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Description
Frontier 1780 Summer.
The fort practically sighed in the heavy summer air, the soldiers lethargic in the heat were more interested in finding ways to keep cool than to investigate the diminutive figure in a red coat and hat skulking through the battlements and into the keep.
Lizbeth's task was not so simple on the balmy night, the fort lay on the coast, the nearest settlement a tiny shanti town two hours ride away. The pioneers that lived their produced their own food and lived hard and fulfilling lives. With this war for independence the English supply lines had been cut, their superior numbers and fire power had taken what little the settlement could produce.
Lizbeth had only meant to pass through, she had put so many miles to her back since she had left Connor in New York, this was to be yet another.
Something compelled her to stay, hear their plight, attempt to help them. She blamed Connor, stupid, honest, brave man it was was starting to rub off on her. She had been thinking of him more and more as time and distance speed between them. He was as close to a friend as she often got, despite only meeting him on two separate occasions. She had even memorised his looks, the thoughts had kept her warm at night. Their conversations though brief still played in the back of her mind, he was so hopeful, his vision was such a pure one it was hard not to get caught up in its majesty even if her own cynicism did speak out from time to time. He had accused her of sounding like a Templar, did she really tote their code? It was hard to separate her own teaching from her own feelings. A pessimist's heart was rarely broken, but often lonely.
She entered the main building from the back, an unguarded door that opened up right by the steps to the battlements. Once inside she was met with formal drudgery of military life. A war room with a table covered in maps and tiny toy soldiers to strategise and plan, it would have been a treasure trove if she was after information for the patriots, but she was here for food. A small collection tonight then with careful planning a proper hit to get more. Trotting down the hall she spied the kitchen. Smells still wafting from the dinner menu but stoves cold, and the room empty. Treading with great care she passed pots and pans holding her breath knowing if one should fall she was done, until finally the pantry.
She opened both doors, hoping to be met with a treasure trove, but only saw a meagre haul, half filled sacks looking sadly in the dark corners.
"You know we are on rations. Out of there." The gruff voice barked behind her. Pausing, body going ridged she analysed her possibilities. If she spoke her voice would give her away, if he caught a glimpse of her face he would know her for the imposter she was. The sad sack of potatoes called out to her, singing the song of her salvation. Snatching up the loose edges she swung it with all her strength clocking the soldier in the head. The thud confirmed his fall. No time for a snatch and run, She leaped over the stunned man, she sprinted down hall hitting the closed door while she fumbled for the knob. Men began to spill down the stairs and out of the various rooms to see what the commotion was. Finally the door pushed open and she fell out into the air, falling to her knees as the door gave way, scrabbling at the grass pushing her self forward, every fibre screaming at her push on. She got to her feet searching for an exit. The wall. If she could get to the wall, she could jump into the sea.
Rounding the edge of building, she felt it, she didn't see it, The red sharp pressure splintering out from the bridge of her nose, bringing the blackness with it.

Pitch shattered into consciousness, Lizbeth woke spluttering, spitting the cold water out trying to sake it off. She looked around. Two men stood before her, one leering with the offending bucket in hand. Her hands bound together mirroring her feet she hung from the rough thick ropes by a hook usually used for storing meat. Trussed up outside in one of the open wood structures, she took a minute to get bearing. The other soldier pulled another length of rope fashioning it into a noose and looping it over her head and tying it to the support beam above.
"There you are, so no thinking about slipping off that hook." He told her as he worked "if you do you'll wring your neck."
The bindings were tight, as tight as her wrists and feet. She tried to swallow.
"There's been some kind of misunderstanding." She began.
The first soldier put his bucket down and drew his sword, it sung as he arched it through the air laying it to rest on her throat.
"I don't think there has." He hissed "You see after Captian Ranold was robbed we realised there was a thief on the loose, helping the other side." The sword tip trailed down her body tearing the cloth of her shirt as it went. "A pretty thief. I guess that was your downfall, every one in Ranold's house remembered when the Nanny disappeared."
She laughed nervously. "Alright." She panted feeling the draft on her bare skin, "You have me, but let's not be to hasty." She made eye contact with her aggressor. "I'm extremely useful, with a wide range of talents." She squirmed a little in her binds, her arms beginning to ache with the weight that pressed on them. "After all surly what's freely given is sweeter than what's rudely taken."
The soldier sniggered "I don't know, I have always been quite fond of the taking."
Lizbeth's heart began to race, panic was filling her head with muck and slowing any cognitive processes down.
"Information then. You're right I work for the other side, I have insight, and what I don't know I could find out for you. Let me go, and its yours."
The second soldier cut her short with a scoff. "There ain't no information we want that we can't get any how. Unless you know the assassin."
Lizbeth's face went cold, the sensation trickling down her back.
"Look!" Exclaimed the other soldier "She knows something."
Again the sword was returned to her flesh. This time the point coming to rest just below her eye, the tip burning into her cheek like a hot brand. "What's the assassin worth to you then? Your eye? That pretty face?"
"Wouldn't be much too take if you cut me up." She reasoned.
He leaned in his face coming close to hers she could smell his stench, hot summer day, marching close quarters with unsanitary living, it was all she could do to stop from retching. A trickle of blood began to form, she could see it at the edge of her vision.
"I don't care what your face looks like. Tell me what you know about the half breed Assassin."
"I know nothing." She stammered, which wasn't a lie. Beyond their arguments of politics and his offer for a better life she barely knew anything of Connor past his name. "Honest to god."
"See she didn't offer to find out." One said to the other in a horse whisper.
"You'll see I didn't, because the man is an Assassin. How long do you think I would be able to stand against the likes of him." She told them.
"Wouldn't expect the likes of you stand for many men."
"I suspect your more of a fight from your back kind of girl." They laughed lecherously.
Lizbeth rolled her eyes. As she did looking up at the roof top of the keep across from where she hung, she spied a figure. Coat tales flapping dramatically behind him as he ran across the roof.
"I suppose by the end of the night we will know if you know anything."
She Caught the ruffians eye. "Look at me." She demanded. "Do I really look like I'm a woman in any position to lie to you?"
"You look like..." His leer was cut short by a gurgle the point of a short blade sticking from his throat, his blood spattering forward against her clothes. The second soldier lunged for the assailant, but was blocked by a tomahawk and the blade was wrenched from his friend and plunged into him.
The two men slumped to the ground silently as Connor stepped over them to her.
"We have to stop meeting like this." She said, her humour doing little to mask her feeling of relief.
"Next time we will agree on a date."
She laughed desperately as he reached behind her to cut the noose. With strong hands lifted her off the hook sliding her carefully to the ground a swift sharp blade rid her of her binds, he asked taking her face in his hands looking at the well of blood trickling down her cheek, "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head and threw her arms about his neck, hugging him so tight for an instant he thought she would never let go.
Bells began to chorus, some one had witnessed the fight. The camp was being alerted to the intruder.
"We have to leave." Lizbeth explained breaking away, looking back at him confused when he didn't follow,
"I have business here with the Captain."
She could hear the men beginning to assemble, she could see the few on the battlements moving looking hunting.
"What can I do?" She asked against all sense.
"The powder store." He told her. "Destroy it." And he took off into the depth of the hold.
Lizbeth walked tentatively towards the bushes that scattered the area around the keep.
Her ankles ached blood returning to her feet and hands.
Connor was drawing the majority of the attention but she didn't want to risk open combat.
Nearing the gates she spied the store, a Stone shed half buried into the ground. Taking a lantern left that had been left to illuminate the barrels the men on watch gathered around she opened the door and threw it in side.
She backed away, no wick meant no idea how long it would take but she had to make sure it went off.

"You." A Redcoat shouted hurtling in her direction lunging with his bayonet, she jumped as a second soldier joined his onslaught. Dancing back narrowly avoiding the gleaming hungry point each time.
A stab went low and she pinned the offending weapon beneath her foot and lay a punch with all her force into the unguarded jaw that was presented to her, he stumbled releasing his weapon as he fell to the dirt.
Hooking her foot under the gun she flicked it into her hands, using it to parry the next attack. Knocking his weapon away she pointed her barrel at his chest and fired stumbled for a moment with the kicked of the blast.
As she turned to deal with the man now pulling himself out of the dirt before she could, the powder store groaned and exploded showering them with stone and mortar, dazing him further.
Connor approached her the last men turning and fleeing now their leader lay dead.
"I thought you didn't fight." He stated
"Didn't, not can't." She said, "it's usually easier for me to talk my way out of trouble."
He raised and eyebrow. "Yes, that seemed to be going so well for you."
Laughing at his sarcasm Lizbeth looked up. Her eyes growing wide as she was met with a man covered in blood. Reaching into a pocket in her trouser's she pulled out a white handkerchief, and stopped before him for a second to wipe some of the offending globs from his face, "is it yours?" She asked, despite him showing no sign of being wounded.
"No" He moved to the only horse left in the fort the poor beast half mad with fright from the explosion, pulling against its tether, he began to sooth the animal with soft words.
Lizbeth noted the sudden emptiness as a new flag few from the battlements.
"I'll be right back." She called to Connor while running back to the keep. Back to the sad sack of potatoes and what ever else was left for her to get her hands on.

The early raise of sun snuck through the trees dappling the trail before them. Saddle bags as full as they could be with the returned food of the pioneers, Lizbeth lent back into Connor as they road through the early morning. A shiver ran through her body, adrenalin leaving her system, heat of battle fading.
He responded putting a comforting arm around her middle her head resting on his shoulder. They rode in silence before she directed them to the little collection of quaint homes and tents amongst a small clearing. Sliding from him she quickly emptied the saddle bags and signalled for him to ride ahead. There were a few people pottering about doing their morning chores, tending to their small patch of land.
Connor did as Lizbeth bade and rode on but curiosity got the best of him. Peering through the bushes he watched her. She trotted, up to the large house in the centre. The only fully finished homestead. Large wooden logs slatted together to make up the simple yet beautifully functional home.
She knocked three times loud, even from his vantage point he could hear her knuckles rap upon the solid door. She waited craning her ear to hear movement. Receiving confirmation that some one was indeed answering the door she darted off, back into the foliage.
Connor dismounted and walked the horse back onto the trail and waited for her to cross his path.
"You didn't go far." She said crunching up the dry road towards him. Her steps quick and firm as if she had set it in her mind to walk further by herself.
"I have learned you disappear when I take my eyes off you."
She blushed for a moment reaching to the horse to pat it's muzzle avoiding his eye contact.
"You were in the fort for the settlers?" He asked, joining her at the horses side.
"Returning what is theirs."
"I take it you weren't in it for the thanks."
"First they thank you, then they ask if you want to stay with them. And what do you say." She spoke quietly eyes never leaving the horse.
"Evidently that thieves are not welcome in paradise." Her took the reigns off her and mounted. Looking down at the bruised and battered woman before him he held out a gloved hand. "Which is not true in any respect."
To his surprise she took his hand placing herself back in the saddle in front of him. Silently he spurred the horse a head feeling the apprehension through Lizbeth's tense muscles as the rode to a destination only he knew the location of.
"I realise its taking a lot of trust." He began attempting to put her at rest. The night had been hard on her, she remained stoic on the outside he knew what a great actress she was, and how much of what she was truly feeling she would let him see.
"Once before I trusted a man. A stranger off the street." She spoke quietly as if she was talking to the distant memory. "He offered Alms, a place to stay for winter. I was a child, he was a gentleman." She laughed "It's not a tale of woe and lost innocence. The deal we struck was for winter, and when the thaw came he left. We went our separate ways." She twisted in the saddle to look behind her. Connors face was unreadable as he let her say her piece. "I do trust on occasion. Even if its only for a season."
"I'll wager you never told him a single truth."
Lizbeth giggled making herself comfortable against him. "Couldn't lie to that man. Like you he could see right through me." She paused for a moment "He was a lot like you actually. But I like you better."
***

The homestead was beautiful, they rode past small houses littering the lush property. Lizbeth even saw hare dart across their path and disappear into the thickets. She had lived all her life in the cities, the closest to wilderness she got was traveling the roads between them, even then she stayed with convoys enjoying the safety in numbers, but missing a lot of the magic of the untamed frontier.

They reigned in next to the main house. Connor led her to a room and gave her a few moments to herself. Afternoon light dripped in past the thick drapes. She looked around picking up the candelabra that sat on a side table running her hands over it before replacing it perfectly back where it belonged. Trailing her fingers across the table she moved to the bed. Tightly made it looked more than inviting after such a long night.
As she looked up she caught a glimpse of her self in the mirror. No wonder Connor had looked on her with such worry. The blood scabbing on her face where she had been cut. A mark across the bridge of her nose where she took the blow that had knocked her unconscious, bruises covered her wrists turning them shades of blueberry against her fair skin. The weave of the rope still indented in her flesh. She removed her hat and tossed it to one side looking at her neck in the mirror where matching marks were beginning to swell up. Un buttoning her jacket revealed the ribbons her shirt was left in. None of the cuts had reached her chest, yet the slashes drew up memories of the sword, point so sharp air screamed around it as it moved, ripping through the folds of her shirt.
She flinched at the sound of the soft knock at the door.
"Connor said you would be needing some clothes."
Lizbeth's feelings must have been showing more than she realised as she turned to the dark haired pretty woman who was laying out a soft blue dress on the bed.
"Oh you poor dear." She exclaimed "there's no need to look that frightened. Your safe now." She wrapped her in a warm embrace, "He said you had been in a spec of trouble, I didn't realise how much."
"I'm fine." Lizbeth lied "really. And thank you, it is all far to much, I don't know how to ever repay you."
"It's our way. We look after each other here." She held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. "If you need some one to talk to. You come my way. You hear me? I have been around my share of violence."
Lizbeth smiled at the woman's earnest words.
"Of course. Thank you."
Again she was left alone with her war wounds and thoughts. Stripping the shredded garments from her body she stepped into the dress. Long sleeves covered her wrists but not her throat. The deep neck line laying beautifully on her shoulders wide away from the marks.
As her hand raised to touch them again, subconsciously hoping it was a dirty mark or maybe with the next touch her fingers won't be met with raised marks proving it was all a dream, she saw a familiar figure fill the door frame. She watched his reflection as he walked up behind her, eyes filled with concern.
"Bruises will fade." He told her unsure of what to say.
"Taking memories with them I hope." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Connor if you hadn't been there today."
He silenced her with a gentle hand upon her as she completed the turn towards him.
"There is no need to dwell on what could have happened."
She stepped forward wrapping her arms around his waist burying her face in the folds of his jacket. All the bravado of earlier, the bargaining with redcoats, flirting with death washed away with the realisation of how close to actual danger she was, how close to death she was. His arms slowly unfurled and wrapped around her. His left hand caressing her hair. He was hesitant. Nervous, he had embraced her on the battle field, adrenalin and relief had over come any sense either of them had. Now apprehension returned.
He didn't want to take advantage of her, she had been through quiet an ordeal. He had no idea how long she had been tied up, an all he had to go on from what was done to her was the story the bruises told.
Turning her face towards his palm she kissed the leather of his glove. Fluttering up and under his Sleeve her fingers danced over his hand shedding it of the offending garment. Bare to the world she caressed it timidly, her lips kissing his knuckles. He couldn't take it, feeling the touch of her mouth enticing and inviting and turned her face towards his, bending to her, he meant to kiss her. It had been something he had wanted to do since they rode together from the fort. Perhaps even before. Since she had kissed his forehead and vanished from him and he had spent more months alone.
He paused, hardly air between them, thoughts making them feel worlds apart. What would a kiss mean. What would it start? Could he give her the time she deserved. His own birth had come from one night of passion, did he want to make his fathers mistakes anew.
Lizbeth didn't care for the deliberation, she could feel his lip brush hers and she wanted them. Raising to her tip toes she closed the gap her hands running off his up is arm and over his shoulders. Her other hand running through his dark hair using it as leverage to pull him closer.
She felt him respond slowly at first, lips and tongue meeting her to dance together, then slowly as the flame of his desire grew. She felt his hands run down her back grasping her backside lifting her off the ground. Her skirts protesting with the move. He turned her towards the bed. Laying her down slowly. Lizbeth's mouth left his for a moment trailing across his jaw down his neck. With deft hands she loosed his shirt buttons. Drawing back the coat and shirt, revealing his well sculpted shoulders. She met them with more affections. Rising up to him to do so. His hand ran down her back, fumbling with the many buttons of her dress. Peeling the soft folds away to reveal the softer skin underneath. Teeth bushed her clavicle she gasped delicately, the sensation prickling her skin with delight.
Again her hands crossed his shoulders both together meeting at his neck sliding up each side to cup his face. She held his face in her hands for half a second. Studying him, with loving eyes as if she was memorising his features. She kissed him again deeply. He could feel her eyelashes brush his cheek. She rolled him, taking the chance to lead, she pulled away the last of his shirt leaving him bare in sharp midday light. Kissing his chest, lips sliding to his belly, nipping at his ribs and hips she conquered his pants.
In one swift movement she pulled her own dress over her head, the pale blue fabric whispering as it slipped from her body to the floor. She straddled him. Lowering her self slowly onto him. A sigh escaped his lips as he entered her. Enveloped by her warmth, she answered with a moan feeling him fill every inch. Hips rocked back an forward beginning the rhythm, pulling him further into her depths. His hands rested on her waist, guiding her movement, she braced herself agains his arms, back creating a delicious arc as she leaned back. Sliding, exploring her body his hands came up her back running up between her shoulder blades pulling her forward as he sat up. Lips met her breasts he took them into his mouth hungrily pulling her forward and down. She whimpered in ecstasy, her breath tickling his ear, making positively invigorating noises as she did.
He rolled, she surrendered, her hands egging him on pulling him further and faster. He felt her body tense, her climax nearing, she broke free from his lips to gasp as she shuddered falling over the precipice into her zenith. He held tight, her his own end brought on by hers until they lay together gently panting. Forehead and noses pressed together, kisses light frequent, and tender. As breathing settled Lizbeth began to giggle softly.
"Laughter is not the most reassuring sign." Connor mused
"No it's not that, I was just thinking, brand new dress and I only got to wear it for a second. Must be a record." She rolled onto her back falling into the down pillows, her red curls enveloping the bed linen. Rolling onto an arm his free hand toyed with a strand of her wild welsh locks. "This wasn't what I had planned.... I mean I didn't want to take advantage of you." He stammered softy.
Kissing him again passionately she told him "I'm afraid it was me taking the advantage though you didn't seem to mind."

A swift knock at the door, made Connor jump like a cat for his clothes.
"Suddenly shy?" Lizbeth laughed doing nothing to hide her nakedness even as he opened the door a crack and peered out.
"Connor, Maurice has need of you at the mine." A female voice beckoned him. Assuring her that he would be there swiftly he turned shutting the door to get his belongings.
Buttoning his shirt, and sliding his coat back on he finally replied to her jest. "Not every one has to find out quite so obviously."
Lizbeth gestured to the window the light curtains wafting in the gentle breeze of the day. "Any one walking past will have a fair idea first hand what's going on."
He blushed, clearly embarrassed by the over site. Kneeling on the edge of the bed she threw her naked arms about his neck. "Heat of the moment. Lets out the madness in all of us."
"You are the madness." He told her playfully, finally agreeing with her prior statement, before excusing himself and rushing off to help out.
Lizbeth flopped back on the bed for a second. Letting a stupid grin spread from her lips to her toes. She knew it couldn't last for ever, this feeling this exhilaration but she would give it a moment to fill and over whelm her. Finally she put her dress back on, tired from the long night but still a flutter in her stomach so she wouldn't sleep. She ventured out into the house. The hallway carried the colours of rich wood from all the rooms. Candles sat on well made side tables for times when the light slipped away. She walked out the front door, left open In the heat of the day, a Tomahawk lodged deep with in the wood of one of the porches posts. Crossing her arms she turned to return inside when she noticed her way was blocked.
A white haired old man, stood before her, leaning heavily on his cane. He regarded her with dark eyes and darker features. "I have only ever known one man to have hair like that. A Welshman, what did you say your name was child."
"I didn't." She kept her words short but her tone soft. She had an idea who this man could be. But she didn't like the suspicion that he eyed her with.
"He had a mouth on him too, this Palmer character. He had a babe in arms last time we spoke."
"You knew my father?" It was her mothers last name, Palmer, her father had taken using it for both of them after she died, partially in her memory, mostly because people this side of Wales couldn't pronounce his. She rarely gave out her surname, keeping her family history tied up tight in her heart. Hearing this old man speak of her father sent a pang through her,
"Ah so your the babe all grown up? Good man your father, where is he now days?" The question was honest, a man asking about an old acquaintance. This old man was sure to be the previous assassin Achilles, perhaps he regarded every one with an angry suspicion.
"He went missing 10 years ago come winter."
His tone and demeanour changed "About the time you joined forces with The Order?"
Lizbeth was caught off guard. Speechless she could only look at him with wide telling eyes, while her brain searched for a lie or an excuse something that could help her case.
Met by silence Achilles continued "Now what I want to know, is are you defecting? Are you still for them? Or are you just that mercenary?" The word mercenary seemed to leave a sour taste in his mouth as he spat the word.
"It's true." She began quietly "what I do for them I do for money."
"And Connor? Does he pay you?"
"How dare you!" She met his dark eyes with her own glare filled with the indignation.
"You just said you were mercenary if he's not paying you how can we be sure of your allegiance." There was a smug undertone to his question. It was beginning to rub Lizbeth the wrong way.
"I will never betray him. Least of all for coin." She snapped.
"If a Templar blade is at your throat?"
"Never!"
"Lee's blade?"
"It doesn't matter who, I would forfeit my life first." She almost didn't believe herself as she said it. But as her words hung in the air and soaked through her skin back into her mind she knew it was true.
"Haytham?"
"He wouldn't" she exclaimed, she could see the cogs turn in the old mans head. Putting all the information those two words gave him together.
"Ah..." He stepped out onto the porch and regarded her, scrutinising every inch, what a threat she was. She could even see the gleam of wonder at the information she might possess.
"Achilles you have to believe me." she pleaded throwing any taught airs aside, hoping honesty would win through. "My past aside, I'm not your enemy. And for Connor I..." She hesitated, despite the brewing worry and the half subsisted anger, the fluttering from earlier still remained. It was so intense that coupled with the ebb and flow of other powerful emotions it began to hurt. Or perhaps that was her heart realising she had no home here.
"I don't know you, and I trust you about as far as I can spit." Achilles interrupted her before she could gather herself "Your graces don't sit right with me. If you don't see any danger in your being here, then stay." He grumped "it's not like you young ones ever listen to me." And he turned back into the house.
She sat, there on the porch, collapsing into her skirts, she hung her head in her hands for a moment. She sealed her heart to the grief Achilles statement made. No one trusted her except for Connor the idealist, every one regarded her for was she was. Returning her rigid posture she walked into the room where her old tattered clothes lay and packed her things. This time sensibility won over cowardice, Achilles was right to question her, after all she still had alliances within the order, but she wasn't as mercenary as he thought. Her tie was Haytham, not for money, for a simple deal, paid with a debt of life. One until now she had gladly been a part of. Now she was stuck between the Devil and the Deep Blue sea, she only had history to tell her which one was deadlier.

Description
Frontier 1780 Summer.
The fort practically sighed in the heavy summer air, the soldiers lethargic in the heat were more interested in finding ways to keep cool than to investigate the diminutive figure in a red coat and hat skulking through the battlements and into the keep.
Lizbeth's task was not so simple on the balmy night, the fort lay on the coast, the nearest settlement a tiny shanti town two hours ride away. The pioneers that lived their produced their own food and lived hard and fulfilling lives. With this war for independence the English supply lines had been cut, their superior numbers and fire power had taken what little the settlement could produce.
Lizbeth had only meant to pass through, she had put so many miles to her back since she had left Connor in New York, this was to be yet another.
Something compelled her to stay, hear their plight, attempt to help them. She blamed Connor, stupid, honest, brave man it was was starting to rub off on her. She had been thinking of him more and more as time and distance speed between them. He was as close to a friend as she often got, despite only meeting him on two separate occasions. She had even memorised his looks, the thoughts had kept her warm at night. Their conversations though brief still played in the back of her mind, he was so hopeful, his vision was such a pure one it was hard not to get caught up in its majesty even if her own cynicism did speak out from time to time. He had accused her of sounding like a Templar, did she really tote their code? It was hard to separate her own teaching from her own feelings. A pessimist's heart was rarely broken, but often lonely.
She entered the main building from the back, an unguarded door that opened up right by the steps to the battlements. Once inside she was met with formal drudgery of military life. A war room with a table covered in maps and tiny toy soldiers to strategise and plan, it would have been a treasure trove if she was after information for the patriots, but she was here for food. A small collection tonight then with careful planning a proper hit to get more. Trotting down the hall she spied the kitchen. Smells still wafting from the dinner menu but stoves cold, and the room empty. Treading with great care she passed pots and pans holding her breath knowing if one should fall she was done, until finally the pantry.
She opened both doors, hoping to be met with a treasure trove, but only saw a meagre haul, half filled sacks looking sadly in the dark corners.
"You know we are on rations. Out of there." The gruff voice barked behind her. Pausing, body going ridged she analysed her possibilities. If she spoke her voice would give her away, if he caught a glimpse of her face he would know her for the imposter she was. The sad sack of potatoes called out to her, singing the song of her salvation. Snatching up the loose edges she swung it with all her strength clocking the soldier in the head. The thud confirmed his fall. No time for a snatch and run, She leaped over the stunned man, she sprinted down hall hitting the closed door while she fumbled for the knob. Men began to spill down the stairs and out of the various rooms to see what the commotion was. Finally the door pushed open and she fell out into the air, falling to her knees as the door gave way, scrabbling at the grass pushing her self forward, every fibre screaming at her push on. She got to her feet searching for an exit. The wall. If she could get to the wall, she could jump into the sea.
Rounding the edge of building, she felt it, she didn't see it, The red sharp pressure splintering out from the bridge of her nose, bringing the blackness with it.

Pitch shattered into consciousness, Lizbeth woke spluttering, spitting the cold water out trying to sake it off. She looked around. Two men stood before her, one leering with the offending bucket in hand. Her hands bound together mirroring her feet she hung from the rough thick ropes by a hook usually used for storing meat. Trussed up outside in one of the open wood structures, she took a minute to get bearing. The other soldier pulled another length of rope fashioning it into a noose and looping it over her head and tying it to the support beam above.
"There you are, so no thinking about slipping off that hook." He told her as he worked "if you do you'll wring your neck."
The bindings were tight, as tight as her wrists and feet. She tried to swallow.
"There's been some kind of misunderstanding." She began.
The first soldier put his bucket down and drew his sword, it sung as he arched it through the air laying it to rest on her throat.
"I don't think there has." He hissed "You see after Captian Ranold was robbed we realised there was a thief on the loose, helping the other side." The sword tip trailed down her body tearing the cloth of her shirt as it went. "A pretty thief. I guess that was your downfall, every one in Ranold's house remembered when the Nanny disappeared."
She laughed nervously. "Alright." She panted feeling the draft on her bare skin, "You have me, but let's not be to hasty." She made eye contact with her aggressor. "I'm extremely useful, with a wide range of talents." She squirmed a little in her binds, her arms beginning to ache with the weight that pressed on them. "After all surly what's freely given is sweeter than what's rudely taken."
The soldier sniggered "I don't know, I have always been quite fond of the taking."
Lizbeth's heart began to race, panic was filling her head with muck and slowing any cognitive processes down.
"Information then. You're right I work for the other side, I have insight, and what I don't know I could find out for you. Let me go, and its yours."
The second soldier cut her short with a scoff. "There ain't no information we want that we can't get any how. Unless you know the assassin."
Lizbeth's face went cold, the sensation trickling down her back.
"Look!" Exclaimed the other soldier "She knows something."
Again the sword was returned to her flesh. This time the point coming to rest just below her eye, the tip burning into her cheek like a hot brand. "What's the assassin worth to you then? Your eye? That pretty face?"
"Wouldn't be much too take if you cut me up." She reasoned.
He leaned in his face coming close to hers she could smell his stench, hot summer day, marching close quarters with unsanitary living, it was all she could do to stop from retching. A trickle of blood began to form, she could see it at the edge of her vision.
"I don't care what your face looks like. Tell me what you know about the half breed Assassin."
"I know nothing." She stammered, which wasn't a lie. Beyond their arguments of politics and his offer for a better life she barely knew anything of Connor past his name. "Honest to god."
"See she didn't offer to find out." One said to the other in a horse whisper.
"You'll see I didn't, because the man is an Assassin. How long do you think I would be able to stand against the likes of him." She told them.
"Wouldn't expect the likes of you stand for many men."
"I suspect your more of a fight from your back kind of girl." They laughed lecherously.
Lizbeth rolled her eyes. As she did looking up at the roof top of the keep across from where she hung, she spied a figure. Coat tales flapping dramatically behind him as he ran across the roof.
"I suppose by the end of the night we will know if you know anything."
She Caught the ruffians eye. "Look at me." She demanded. "Do I really look like I'm a woman in any position to lie to you?"
"You look like..." His leer was cut short by a gurgle the point of a short blade sticking from his throat, his blood spattering forward against her clothes. The second soldier lunged for the assailant, but was blocked by a tomahawk and the blade was wrenched from his friend and plunged into him.
The two men slumped to the ground silently as Connor stepped over them to her.
"We have to stop meeting like this." She said, her humour doing little to mask her feeling of relief.
"Next time we will agree on a date."
She laughed desperately as he reached behind her to cut the noose. With strong hands lifted her off the hook sliding her carefully to the ground a swift sharp blade rid her of her binds, he asked taking her face in his hands looking at the well of blood trickling down her cheek, "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head and threw her arms about his neck, hugging him so tight for an instant he thought she would never let go.
Bells began to chorus, some one had witnessed the fight. The camp was being alerted to the intruder.
"We have to leave." Lizbeth explained breaking away, looking back at him confused when he didn't follow,
"I have business here with the Captain."
She could hear the men beginning to assemble, she could see the few on the battlements moving looking hunting.
"What can I do?" She asked against all sense.
"The powder store." He told her. "Destroy it." And he took off into the depth of the hold.
Lizbeth walked tentatively towards the bushes that scattered the area around the keep.
Her ankles ached blood returning to her feet and hands.
Connor was drawing the majority of the attention but she didn't want to risk open combat.
Nearing the gates she spied the store, a Stone shed half buried into the ground. Taking a lantern left that had been left to illuminate the barrels the men on watch gathered around she opened the door and threw it in side.
She backed away, no wick meant no idea how long it would take but she had to make sure it went off.

"You." A Redcoat shouted hurtling in her direction lunging with his bayonet, she jumped as a second soldier joined his onslaught. Dancing back narrowly avoiding the gleaming hungry point each time.
A stab went low and she pinned the offending weapon beneath her foot and lay a punch with all her force into the unguarded jaw that was presented to her, he stumbled releasing his weapon as he fell to the dirt.
Hooking her foot under the gun she flicked it into her hands, using it to parry the next attack. Knocking his weapon away she pointed her barrel at his chest and fired stumbled for a moment with the kicked of the blast.
As she turned to deal with the man now pulling himself out of the dirt before she could, the powder store groaned and exploded showering them with stone and mortar, dazing him further.
Connor approached her the last men turning and fleeing now their leader lay dead.
"I thought you didn't fight." He stated
"Didn't, not can't." She said, "it's usually easier for me to talk my way out of trouble."
He raised and eyebrow. "Yes, that seemed to be going so well for you."
Laughing at his sarcasm Lizbeth looked up. Her eyes growing wide as she was met with a man covered in blood. Reaching into a pocket in her trouser's she pulled out a white handkerchief, and stopped before him for a second to wipe some of the offending globs from his face, "is it yours?" She asked, despite him showing no sign of being wounded.
"No" He moved to the only horse left in the fort the poor beast half mad with fright from the explosion, pulling against its tether, he began to sooth the animal with soft words.
Lizbeth noted the sudden emptiness as a new flag few from the battlements.
"I'll be right back." She called to Connor while running back to the keep. Back to the sad sack of potatoes and what ever else was left for her to get her hands on.

The early raise of sun snuck through the trees dappling the trail before them. Saddle bags as full as they could be with the returned food of the pioneers, Lizbeth lent back into Connor as they road through the early morning. A shiver ran through her body, adrenalin leaving her system, heat of battle fading.
He responded putting a comforting arm around her middle her head resting on his shoulder. They rode in silence before she directed them to the little collection of quaint homes and tents amongst a small clearing. Sliding from him she quickly emptied the saddle bags and signalled for him to ride ahead. There were a few people pottering about doing their morning chores, tending to their small patch of land.
Connor did as Lizbeth bade and rode on but curiosity got the best of him. Peering through the bushes he watched her. She trotted, up to the large house in the centre. The only fully finished homestead. Large wooden logs slatted together to make up the simple yet beautifully functional home.
She knocked three times loud, even from his vantage point he could hear her knuckles rap upon the solid door. She waited craning her ear to hear movement. Receiving confirmation that some one was indeed answering the door she darted off, back into the foliage.
Connor dismounted and walked the horse back onto the trail and waited for her to cross his path.
"You didn't go far." She said crunching up the dry road towards him. Her steps quick and firm as if she had set it in her mind to walk further by herself.
"I have learned you disappear when I take my eyes off you."
She blushed for a moment reaching to the horse to pat it's muzzle avoiding his eye contact.
"You were in the fort for the settlers?" He asked, joining her at the horses side.
"Returning what is theirs."
"I take it you weren't in it for the thanks."
"First they thank you, then they ask if you want to stay with them. And what do you say." She spoke quietly eyes never leaving the horse.
"Evidently that thieves are not welcome in paradise." Her took the reigns off her and mounted. Looking down at the bruised and battered woman before him he held out a gloved hand. "Which is not true in any respect."
To his surprise she took his hand placing herself back in the saddle in front of him. Silently he spurred the horse a head feeling the apprehension through Lizbeth's tense muscles as the rode to a destination only he knew the location of.
"I realise its taking a lot of trust." He began attempting to put her at rest. The night had been hard on her, she remained stoic on the outside he knew what a great actress she was, and how much of what she was truly feeling she would let him see.
"Once before I trusted a man. A stranger off the street." She spoke quietly as if she was talking to the distant memory. "He offered Alms, a place to stay for winter. I was a child, he was a gentleman." She laughed "It's not a tale of woe and lost innocence. The deal we struck was for winter, and when the thaw came he left. We went our separate ways." She twisted in the saddle to look behind her. Connors face was unreadable as he let her say her piece. "I do trust on occasion. Even if its only for a season."
"I'll wager you never told him a single truth."
Lizbeth giggled making herself comfortable against him. "Couldn't lie to that man. Like you he could see right through me." She paused for a moment "He was a lot like you actually. But I like you better."
***

The homestead was beautiful, they rode past small houses littering the lush property. Lizbeth even saw hare dart across their path and disappear into the thickets. She had lived all her life in the cities, the closest to wilderness she got was traveling the roads between them, even then she stayed with convoys enjoying the safety in numbers, but missing a lot of the magic of the untamed frontier.

They reigned in next to the main house. Connor led her to a room and gave her a few moments to herself. Afternoon light dripped in past the thick drapes. She looked around picking up the candelabra that sat on a side table running her hands over it before replacing it perfectly back where it belonged. Trailing her fingers across the table she moved to the bed. Tightly made it looked more than inviting after such a long night.
As she looked up she caught a glimpse of her self in the mirror. No wonder Connor had looked on her with such worry. The blood scabbing on her face where she had been cut. A mark across the bridge of her nose where she took the blow that had knocked her unconscious, bruises covered her wrists turning them shades of blueberry against her fair skin. The weave of the rope still indented in her flesh. She removed her hat and tossed it to one side looking at her neck in the mirror where matching marks were beginning to swell up. Un buttoning her jacket revealed the ribbons her shirt was left in. None of the cuts had reached her chest, yet the slashes drew up memories of the sword, point so sharp air screamed around it as it moved, ripping through the folds of her shirt.
She flinched at the sound of the soft knock at the door.
"Connor said you would be needing some clothes."
Lizbeth's feelings must have been showing more than she realised as she turned to the dark haired pretty woman who was laying out a soft blue dress on the bed.
"Oh you poor dear." She exclaimed "there's no need to look that frightened. Your safe now." She wrapped her in a warm embrace, "He said you had been in a spec of trouble, I didn't realise how much."
"I'm fine." Lizbeth lied "really. And thank you, it is all far to much, I don't know how to ever repay you."
"It's our way. We look after each other here." She held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. "If you need some one to talk to. You come my way. You hear me? I have been around my share of violence."
Lizbeth smiled at the woman's earnest words.
"Of course. Thank you."
Again she was left alone with her war wounds and thoughts. Stripping the shredded garments from her body she stepped into the dress. Long sleeves covered her wrists but not her throat. The deep neck line laying beautifully on her shoulders wide away from the marks.
As her hand raised to touch them again, subconsciously hoping it was a dirty mark or maybe with the next touch her fingers won't be met with raised marks proving it was all a dream, she saw a familiar figure fill the door frame. She watched his reflection as he walked up behind her, eyes filled with concern.
"Bruises will fade." He told her unsure of what to say.
"Taking memories with them I hope." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Connor if you hadn't been there today."
He silenced her with a gentle hand upon her as she completed the turn towards him.
"There is no need to dwell on what could have happened."
She stepped forward wrapping her arms around his waist burying her face in the folds of his jacket. All the bravado of earlier, the bargaining with redcoats, flirting with death washed away with the realisation of how close to actual danger she was, how close to death she was. His arms slowly unfurled and wrapped around her. His left hand caressing her hair. He was hesitant. Nervous, he had embraced her on the battle field, adrenalin and relief had over come any sense either of them had. Now apprehension returned.
He didn't want to take advantage of her, she had been through quiet an ordeal. He had no idea how long she had been tied up, an all he had to go on from what was done to her was the story the bruises told.
Turning her face towards his palm she kissed the leather of his glove. Fluttering up and under his Sleeve her fingers danced over his hand shedding it of the offending garment. Bare to the world she caressed it timidly, her lips kissing his knuckles. He couldn't take it, feeling the touch of her mouth enticing and inviting and turned her face towards his, bending to her, he meant to kiss her. It had been something he had wanted to do since they rode together from the fort. Perhaps even before. Since she had kissed his forehead and vanished from him and he had spent more months alone.
He paused, hardly air between them, thoughts making them feel worlds apart. What would a kiss mean. What would it start? Could he give her the time she deserved. His own birth had come from one night of passion, did he want to make his fathers mistakes anew.
Lizbeth didn't care for the deliberation, she could feel his lip brush hers and she wanted them. Raising to her tip toes she closed the gap her hands running off his up is arm and over his shoulders. Her other hand running through his dark hair using it as leverage to pull him closer.
She felt him respond slowly at first, lips and tongue meeting her to dance together, then slowly as the flame of his desire grew. She felt his hands run down her back grasping her backside lifting her off the ground. Her skirts protesting with the move. He turned her towards the bed. Laying her down slowly. Lizbeth's mouth left his for a moment trailing across his jaw down his neck. With deft hands she loosed his shirt buttons. Drawing back the coat and shirt, revealing his well sculpted shoulders. She met them with more affections. Rising up to him to do so. His hand ran down her back, fumbling with the many buttons of her dress. Peeling the soft folds away to reveal the softer skin underneath. Teeth bushed her clavicle she gasped delicately, the sensation prickling her skin with delight.
Again her hands crossed his shoulders both together meeting at his neck sliding up each side to cup his face. She held his face in her hands for half a second. Studying him, with loving eyes as if she was memorising his features. She kissed him again deeply. He could feel her eyelashes brush his cheek. She rolled him, taking the chance to lead, she pulled away the last of his shirt leaving him bare in sharp midday light. Kissing his chest, lips sliding to his belly, nipping at his ribs and hips she conquered his pants.
In one swift movement she pulled her own dress over her head, the pale blue fabric whispering as it slipped from her body to the floor. She straddled him. Lowering her self slowly onto him. A sigh escaped his lips as he entered her. Enveloped by her warmth, she answered with a moan feeling him fill every inch. Hips rocked back an forward beginning the rhythm, pulling him further into her depths. His hands rested on her waist, guiding her movement, she braced herself agains his arms, back creating a delicious arc as she leaned back. Sliding, exploring her body his hands came up her back running up between her shoulder blades pulling her forward as he sat up. Lips met her breasts he took them into his mouth hungrily pulling her forward and down. She whimpered in ecstasy, her breath tickling his ear, making positively invigorating noises as she did.
He rolled, she surrendered, her hands egging him on pulling him further and faster. He felt her body tense, her climax nearing, she broke free from his lips to gasp as she shuddered falling over the precipice into her zenith. He held tight, her his own end brought on by hers until they lay together gently panting. Forehead and noses pressed together, kisses light frequent, and tender. As breathing settled Lizbeth began to giggle softly.
"Laughter is not the most reassuring sign." Connor mused
"No it's not that, I was just thinking, brand new dress and I only got to wear it for a second. Must be a record." She rolled onto her back falling into the down pillows, her red curls enveloping the bed linen. Rolling onto an arm his free hand toyed with a strand of her wild welsh locks. "This wasn't what I had planned.... I mean I didn't want to take advantage of you." He stammered softy.
Kissing him again passionately she told him "I'm afraid it was me taking the advantage though you didn't seem to mind."

A swift knock at the door, made Connor jump like a cat for his clothes.
"Suddenly shy?" Lizbeth laughed doing nothing to hide her nakedness even as he opened the door a crack and peered out.
"Connor, Maurice has need of you at the mine." A female voice beckoned him. Assuring her that he would be there swiftly he turned shutting the door to get his belongings.
Buttoning his shirt, and sliding his coat back on he finally replied to her jest. "Not every one has to find out quite so obviously."
Lizbeth gestured to the window the light curtains wafting in the gentle breeze of the day. "Any one walking past will have a fair idea first hand what's going on."
He blushed, clearly embarrassed by the over site. Kneeling on the edge of the bed she threw her naked arms about his neck. "Heat of the moment. Lets out the madness in all of us."
"You are the madness." He told her playfully, finally agreeing with her prior statement, before excusing himself and rushing off to help out.
Lizbeth flopped back on the bed for a second. Letting a stupid grin spread from her lips to her toes. She knew it couldn't last for ever, this feeling this exhilaration but she would give it a moment to fill and over whelm her. Finally she put her dress back on, tired from the long night but still a flutter in her stomach so she wouldn't sleep. She ventured out into the house. The hallway carried the colours of rich wood from all the rooms. Candles sat on well made side tables for times when the light slipped away. She walked out the front door, left open In the heat of the day, a Tomahawk lodged deep with in the wood of one of the porches posts. Crossing her arms she turned to return inside when she noticed her way was blocked.
A white haired old man, stood before her, leaning heavily on his cane. He regarded her with dark eyes and darker features. "I have only ever known one man to have hair like that. A Welshman, what did you say your name was child."
"I didn't." She kept her words short but her tone soft. She had an idea who this man could be. But she didn't like the suspicion that he eyed her with.
"He had a mouth on him too, this Palmer character. He had a babe in arms last time we spoke."
"You knew my father?" It was her mothers last name, Palmer, her father had taken using it for both of them after she died, partially in her memory, mostly because people this side of Wales couldn't pronounce his. She rarely gave out her surname, keeping her family history tied up tight in her heart. Hearing this old man speak of her father sent a pang through her,
"Ah so your the babe all grown up? Good man your father, where is he now days?" The question was honest, a man asking about an old acquaintance. This old man was sure to be the previous assassin Achilles, perhaps he regarded every one with an angry suspicion.
"He went missing 10 years ago come winter."
His tone and demeanour changed "About the time you joined forces with The Order?"
Lizbeth was caught off guard. Speechless she could only look at him with wide telling eyes, while her brain searched for a lie or an excuse something that could help her case.
Met by silence Achilles continued "Now what I want to know, is are you defecting? Are you still for them? Or are you just that mercenary?" The word mercenary seemed to leave a sour taste in his mouth as he spat the word.
"It's true." She began quietly "what I do for them I do for money."
"And Connor? Does he pay you?"
"How dare you!" She met his dark eyes with her own glare filled with the indignation.
"You just said you were mercenary if he's not paying you how can we be sure of your allegiance." There was a smug undertone to his question. It was beginning to rub Lizbeth the wrong way.
"I will never betray him. Least of all for coin." She snapped.
"If a Templar blade is at your throat?"
"Never!"
"Lee's blade?"
"It doesn't matter who, I would forfeit my life first." She almost didn't believe herself as she said it. But as her words hung in the air and soaked through her skin back into her mind she knew it was true.
"Haytham?"
"He wouldn't" she exclaimed, she could see the cogs turn in the old mans head. Putting all the information those two words gave him together.
"Ah..." He stepped out onto the porch and regarded her, scrutinising every inch, what a threat she was. She could even see the gleam of wonder at the information she might possess.
"Achilles you have to believe me." she pleaded throwing any taught airs aside, hoping honesty would win through. "My past aside, I'm not your enemy. And for Connor I..." She hesitated, despite the brewing worry and the half subsisted anger, the fluttering from earlier still remained. It was so intense that coupled with the ebb and flow of other powerful emotions it began to hurt. Or perhaps that was her heart realising she had no home here.
"I don't know you, and I trust you about as far as I can spit." Achilles interrupted her before she could gather herself "Your graces don't sit right with me. If you don't see any danger in your being here, then stay." He grumped "it's not like you young ones ever listen to me." And he turned back into the house.
She sat, there on the porch, collapsing into her skirts, she hung her head in her hands for a moment. She sealed her heart to the grief Achilles statement made. No one trusted her except for Connor the idealist, every one regarded her for was she was. Returning her rigid posture she walked into the room where her old tattered clothes lay and packed her things. This time sensibility won over cowardice, Achilles was right to question her, after all she still had alliances within the order, but she wasn't as mercenary as he thought. Her tie was Haytham, not for money, for a simple deal, paid with a debt of life. One until now she had gladly been a part of. Now she was stuck between the Devil and the Deep Blue sea, she only had history to tell her which one was deadlier.