RAIN

I am a simple girl. I don't care about dresses or delicacies. I hate the guards and the cruelties they encourage. Then I met Connor. He saved my life and so I have devoted myself to the Assassins and all they stand for. My parents are strongly opposed to it, but they'd never cared about me. Until now. My name is Clara, and this is my story

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1. Chapter 1

Connor rode his horse through the snow. She was strong, and Connor knew she could make it to Boston before daybreak. The wind was strong, and very cold. Connor rode it out; he was used to this weather, as was his horse. She was a hardy girl. Her grey coat blended in well with the snow.

They rode down into a valley, making their way carefully across a frozen stream. The forest was asleep, attempting to wait out the snow. Birds no longer called in the morning and hungry wolves roamed the ground, starving and desperate.

Then a gunshot broke the silence.

Connor whipped his head around to the source of the noise.

"Yah!" Exclaimed Connor, nudging her hind with his heels, racing towards the sound of the gunshot. When he was nearly at the source of the noise, Connor dismounted his horse and from there climbed up into the trees, making his way to the sound. He soon came across a Mohawk encampment. The gunshot had come from one of the Natives on the outside of the camp, and next to him was the dead carcass of a wolf.

He was just about to turn around, for he didn't want to intrude on another tribe's business, when he heard a woman scream. He looked down and saw a woman being escorted into a tent on the outside of the camp. He could see she was not a Mohawk, but a settler. This often happened; with his people stealing women from caravans or other transports and keeping them as wives. Of course, the settlers also did this, but instead of wives they took women as slaves.

The girl was wearing a dark blue long skirt, which was patchy and worn. On her chest she wore nothing but a thin, light blue blouse. She looked terrified.

She was shoved inside the tent, while the Mohawks stood guard across the entrance flap. Connor leaped down lightly from his tree, onto the snow. It was not as soft as some people told it to be, but Connor rolled to break his fall. He snuck around to the tent the girl was held in, around the back and pulling open the flap.

The girl spun around, her black hair flying through the air. She stared at him before walking towards him, her face petrified.

"Please... don't hurt me." She begged with an English accent. It was not posh, like so many people Connor had met, but had a sort of pleasant casual air to it.

Connor walked towards the girl, whispering into her ear.

"I promise I won't. Follow me." He had a Native American accent, and his voice was deep. He was wearing a white uniform with a hood that covered half his face. He had black hair reached down to just above his shoulders, and half was tied back. He had a plait going down one side of his head. Normally the woman would consider this a feminine look, but on this strange man it looked masculine.

The girl obviously didn't want to follow Connor, but she didn't have much choice.

Connor opened the flap for her and she walked out into the cold. He picked her up, because he knew how settler women didn't like to get dirty or wet. The girl passively accepted the gesture, and they reached Connor's horse. Connor placed her on the saddle, then jumped on himself. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling off, and they galloped off into the woods.

They rode through the forest for hours until they reached a barn that Connor occasionally used, which he knew was part of a small farm. It was rarely used. He knew the forest like the back of his hand, and he knew they could stay there for the night before continuing on to Boston. Connor would drop the woman off there and then continue on his way.

As they reached the barn, Connor jumped off his horse and lead her inside. He picketed her near some hay and water, and then lifted the woman off the horse. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she span around and grabbed Connor by the hair, pulling his lips closer to hers.

Connor couldn't find it in himself to object.

He didn't know what they were doing, but it was certainly... pleasant. The woman was intoxicating. Her hair smelled like pine needles, and her lips! Where could Connor begin? They were soft, full. She continued to assault his mouth with this odd action that activated Connor so much. They continued for what felt like forever, before the woman sighed and pulled away from him running her slender fingers through his hair. Her vibrant, green eyes burned into Connor like branding irons, making him feel hot all over. A shiver assaulted his body.

"You are very handsome." She whispered into his ear.

Connor did not know what to say. He had never been called handsome before.

The woman leaned in again, pushing him against the wall. Connor was surprised at how strong she was.
CLANG!

Connor fell to his knees, then onto his back. His head throbbed as the woman dropped a shovel. The side of his head felt as if it was on fire, and all he could hear was a high pitched ringing.

The woman smiled, bent down and planted a small kiss on his lips. She stood up, then looked towards the barn door. Connor closed his eyes, and when he opened them a farmer was looking down at him, holding the shovel high above his head.

He said something, but his words were distorted to Connor and his eyes closed once more.

His eyes opened to find him tied up inside the barn. He was sitting up against the wall and his head throbbed like nothing he had ever felt before. The woman was crouching behind a haystack, watching the barn doors close. When they were shut, she dashed out from behind the stack.

"Why did you take me here?" She asked in a hushed voice.

Connor took a few moments to register her words before he replied.

"To sleep. It is warm and sheltered here, and after that I was going to take you to Boston."

"Then, I was not meant to be your slave?"

"Slave?" Asked Connor, surprised. "No! I rescued you! Then you started doing that odd action with your mouth and I did not know what to do."

The girl's eyes widened.

"You let me carry on like that?" She hissed in a dangerously low voice. Connor searched for the shovel, and thankfully it was out of her reach.

"I am not used to your customs. I thought it might have been a way of thanking me." He defended.

SLAP!

The woman's hand flew across his face, stinging his cheek and leaving a red mark there.

"If you had not rescued me from those madmen I would kill you now!" She growled. She got up, span around and walked towards the barn door.

"Wait!" Called Connor.

The woman stopped.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Where do you plan to go? The blizzard is strong, you would be lost in seconds."
The woman turned around.

"Do you know the way to Boston?" She asked.

"I was heading there before I rescued you."

"You did not rescue me, I could have escaped myself." Snapped the woman.

"I could take you to Boston if you untied me." Offered Connor.

The woman hesitated.

"If I agree to this, we shall go directly to Boston?"

"Yes."

She gave a big sigh, then walked over to the pile of weapons Connor owned. She grabbed his tomahawk and cut the ropes binding him with experience. Connor wondered why this woman was so experienced in the area of fighting. She had obviously handled a tomahawk before.

Connor stood up. He strode over to where his weapons were and checked through them, making sure they were still there. Hidden blades, sword, pistol and other assorted weapons. The tomahawk remained in the woman's hands.

"May I have that?" Asked Connor, motioning towards the tomahawk.

The woman looked down at it, then unwillingly turned it over to Connor.

"Thank you, Miss..."

"Butterfield. Clara Butterfield." She replied.

"Shall we go?" Connor asked.

Clara nodded. "What is your name?"

"Connor Kenway." Connor replied.

Connor opened the barn doors and they mounted his horse again, riding out into the blizzard. The wind was cold and snowflakes assaulted Connor's face, stinging as they rode through the trees, his horse winding her way around the trunks.

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