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Description
Boston 1779 Winter
The fine bone comb tugged at small knots that were scattered about her red tresses. Cool wind slipped through the open shutters, caressing the pale curtains in the main room while rain pelted the snow covered rooves and streets, slowly turning it all to sludge. She pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders. A single candle burnt by her side, Casting long shadows about the quiet room. Winning the battle against her unruly fiery locks she smiled at her reflection in the looking glass, her hair finally falling into order framing her fair features.

Barking in the distance, dogs let out warnings into the night. Letting their owners among others know the whereabouts of every passer by.
Shouts of men joined the chorus. English voices, accents thick as the snow on the ground calling the position of an assailant. The noises grew, feet could be heard crunching through snow, chasing what sounded like footsteps on roof tops.
Lizbeth placed the comb back on the duchess turning her attention to the door that led to the empty dark lounge.
The silence was broken with a thud. Sound of feet scrabbling against wood and another heavy thud as a body jumped through the window and snapped the shutters closed. Through the gloom she couldn't see who it was. The figure was tall and broad, she guessed a man was listening intently to the noises of the street.
Lizbeth remained still, there were few people in this world who could find her. Fewer still that would approach her by window. Either of them were worth a moments apprehension, She had nothing to defend her self, he was bigger and obviously stronger than her. Reaching for the top blanket on the bed. Pulling it slowly and silently towards her, she began her move.
She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the doorway into the darkness. Moving like a cat she flicked the blanket up over the strangers head, ensnaring him in the folds of cloth. He spun making to defend himself against this unseen foe. Pulling the corners down around his arms she swiftly tied them tight against his body. He struggled momentarily before the sickening ripping was heard. She stepped back seeing the blade poke from the petite floral bed sheet pattern. Panicked her eyes darted around the room for something to continue the fight. A large oil lamp stood on a writing desk to the side of the window. She turned making a lunge for it as the last ripping noises gave way to the sound of the blanket slipping to the floor. Turning back lamp raised above her head ready to strike.
"Wait." He raised his hands palms open facing her "I am not here to cause trouble."
She hesitated, peering through the low light trying to make out features beneath the hood.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Connor." His voice was soft and calm denoting a gentler nature than the glint his weaponry did.
"Stay there." She ordered curtly, turning back towards the bedroom to retrieve the light. Touching the wick with the candle she carried the warm glow back to the dark lounge to illuminate her new guest.
Dripping head to toe, he remained where she had asked, a small puddle pooling beneath his feet staining the wood floor. He wore white, a hood covering his features shadowing his face from the light.
Stepping closer to him, she reached up to pull it down. Running her fingers along its edge she gave it a tug, and the pail wet cloth slipped reluctantly back.
"Well now." She exclaimed tenderly looking up to watch the light dancing on his bronzed skin. "You're not who I was expecting at all."
Lightning crackled out side behind them, thunder roared as an answer. Between the storm noise the English men could still be heard shouting, looking for him.
Pondering the value of helping, she pushing past him and throwing open the shutters.
"Wha' are you lo' clamouring abou'?" She shouted into the storm, her usual plumb English accent slipping into something a little rougher round the edges.
"We're looking for a man. He was running this way miss. Disappeared into one of these windows." Came the reply from the ground.
"Was he good looking?" She asked flashing them a cheeky grin, "I could help the search."
"If its a man your looking for love..." Began one of the redcoats before his comrade cuffed him over the head.
"Sorry to bother you miss. You have a good evening. Come on we'll try the next block over."
She winked and closed the shutters behind her. Shaking the droplets of water from her hair she turned back to Connor. "There now. You have a moments reprieve." She smiled "Tea?"
She had turned leaving him to go to the kitchen before he could answer.
"Who was it you were expecting?" He queried following her, the light and the warmth as she placed the kettle on the stove.
"One of the local thugs, thinking I'm poaching on their land again, or worse." She stated rubbing her forehead as she searched through the cupboard for cups. Breathing a silent sigh of relief her that it wasn't one of the men she was indentured to.
"You and I have very different meanings for poaching I take it."
"Ha! Quite." Her musings were interrupted by an exclamation as she found the mugs and tea pot she was looking for. In good timing the kettle began to sing between them. She popped spoonful of tea leaves into the pot covering them with the hot water, making another expedition into the cupboards to find sugar. Finishing the tea and passing him a cup. Her finger tips bushed his feeling the chill in his skin.
"Dear god, soaked and frozen!" She exclaimed. "Drink, it will be the only thing that will stave off your death. I'll try find you something dry." She flitted off into the depths of the dark apartment, giving him a moment to assess his surroundings.
It was a rich looking apartment. That much fit her. Her accent was well rounded, and though she spoke fast, every syllable was clipped and well enunciated. The house small despite is comforts was kept in darkness. She carried the lamp with her from room to room. It was as if she didn't want any one to know she was there.
She returned, placing a neatly folded bundle of men's cloths on the table next to him.
"Hopefully they will fit." She said picking up her own mug and leaning back against the bench top. Watching him with piercing eyes as she sipped delicately at her tea.
"This is not your house is it?" He queried slowly returning her steady gaze.
"Very astute. How did you figure that out?" Her tone was droll, but with out offence.
"You don't know where anything is, and there are men's clothes in the house even though you are not married." He explained simply. Beginning to feel like every facet of the conversation was a test. He could feel her gaze analysing him, taking stock of not only weaponry and his physical aspects but how he answered questions.
"You don't take me for a Harlot?" She asked innocently
"I take you for a squatter, or a thief."
Laughing at his blunt omission, she finished her tea and set it down. "I prefer the term Financial Liberator."
He smirked at her glib humour, "So who are you miss Finical Liberator."
"Mother always said don't give your name to strangers who jump through your window." Came her curt reply
"It wasn't your window was it?" He retorted.
"Be thankful I was not the lady of the house. Not every one would be quite so hospitable."
"Like throwing a blanket over my head and threatening to hit me with a lamp." He reached for the clothes, a plain shirt, dark pants. Rich fibres soft supple and warm, the owners of the house obviously had means.
"Your welcome." She moved toward the door. Nothing in her confidant well place steps made a sound over the noise of the rain hitting the windows. She paused a moment turning back to look at him over her shoulder. "Lizbeth is my name. From one rogue to another, your welcome to stay as long as you need, or until the rightful owners return." She stepped from the light into the darkness again, leaving him in the warmth of the kitchen.
Returning to the bedroom, to her tiny candle flickering against the night. She fingered the comb thinking on this Connor, two rooms across. Dripping wet, running from redcoats. He seemed a familiar face though she couldn't place where from. A handsome face, with adornments that spoke of one of the local tribes. At first glance kind, still his garb was not anything familiar, he was heavily armed and she was not one to be turned by comely visage. She would wait, sitting down on the bed she pulled a book out from the side table. If he slept she would find out who this Connor was.

The house went quiet. The storm still raged in the night out side. Gathering her skirts around her she crept into the lounge. Sure enough her welcoming offer had been taken and he lay sleeping soundly on the floor. She crossed the room in the dark, her eyes adjusting to the low light, the large white hooded coat lay over an armchair, its heavy fabric still damp to the touch. She ran her hands over the lapels, toying with the silver buttons she reached inside feeling for any hidden pockets. Nothing but an eagle embossed on the hood. She looked over some of the weaponry that lay neatly on an adjacent table. A pistol, a tomahawk, a sword, each kept in working order, the bumps and scratches on each item telling her they were well used.
Approaching the sleeping figure, kneeling next to him she looked him over. No money pouch obvious, no papers, no distinguishing features to tell her which side he belonged too.
On his left arm there was a large gauntlet, leather and metal both, she reached out to it, catching a glimmer of sharper metal under his wrist, the large cuff hiding a deadly secret. Her eyes grew wide as she realised what this man was.

Snapping up to grab her wrist his hand jumped from his side. She hadn't realised he had woken. Faster than she had time to react he snatched her other wrist and rolled her on her back pinning her to the ground. "Thief." He exclaimed.
"Assassin." She hissed back. Struggling for moment against him.
"You know the Assassins?"
"Its Just one of the few orders that made it across from the old counties. Thieves, Assassins, Whores and Templars." She gave up fighting against him relinquishing herself to his grasp.
"What do you know about the Templars?" He demanded.
"Enough to say my Pleases and Thank you's and leave them alone. Don't mind as soon as you let me up I will give you the same courtesy." Though truth be told they did little to leave her out of their affairs. Being this close to an Assassin let alone giving him aid was enough conflict to end her life and her confidant nature was doing little to hide the terror behind her eyes and through out her body. Releasing his grip on her he allowed her to sit up.
"Where did you learn about the Assassins?" Sensing her fear, he returned to his gentle spoken ways, gentle coercion was better than terrifying the poor girl.
She crossed one arm across her belly the other tugging at the neckline of her dress. Averting her eyes as she spoke, "My father spoke of them." Though a fact of her youth, it was an edited version of the truth. "A thief was an Assassins greatest tool, he would say. Since well before the old days. Courtesans distract Guards better than most, and a man can hide behind their skirts and silks. Vigilantes and mercenaries are the best in a fight. Strong and in greater numbers, but a Thief will get you information, we have eyes and ears every where, from the richest manors to the deepest gutters. Objects of your desire we can ferret them out and get them with out a drop of blood spilled. Treasures, finery or forgery all are with in our grasp. But there hasn't been an assassin this side of the colonies that I've seen in my life time." She looked up "You all had become a myth. That myth didn't peg you as a patriot."
"I fight for freedom." His belief in his cause voiced through the conviction of his words.
"Freedom?" Her hands slapped the floor at her side her posture rising up."Freedom to die in the streets of small pox while the powers at be fight over the tax on tea? Over land that wasn't theirs to begin with?" She pulled her legs up and made to stand "You fight for their freedom, Not your own"
"You wouldn't understand." He mumbled.
She paused her feet coming to rest perfectly together, her shoulders setting low and firm "What did you say?"
"You wouldn't understand." He repeated louder this time "Being English."
She turned on the spot. "Being English?" She snapped.
"You are, aren't you. I mean look at you. Listen to you."
"Oh we're making face value judgments now." She bent down to him. "Your right I don't understand. My father is Welsh, my mother was French, I was born on a boat sailing for the America's, so unlike you I don't have a native land. I do know my people though. The other beggars, orphans and impoverished, the army's will feed us while we are dying for them. Beyond that, once the war is won? Each side will ship us off label us unfortunate, and never look that way again." She took a deep breath, composing her self drawing back the anger straightening up again. "However noble you seem, your friends are not." She bowed her head "I wish you nothing but luck in your endeavour. Good night." Creaking beneath her the wood floor protested her movement. He jumped to catch her as she left.
"Lizbeth I am sorry." His hand brushed hers, grasping at her fingers, he stood in one fluid action. "I didn't mean..."
Placing a hand on his chest she cut his sentence short. "It's politics Connor." She looked up through her ruddy curls. "It's all just politicians throwing their weight around. Be they scientists, or generals they are still politicians." She laughed softly before adding. "They would be con men if they were more honest."
Her face had softened, the hurt and rage gone from her, as quickly as it had come. Connor noticed she seemed concerned as she looked at him.
"You are a valuable commodity. Don't let them use you as their own personal weapon." She raised her hand with his still upon it and gave him a reassuring squeeze before slipping from him and disappearing back into the night.
Standing in the darkness he could still feel the warmth in her touch. Warm of body and temper. Quickly she had flared up, changing the fear she had into unbridled anger in mere moments. Then just as a bush fire burns its hottest looking to consume all in its wake. She stopped becoming no more than warm smouldering embers. He had a feeling with her it would only take a small gust to start the fire anew. Standing in the dark looking off into the direction she left, his hands were still warm where she had touched him.

Lying in bed staring through the dark at the ceiling. Lizbeth wrapped herself in her blankets. She had come face to face with an Assassin. He was young, not as suave or worldly as her father had described. She thought back through her life to see where the memory of his face came from. There was a whisper in the back of her mind, that she had seen him, maybe in her youth, maybe age had become its own disguise. He seemed naive, honest and brave. Fool hearty traits for any man in the new world. She ran her hands over her face. She could still smell the earth and water from his coat, a faint hint of gun powder, scents of wear. She closed her eyes burying her hands behind her head.

The morning rose anew sharp light pierced the shutters waking Connor. The house was eerily still. No sounds of sleep, no movement. He searched the rooms but there was no trace of her. The bed was made not a wrinkle to be seen, the used dishes were washed and returned to their rightful spot. Not even a hair was left, it was like she was no more than a dream. This Lizbeth, fire turned to a woman.

She watched him slip from the window, and the same way he had come in the night before. Through the shutters, pulling himself skilfully up the side of the building across the roof tops away from the eyes of the redcoats below. No doubt those she was bound to serve would want to know of him if they didn't already. Sneakily fleeing was cowardly, but she couldn't get drawn into his affairs. She had her own issues to deal with.
She put the fine bone comb in the pocket of the stolen coat and pulled it around her shoulders against the crisp sharp wind on the bright morning. The rain had washed away most of the snow, erasing the filth of the days before. Walking away a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth she pushed forward into the throngs of people on the streets of Boston.

Description
Boston 1779 Winter
The fine bone comb tugged at small knots that were scattered about her red tresses. Cool wind slipped through the open shutters, caressing the pale curtains in the main room while rain pelted the snow covered rooves and streets, slowly turning it all to sludge. She pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders. A single candle burnt by her side, Casting long shadows about the quiet room. Winning the battle against her unruly fiery locks she smiled at her reflection in the looking glass, her hair finally falling into order framing her fair features.

Barking in the distance, dogs let out warnings into the night. Letting their owners among others know the whereabouts of every passer by.
Shouts of men joined the chorus. English voices, accents thick as the snow on the ground calling the position of an assailant. The noises grew, feet could be heard crunching through snow, chasing what sounded like footsteps on roof tops.
Lizbeth placed the comb back on the duchess turning her attention to the door that led to the empty dark lounge.
The silence was broken with a thud. Sound of feet scrabbling against wood and another heavy thud as a body jumped through the window and snapped the shutters closed. Through the gloom she couldn't see who it was. The figure was tall and broad, she guessed a man was listening intently to the noises of the street.
Lizbeth remained still, there were few people in this world who could find her. Fewer still that would approach her by window. Either of them were worth a moments apprehension, She had nothing to defend her self, he was bigger and obviously stronger than her. Reaching for the top blanket on the bed. Pulling it slowly and silently towards her, she began her move.
She took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the doorway into the darkness. Moving like a cat she flicked the blanket up over the strangers head, ensnaring him in the folds of cloth. He spun making to defend himself against this unseen foe. Pulling the corners down around his arms she swiftly tied them tight against his body. He struggled momentarily before the sickening ripping was heard. She stepped back seeing the blade poke from the petite floral bed sheet pattern. Panicked her eyes darted around the room for something to continue the fight. A large oil lamp stood on a writing desk to the side of the window. She turned making a lunge for it as the last ripping noises gave way to the sound of the blanket slipping to the floor. Turning back lamp raised above her head ready to strike.
"Wait." He raised his hands palms open facing her "I am not here to cause trouble."
She hesitated, peering through the low light trying to make out features beneath the hood.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Connor." His voice was soft and calm denoting a gentler nature than the glint his weaponry did.
"Stay there." She ordered curtly, turning back towards the bedroom to retrieve the light. Touching the wick with the candle she carried the warm glow back to the dark lounge to illuminate her new guest.
Dripping head to toe, he remained where she had asked, a small puddle pooling beneath his feet staining the wood floor. He wore white, a hood covering his features shadowing his face from the light.
Stepping closer to him, she reached up to pull it down. Running her fingers along its edge she gave it a tug, and the pail wet cloth slipped reluctantly back.
"Well now." She exclaimed tenderly looking up to watch the light dancing on his bronzed skin. "You're not who I was expecting at all."
Lightning crackled out side behind them, thunder roared as an answer. Between the storm noise the English men could still be heard shouting, looking for him.
Pondering the value of helping, she pushing past him and throwing open the shutters.
"Wha' are you lo' clamouring abou'?" She shouted into the storm, her usual plumb English accent slipping into something a little rougher round the edges.
"We're looking for a man. He was running this way miss. Disappeared into one of these windows." Came the reply from the ground.
"Was he good looking?" She asked flashing them a cheeky grin, "I could help the search."
"If its a man your looking for love..." Began one of the redcoats before his comrade cuffed him over the head.
"Sorry to bother you miss. You have a good evening. Come on we'll try the next block over."
She winked and closed the shutters behind her. Shaking the droplets of water from her hair she turned back to Connor. "There now. You have a moments reprieve." She smiled "Tea?"
She had turned leaving him to go to the kitchen before he could answer.
"Who was it you were expecting?" He queried following her, the light and the warmth as she placed the kettle on the stove.
"One of the local thugs, thinking I'm poaching on their land again, or worse." She stated rubbing her forehead as she searched through the cupboard for cups. Breathing a silent sigh of relief her that it wasn't one of the men she was indentured to.
"You and I have very different meanings for poaching I take it."
"Ha! Quite." Her musings were interrupted by an exclamation as she found the mugs and tea pot she was looking for. In good timing the kettle began to sing between them. She popped spoonful of tea leaves into the pot covering them with the hot water, making another expedition into the cupboards to find sugar. Finishing the tea and passing him a cup. Her finger tips bushed his feeling the chill in his skin.
"Dear god, soaked and frozen!" She exclaimed. "Drink, it will be the only thing that will stave off your death. I'll try find you something dry." She flitted off into the depths of the dark apartment, giving him a moment to assess his surroundings.
It was a rich looking apartment. That much fit her. Her accent was well rounded, and though she spoke fast, every syllable was clipped and well enunciated. The house small despite is comforts was kept in darkness. She carried the lamp with her from room to room. It was as if she didn't want any one to know she was there.
She returned, placing a neatly folded bundle of men's cloths on the table next to him.
"Hopefully they will fit." She said picking up her own mug and leaning back against the bench top. Watching him with piercing eyes as she sipped delicately at her tea.
"This is not your house is it?" He queried slowly returning her steady gaze.
"Very astute. How did you figure that out?" Her tone was droll, but with out offence.
"You don't know where anything is, and there are men's clothes in the house even though you are not married." He explained simply. Beginning to feel like every facet of the conversation was a test. He could feel her gaze analysing him, taking stock of not only weaponry and his physical aspects but how he answered questions.
"You don't take me for a Harlot?" She asked innocently
"I take you for a squatter, or a thief."
Laughing at his blunt omission, she finished her tea and set it down. "I prefer the term Financial Liberator."
He smirked at her glib humour, "So who are you miss Finical Liberator."
"Mother always said don't give your name to strangers who jump through your window." Came her curt reply
"It wasn't your window was it?" He retorted.
"Be thankful I was not the lady of the house. Not every one would be quite so hospitable."
"Like throwing a blanket over my head and threatening to hit me with a lamp." He reached for the clothes, a plain shirt, dark pants. Rich fibres soft supple and warm, the owners of the house obviously had means.
"Your welcome." She moved toward the door. Nothing in her confidant well place steps made a sound over the noise of the rain hitting the windows. She paused a moment turning back to look at him over her shoulder. "Lizbeth is my name. From one rogue to another, your welcome to stay as long as you need, or until the rightful owners return." She stepped from the light into the darkness again, leaving him in the warmth of the kitchen.
Returning to the bedroom, to her tiny candle flickering against the night. She fingered the comb thinking on this Connor, two rooms across. Dripping wet, running from redcoats. He seemed a familiar face though she couldn't place where from. A handsome face, with adornments that spoke of one of the local tribes. At first glance kind, still his garb was not anything familiar, he was heavily armed and she was not one to be turned by comely visage. She would wait, sitting down on the bed she pulled a book out from the side table. If he slept she would find out who this Connor was.

The house went quiet. The storm still raged in the night out side. Gathering her skirts around her she crept into the lounge. Sure enough her welcoming offer had been taken and he lay sleeping soundly on the floor. She crossed the room in the dark, her eyes adjusting to the low light, the large white hooded coat lay over an armchair, its heavy fabric still damp to the touch. She ran her hands over the lapels, toying with the silver buttons she reached inside feeling for any hidden pockets. Nothing but an eagle embossed on the hood. She looked over some of the weaponry that lay neatly on an adjacent table. A pistol, a tomahawk, a sword, each kept in working order, the bumps and scratches on each item telling her they were well used.
Approaching the sleeping figure, kneeling next to him she looked him over. No money pouch obvious, no papers, no distinguishing features to tell her which side he belonged too.
On his left arm there was a large gauntlet, leather and metal both, she reached out to it, catching a glimmer of sharper metal under his wrist, the large cuff hiding a deadly secret. Her eyes grew wide as she realised what this man was.

Snapping up to grab her wrist his hand jumped from his side. She hadn't realised he had woken. Faster than she had time to react he snatched her other wrist and rolled her on her back pinning her to the ground. "Thief." He exclaimed.
"Assassin." She hissed back. Struggling for moment against him.
"You know the Assassins?"
"Its Just one of the few orders that made it across from the old counties. Thieves, Assassins, Whores and Templars." She gave up fighting against him relinquishing herself to his grasp.
"What do you know about the Templars?" He demanded.
"Enough to say my Pleases and Thank you's and leave them alone. Don't mind as soon as you let me up I will give you the same courtesy." Though truth be told they did little to leave her out of their affairs. Being this close to an Assassin let alone giving him aid was enough conflict to end her life and her confidant nature was doing little to hide the terror behind her eyes and through out her body. Releasing his grip on her he allowed her to sit up.
"Where did you learn about the Assassins?" Sensing her fear, he returned to his gentle spoken ways, gentle coercion was better than terrifying the poor girl.
She crossed one arm across her belly the other tugging at the neckline of her dress. Averting her eyes as she spoke, "My father spoke of them." Though a fact of her youth, it was an edited version of the truth. "A thief was an Assassins greatest tool, he would say. Since well before the old days. Courtesans distract Guards better than most, and a man can hide behind their skirts and silks. Vigilantes and mercenaries are the best in a fight. Strong and in greater numbers, but a Thief will get you information, we have eyes and ears every where, from the richest manors to the deepest gutters. Objects of your desire we can ferret them out and get them with out a drop of blood spilled. Treasures, finery or forgery all are with in our grasp. But there hasn't been an assassin this side of the colonies that I've seen in my life time." She looked up "You all had become a myth. That myth didn't peg you as a patriot."
"I fight for freedom." His belief in his cause voiced through the conviction of his words.
"Freedom?" Her hands slapped the floor at her side her posture rising up."Freedom to die in the streets of small pox while the powers at be fight over the tax on tea? Over land that wasn't theirs to begin with?" She pulled her legs up and made to stand "You fight for their freedom, Not your own"
"You wouldn't understand." He mumbled.
She paused her feet coming to rest perfectly together, her shoulders setting low and firm "What did you say?"
"You wouldn't understand." He repeated louder this time "Being English."
She turned on the spot. "Being English?" She snapped.
"You are, aren't you. I mean look at you. Listen to you."
"Oh we're making face value judgments now." She bent down to him. "Your right I don't understand. My father is Welsh, my mother was French, I was born on a boat sailing for the America's, so unlike you I don't have a native land. I do know my people though. The other beggars, orphans and impoverished, the army's will feed us while we are dying for them. Beyond that, once the war is won? Each side will ship us off label us unfortunate, and never look that way again." She took a deep breath, composing her self drawing back the anger straightening up again. "However noble you seem, your friends are not." She bowed her head "I wish you nothing but luck in your endeavour. Good night." Creaking beneath her the wood floor protested her movement. He jumped to catch her as she left.
"Lizbeth I am sorry." His hand brushed hers, grasping at her fingers, he stood in one fluid action. "I didn't mean..."
Placing a hand on his chest she cut his sentence short. "It's politics Connor." She looked up through her ruddy curls. "It's all just politicians throwing their weight around. Be they scientists, or generals they are still politicians." She laughed softly before adding. "They would be con men if they were more honest."
Her face had softened, the hurt and rage gone from her, as quickly as it had come. Connor noticed she seemed concerned as she looked at him.
"You are a valuable commodity. Don't let them use you as their own personal weapon." She raised her hand with his still upon it and gave him a reassuring squeeze before slipping from him and disappearing back into the night.
Standing in the darkness he could still feel the warmth in her touch. Warm of body and temper. Quickly she had flared up, changing the fear she had into unbridled anger in mere moments. Then just as a bush fire burns its hottest looking to consume all in its wake. She stopped becoming no more than warm smouldering embers. He had a feeling with her it would only take a small gust to start the fire anew. Standing in the dark looking off into the direction she left, his hands were still warm where she had touched him.

Lying in bed staring through the dark at the ceiling. Lizbeth wrapped herself in her blankets. She had come face to face with an Assassin. He was young, not as suave or worldly as her father had described. She thought back through her life to see where the memory of his face came from. There was a whisper in the back of her mind, that she had seen him, maybe in her youth, maybe age had become its own disguise. He seemed naive, honest and brave. Fool hearty traits for any man in the new world. She ran her hands over her face. She could still smell the earth and water from his coat, a faint hint of gun powder, scents of wear. She closed her eyes burying her hands behind her head.

The morning rose anew sharp light pierced the shutters waking Connor. The house was eerily still. No sounds of sleep, no movement. He searched the rooms but there was no trace of her. The bed was made not a wrinkle to be seen, the used dishes were washed and returned to their rightful spot. Not even a hair was left, it was like she was no more than a dream. This Lizbeth, fire turned to a woman.

She watched him slip from the window, and the same way he had come in the night before. Through the shutters, pulling himself skilfully up the side of the building across the roof tops away from the eyes of the redcoats below. No doubt those she was bound to serve would want to know of him if they didn't already. Sneakily fleeing was cowardly, but she couldn't get drawn into his affairs. She had her own issues to deal with.
She put the fine bone comb in the pocket of the stolen coat and pulled it around her shoulders against the crisp sharp wind on the bright morning. The rain had washed away most of the snow, erasing the filth of the days before. Walking away a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth she pushed forward into the throngs of people on the streets of Boston.