drawing her back into the depths. Rachel thrashed, fear rising hot through her blood, and when she looked down, she screamed. Her mother, pale faced, blue eyes seeming to stare unseeing, held a firm hold of her ankle, dragging her downwards.

Her air was gone, and she sucked in, desperate to breathe, but instead, water came rushing into her nose, burning her throat, strangling her lungs... She wanted to scream, to cry, to voice her agony, but the water trapped even her voice. Her body convulsed, and as she began to lose consciousness, her leg was freed, and her mother began to swim towards the surface. Rachel could see her brothers pull her back into the boat, and watched as they began to row away, leaving her sinking into the depths of the sea.

Rachel jolted up in the bed, grabbing at her chest as she sucked in breaths, her lungs stinging as if she had truly been drowning. A strange sound filled her room, terrifying her with itss rasping, guttural noises. It was a few moments before she realized that those choking noises were coming from her own throat.

Her body shook, and her heart seemed to be held in some horrifying icy grip. She had not been so utterly terrified after a nightmare since she had been a child, and even as her breath began to calm and she was able to attempt to lay back down. Yet even as she closed her eyes, trying to take slow breaths, her whole body was trembling, even with the heat of the summer. Sweat soaked the bed where her neck and back had been, and she sat up again, too uncomfortable to lay there.

She knew it had been a dream, just a dream... Yet the horror still gripped her, and she wanted to be anything except alone. She needed something to bring her into reality... A drink of water, a conversation, even just looking upon another person, sleeping calmly.

Foolish was a poor word to describe how absolutely absurd she felt as she crawled from the bed, stumbling to the door. She could not believe she was about to go looking for company just because of a nightmare... Perhaps she really was the child her father thought her, after all.

The little cabin was pitch black, save for the little candle burning in the corner, but it wasn't too hard to find the room where the others were sleeping. The cabin had two rooms besides the main one with the table and fireplace. They were identical in setup, with many bunks for sleeping, but evidently the others had decided not to sleep in the same room as her.

Rachel had thought she was being quiet, discreet, as she pushed the door to the other room open, expecting to see three still, sleeping forms. Instead, in the moonlight she could just make out one figure, sitting up, his arm going to remove the few blankets anyone could bear in the heat.

"Rachel?" The voice was soft yet urgent in the dark, floating towards her through the stillness of the summer air. As soon as she realized she had woken someone, she turned on her heels, quickly fleeing and shaking her head, cursing herself. She felt like an utter fool.

No sooner had she closed the door that it was open again, the voice a little louder.

"Rachel, what is it?"

She didn't respond, simply wrapping her arms around herself in the dark, squeezing her eyes closed. Connor left the room, fetching the candle, and Rachel almost cursed him for it – she did not want him to see her so distressed. Yet he lit the candles anyway, setting them down as he silently crossed the floor. She could hear the soft footfalls behind her, but he stopped a few feet back, keeping his distance. Frozen by humiliation and the grip that her nightmare still had on her, she hugged herself tighter, wondering what she should do.

He was silent for a long time, but finally he spoke when he realized that she would not.

"Rachel," he said slowly, concern thick in his voice. She sighed and turned, still refusing to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she muttered. "It was only a dream."

Only a dream, perhaps, but Connor had heard the cries from the other room, and he knew it was more than just a nightmare... "Just a dream," she repeated, her voice scarcely a whisper. He sighed, watching the way her eyes crossed the floor frantically. Connor stepped forward slowly, and when she was in arms reach, he lifted a hand to her shoulder. As he got closer, she released her arms and then looked up at him, her eyes red and glassy with despair. Suddenly, she stepped closer to him just as his arms folded around her, and she buried her face in the linen of his shirt, gripping the fabric at his back. He smoothed her hair, feeling her breath shudder every time she inhaled, as if her lungs had not recovered from a long cry.

They stood there for a long while, and as the minutes passed, Rachel found herself finally able to breathe steadily. It was her who pulled away, untangling her fingers from his shirt and turning towards the bed. She didn't look at him as she gathered her hair to the side, weaving it into a braid just to have something to do with her hands.

Connor stood behind her, watching but saying nothing, concerned but not wishing to make her uncomfortable. Seeing her so unraveled was unnerving, especially as she always tried to hard to keep her emotions carefully wrapped up. As he debated whether to go to her or just let her be, she finally turned, though still did not meet his eyes.

"You remember that day, in the boat," she said, not so much asking him as she was telling him. "How I was afraid, how I..." She stopped, pressing her lips together and dropping her arms from where she still fidgeted with her braid, giving a soft sigh before raising her eyes. Connor could see the guilt and sadness in her eyes, in her lips, even in the withdrawn way she stood, so different than the confident stance she usually took.

Connor placed his hand gently on her neck, his thumb stroking her cheek, moving over her skin like the breeze that cools one's brow.

"You do not have to tell me anything you do not wish to," he said, moving his other hand to her cheek as she closed her eyes, winding her arms around his waist.

"When I was young, my siblings and I would often play by the creek near our house. Our mother often warned us not to go into the creek, for the current was strong and we could get pulled under easily." She tightened her grip on his shirt as she spoke, and Connor watched the way her face changed as different emotions passed through her – despair and guilt and sometimes a still, sad fondness of some childhood memory.

"One day, I had the idea to take the little old row boat out into the water, but none of my siblings would accompany me. I was a foolish child, though, and I went anyway. I was doing fine, rowing my way across and thinking all the while how much I would gloat when I returned, but once I tried to get back to shore, the current caught me and I lost both oars. I screamed and screamed, and suddenly my brothers all came running, my mother trailing behind. When I fell in, my mother came in after me. I remember little, only being scared and tossed by the current, unable to breathe, but then, just as I was about to lose the rest of my breath, I surfaced, and my brothers fished me out, but my mother... my mother... She always feared the water and could not swim, and the current..."

Rachel let out a quiet sob then, wiping the tears from her cheeks. It had been so long since she had spoke of this... As she sat on the bed, she took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. Connor took her hand, and when she let herself look up at him, she almost laughed at the way he was looking at her. She must have looked a mess, the way he was studying her...

"I'm sorry," she managed, letting out a soft breathy laugh. She did not want to hear words of sympathy or assurances that it wasn't her fault. She had heard them all before, yet none of them did anything to heal the hole in her heart that her mother had left behind. But instead, Connor pulled her close, kissing her forehead, and for the first in a very long time, she let herself cry.

A/N: Well, I am a complete and utter failure for taking so long to update, and for that I am extremely sorry! Just know that no matter how long it takes me to finish this story, I WILL finish. I am determined! With a few other stories I've been working on and a new semester, it's just been hard to find time to write, especially because for some reason, Rachel's story has been giving me lots of problems... I had things planned out on where I wanted them to go, but I started working on this story almost a year ago (wow, I thought I would be finished by now... oops) and in that time, I've found some of those ideas to be lame or poorly developed, so I'm trying to re-configure things. This chapter kind of just wrote itself in that I honestly had no plans for it or plot for it, so hopefully it isn't too confusing! I hope you all will bear with me as I try to figure out what direction I want this to go in!

Mme Curie - Thank you SO much for your review! It absolutely got me to go back to this story, even though it took another two months to complete this chapter... I absolutely agree, though - Connor is a smart, capable fellow. I don't think he's anywhere near as unaware or incapable when it comes to romance and women and things of that nature as many people portray him... I suppose I can thank Ubisoft for not including that part of his story, in a way. It's so much fun to speculate! :)

.Pt - Whew, I thought last semester was rough but this one is already kicking me around and it isn't even spring break yet... Ayyyyy. Anyhow, David has returned in this chapter, although just a little... I'm still feeling out what future role he is going to play, but I think he'll be sticking around for a little while!