Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11313018.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Assassin's_Creed_-_All_Media_Types
  Relationship:
      Jacob_Frye/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Jacob_Frye, Crawford_Starrick, George_Westhouse, Ethan_Frye, Evie_Frye,
      Pearl_Attaway
  Additional Tags:
      Triggers, Underage_Rape/Non-con, Blood_and_Violence, Explicit_Language,
      Backstory, Angst, Slow_Burn, Assassin/Templar, Obsessive_Love, Slow_To
      Update, Original_Character(s), Slow_Build, Lime, POV_Multiple, POV_Third
      Person_Limited, Series, Aspects_of_Pedophilia, Usage_of_French_Language
  Series:
      Part 1 of Temperance_Chronicles
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-26 Completed: 2017-08-26 Chapters: 11/11 Words: 47419
****** The Wolf's Prey ******
by Merawlee
Summary
     Temperance Sophia Wakefield had never questioned why she was taught
     marksmanship, fencing, combat training, and diverse academic subjects
     like politics and economics. Born into a family of Templars, these
     were normal for her. Never had she expected that her beloved cousin,
     Crawford Starrick, actually had plans for her. What no one knew was
     that Temperance, through her mother’s lineage, was the descendant of
     Mary Reid, a Caribbean Assassin.
Notes
     This was once one story under the title 'The Crow's Hunter' but since
     it was getting to be monstrously big, I decided to divide it into a
     series. Each parts represent a different time in Temperance's life
     and really should be read in chronological order.
     This is a Series in Major Progress. It is divided into four parts
     ('The Wolf's Prey', 'Path of the White Owl', 'Tempest at Sea', and
     'The Crow's Hunter'), therefore the updates will be far in between
     though I will still try my best to update.
     The grammar used is British and does feature other languages such as
     French but without translation. The reason I have not added them is
     simply because I like to keep as natural a flow as possible which,
     for me, is impeded with translation put in parenthesis. It is a
     personal preference. I remain more than willing to translate anything
     is one wants/needs it.
     I always try to be as historically accurate though I do realize that
     for some things (let us be honest, there is NO way Jacob's Assassin's
     garbs are truly historical in aspects. Hello rope launcher!), there
     is a need for some latitudes.
     Though I do try to correct all of my syntax, grammar, punctuation, I
     am as fallible as any other humans so errors may still slip by me.
     And lastly, yes, I am a Word Vomiter! I am not known to be concise,
     far from it. I have trued to be and have failed miserably.
***** The Birth of Temperance *****
Crawley, England, 1847 : Christmas Eve

The night was cold and dreary, the elements unfurling through the rural town
making its inhabitants stay close to the fireplaces or tucked in beds early.
One house though was not fast asleep, the flurry of movements and excitement
akin a beehive where all the bees were attending their queen. It was supposed
to be a joyous affair, the birth of a new life but for Jasper Wakefield it was
far from being so, his hand closing tightly at every screams of his young wife.
The smoke he puffed from his pipe could have rivalled that coming from a steam
train.
He had someone go fetch the doctor as soon as he had learnt that the young Lady
Wakefield had went into labour. It was too early for the baby to be born and he
did not want to risk his wife’s life to some uneducated, lowly ‘midwife’
especially since he knew what some were whispering. They all thought that the
beautiful Cordelia Wakefield had found love in the arms of someone other than
her much older husband.
He had married the girl when she had been barely 16 years of age while he had
been well in his mid 30s. That had been two years past and since their wedding,
he had watched her like a hawk, controlling her every movements. He knew she
had taken no lovers to her bed. The added threat of having her committed to
Bethlem Royal Hospital had also worked wonders into keeping her docile and
faithful.
Cordelia, his beautiful young wife with her sable brown hair and large doe-like
chocolate brown eyes. He had fallen in love with her at first glance, a much
one-sided love. Jasper had at first tried to woo her, but to no avail. He had
then turned his attention to her father and had tried to win this one into
accepting his offer for her hand but the dumb fool had wanted to respect his
daughter’s wishes despite him being a much too good a match for this simple
farming family, he who was of noble birth. He was not a man used to being
refused so he had financially destroyed Cordelia’s family, her father being
sent to the Debtor’s Prison where he met his untimely end, her mother dying not
long afterwards. Without any other choices, she had pledged herself to him. It
was a good thing that she was such a gentle and biddable young thing who could
be easily manipulated.
There was a sudden silence, his teeth clenching hard on the stem of his pipe.
He would not bear to lose Cordelia! Ever slowly, soft mewling sounds reached
his ears, the library’s door opening a fraction, one of his wife’s maid peaking
fearfully inside.
“A girl, Sir, ‘tis a little girl.”
She had given him a girl and not the heir he had fervently wished for. Still, a
girl could be of use in forming an alliance with a more eminent family, one
with influence, one with power. It could work especially if his daughter took
after her mother, if not in looks then in temperament, something he would quite
naturally strive to implement. It could not be all that hard to train a child
to obey, to mould it into what he deemed the perfect wife. He was sure it would
be akin training a pup. It would be even easier than it had been with Cordelia.
Jasper got up and, after putting down his pipe, made his way to his wife’s
chambers, the doctor finishing attending to her. Going to stand beside the bed,
he smiled slightly at his newborn daughter held in his wife’s arms. She was a
tiny little thing and did not seem to fuss too much which was a blessing. He
would not endure a crying and screaming child, far from it. He guessed she was
cute, in some baby way though hopefully she would come into her beauty young so
he could start parading her around to prospective matches.
“Have you got a name for her yet, Sir?” the doctor asked him while going to
cleanse his hands in the water bowl the maid had prepared for him.
“Temperance Sophia,” he answered through clenched teeth. His wife had insisted
on the first name, the first true request she had not backed down from. He had
put it down to the pregnancy and how it affected weak-minded women. If he had
not known that Cordelia was utterly broken to his will, he would have thought
that she had chosen this particular name as a defiance toward him. Temperance
indeed!
“That’s a fine name. Though she’s an early child, she’s a strong little thing.”
Jasper made some noncommittal sound before walking the man to the entrance.
“Now your wife will still be weak for the next few weeks. She must get as much
rest as she can.”
He had kept well away from his wife’s bedchamber since learning of the
pregnancy. He was not too keen on waiting weeks more. It was a good thing he
had not yet released his mistress and could go seek release in her arms. He did
not even hesitate, did not even think he should, at the very least, make sure
Cordelia was indeed resting. He simply walked out of the house and called for
his carriage to take him to his rented house in Croydon. Jasper was a new
father after all, and such an event deserved a celebration.

* * *

Lying comfortably in her bed, her little girl suckling at her breast, Cordelia
Emery Wakefield smiled tenderly down at her baby. She was perfect in every way
even though she was almost three weeks too early. She had thought herself well
and truly dead inside ever since being forced into marrying her unscrupulous
husband but one look at her little Temperance and she felt such unconditional
love that it almost hurt.
By the sound of the carriage outside and the general relaxing of the household,
she knew Jasper had left. He had most probably gone to his mistress in Croydon.
Every time he had left during her pregnancy, Cordelia had hoped he would decide
to stay with the woman. She had even entertained dark hopes of him getting into
an accident, a fatal one. Nevertheless, those had been unchristian thoughts and
she had regretted them as soon as they had formed.
Still, she simply was unable to love the man who had ruined her family, who had
been responsible for the imprisonment of her father, who had been detriment in
her mother’s early death. She desperately wanted to be able to hold her own
against him but, though he had never been physically abusive toward her, the
threats he whispered when no one was listening were enough to cower her into
docility.
“Oh my little one, my precious little Temperance, in what sort of life have you
been born into?” she whispered while tenderly caressing her daughter’s soft
cheek.
She closed her eyes and sighed softly. She was exhausted but did not want to
have the nursemaid take Temperance just yet. Traitorous thoughts snaked inside
her mind, thoughts of how her life would have been different had she never
caught the attention of Lord Jasper Wakefield. Granted, her life would not have
been as financially stable but it would certainly have been happier. If only
she had been more forward and less of a shy mouse, she would have confessed her
feelings to the miller’s apprentice, her daughter would have been conceived in
love and happiness.
The mere thoughts of the young man who had captured her heart the very first
time she had seen him working at the mill was enough to make her smile softly.
She had been young, barely 13 years of age while George Westhouse had been in
his 20s but even immature, her heart had recognized her soul mate. Every day
she had passed by the mill, every day he had smiled at her but never once had
they exchanged words. And then, that fateful day had happened, forever engraved
in her mind.
She had walked past the mill on a cloudy day and had noticed George’s absence,
a stranger having replaced him. She had stopped and had asked this one where
the usual miller’s apprentice was. The man had simply shrugged telling her
George had suddenly left without so much as a by-leave. The shock had been so
great that all she had been able to do was stand there, tears pooling in her
eyes.
“Say, is this young man bothering you, miss?” she had heard someone ask, an
older gentleman sitting astride a powerful horse. Cordelia had simply shook her
head before running away. Unfortunately for her, that had been the start of her
hellish life, the day her secret love had disappeared, the day Jasper Wakefield
had first laid eyes on her.
She bit her lower lip hard to stop the sobs that were threatening to escape her
throat. The last thing she wanted was to cause her newborn daughter distress.
She had lost George but she would not lose Temperance, not to Jasper, not to
anyone.
Her hand went to the medallion that had been given to her by her mother, her
fingers grasping it tightly. As always, it strangely calmed her. It was old,
very old, and not really what a woman would wear since it depicted an exotic
Rose of the Winds, the words Royal Phoenix engraved on the back with the
initials M.R underneath it. It had been passed down from mother to daughter for
generations and would one day belong to Temperance along with the legend of its
owner, the infamous pirate Mary Reid.
***** A Meeting of Chance *****

“Come along now, darling,” Cordelia said, Temperance’s tiny hand seemingly so
fragile in hers. She did not want to rush her daughter but knew they only had
so much free time before they had to be back to Wakefield Manor. One minute too
late and Jasper would surely reprimand her severely. Her husband had grown more
impatient with her as the years went by. The fact she was still unable to
conceive a second child seemingly having soured the love he had once had for
her. It was a mixed blessing, truly. Granted she had to endure his dark moods
more often than before but instead of forcing her to do her wifely duties every
night, she only had to endure him every other weeks. In all honesty she cared
not whether he loved her or not though the manner in which he was toward their
daughter made her bristle. He was cold, detached, and brusque, their child
having already learnt how to manoeuvre around his dark moods even at her young
age. Furthermore, he categorically refused to call her Temperance, and anyone
calling her that would get fired on the spot. She was known as Sophia Wakefield
to everyone but herself. She would have loved to believe that since Temperance
Sophia was his only child, she would be spared the fate so many young women
faced, that of a loveless marriage, but knew she was nothing but a pawn for
Jasper’s every increasing desire for influence and power. At the very least,
she did not have to worry about it quite just yet. Temperance was barely five
years of age and as such was still too young to be forced into a match.
They entered the dressmaker’s shop situated in the central part of Crawley, the
seamstress already busy with an older woman and two children about the same age
as Temperance. It was not as grand nor as fashionable as what one could find in
London proper but Cordelia did not much care. The finest finery in life meant
nothing. She as well placed to know considering how bleak her life was.
“I’ll be with you soon…,” the dressmaker said giving her a quick look only to
do a double take and make a soft sound of pleasure. She knew what would follow
since it had happened in every place they had stopped at during their early
afternoon stroll through town. This was Temperance’s first time outside the
Manor’s walls and so far, her daughter was drawing gazes like light drew in
moths. “Oh my! What a precious little girl! She looks like a little doll!” the
woman commented while continuing taking the measurements of the young boy who
was standing on the small dais looking like he wanted to be anywhere else, an
old woman unsuccessfully trying to make him stand still.
“Stop fidgeting so much!” this one said in a defeated voice though a smile was
upon her lips. There was a slight family resemblance so she probably was his
grandmother. Cordelia felt a pang of pain at the thought of her own mother and
how this one would have love Temperance. But it was never to be. It was another
stain she laid at her husband’s feet.
“But nanna this shop’s for girls!” She silently chuckled. He was a delightfully
active little boy quite unlike her daughter silently sitting as she was on the
edge of the settee, her hands demurely resting on her lap. Cordelia had to
admit that she did look like a little doll with her pale face and rosebud lips.
“You’re pretty! What’s your name?” the little boy asked coming to stand in
front of her daughter, one hand lightly touching her braid.
“Jacob!” his nanna admonished swooping to grab his little shoulders and pull
him away to a respectable distance. “This is not a gentlemanly thing to do at
all…” There was a light sound, soft giggles unsuccessfully muffled by a tiny
hand. Her daughter was actually laughing, something she did not often do due to
the oppressive atmosphere of Wakefield Manor. Cordelia felt like hugging little
Jacob for having been able to bring a bit of brightness in her daughter’s day.
“Sophia, Sophia Wakefield,” her daughter primly said in her soft voice. Like
everyone else, her daughter was not allowed to use her true name, Jasper having
once chastised her severely for doing so.
At hearing the surname both the old woman and the dressmaker cast a quick look
at Cordelia making her bow her head ever so slightly. She did not want to see
their pity. It was no secret that she had been forced to wed after the scandal
of her father’s imprisonment and her mother’s demise. Everyone in town knew
Jasper Wakefield had been the one responsible for Byron Emery’s financial
troubles but they had done nothing other than look the other way when he had
married her. He was a lord after all, a titled noble. One simply did not go
against him, not without fear of suffering the same fate as the Emerys.
Cordelia felt like disappearing but instead she sat there in demure silence
until she heard the door open, her heartbeat strangely accelerating. Not
knowing why she felt so peculiar she briefly lifted her gaze to look at the
newcomer. Strangely garbed in a long coat with a hood stood none other than
George Westhouse.
“Are you done here, Mrs. Davies?” he asked, his voice making her close her eyes
for a moment to savour the rich deepness of it. It was the first time she ever
heard it.
“Yes quite. Come children, time to go home for tea.” She was praying they would
all leave without George noticing her but that impetuous little boy decided it
would be a very bad move to leave without saying goodbye so he ran out of his
grandmother’s arms to quickly come in front of Temperance.
“I like you, Sophia!” he chirped before bending and giving her daughter a loud
kiss on her cheek.
“JACOB FRYE!” the poor old woman screamed but it was George who came and
grabbed the boy by the scruff of his shirt.
“Not even six and already you’re trying to compromise young girls. Wait until
your father comes back from India, you little whelp,” he growled. For a short
moment their eyes met but she quickly turned to her daughter to hide her
reaction. She was being nothing but a silly girl. She was married and though
she held no love for her husband, not even companionship, it was immoral to
have thoughts about another man. “Ladies, I wish you both a good day,” he
added.
Cordelia could not resist giving him a quick smile, one he more than returned.
It was the same smile he had used to give her everyday when he was working at
the mill. Her heart almost drummed out of her chest as he slightly bowed before
turning toward the door, Temperance waving at the young Frye boy, this one
being dragged out of the shop while calling her daughter’s name.
“I’m sorry for the commotion,” she said to the seamstress but the woman simply
shook her head while laughing.
“Believe me, Lady Wakefield, it’s entirely on that Frye boy. He’s quite a
handful compared to his twin. So! What can I do for you?”
“My daughter has grown past what I can accomplish with my very limited sewing
skills so I was wondering if you could perhaps create a few dresses. If you
have some ready that could be quickly altered I would be very grateful,” she
explained hating the pity in the woman’s eyes though it was quickly replaced
with delight.
“Oh to create something for such a beautiful little child, I’m aflutter with
ideas! I do have this delightful cream coloured dress with buttercup yellow
lace that would look just lovely on her.”
Cordelia let the woman chatter while taking Temperance’s measurements,
complimenting her on how very sweet and obedient her daughter was. In truth,
her thoughts were on George Westhouse’s reappearance in her life after seven
long years of misery. If only things had been different, if only Jasper had
never laid eyes on her.

* * *

“What the devil will I do with you?” George could think of a few things but he
much preferred to keep his own counsel on the matter, the twin’s grandmother
berating an unashamed young Jacob, this one grinning ear to ear. He could not
truly fault the boy since that little girl had been sweet looking. It was no
surprise since her mother was Cordelia Emery though she now went by the name
Wakefield. His hands tightened around the reins he held at that thought. He had
gotten dead drunk the day he had learnt of young Cordelia’s wedding to that old
lout Wakefield. It had been a good thing Ethan Frye had been there to stop him
from marching to the Wakefield Manor and kill the man.
George had first noticed Cordelia Emery when she had been barely twelve years
of age, her family’s farm not far from the mill he had worked at. He had often
seen the young girl walk by the river but she had never truly looked at him,
more interested in the butterflies and whatever young girls her age fancied,
her sable brown hair constantly braided, the few escaped strands fluttering
around her innocently sweet face.
It had taken a year, a whole year of him constantly gazing at her before her
shy eyes had started to search for him. He had wanted to talk to her but had
known she would have ran away. She had been such a timid young girl. Instead,
he had smiled gently only to see her run away like small frightened animal
until one day, one glorious day when she had smiled back. It had been the start
of their strange ‘relationship’. For three years not once had they exchanged
words, merely smiles but he had never smiled at another human being the way he
had smiled at her, and he dared hope she had not either.
It had lasted until the night he had been attacked by robbers only to be saved
by Ethan Frye. Not particularly liking his work at the mill, he had decided to
leave and join the assassins. After all, Cordelia Emery could have done far
better than being the wife of a simple miller’s apprentice. If only he had
known that the old bastard Wakefield had set his sight on her, that he would
have gone so far as to destroy her family just to force her into marriage, he
would have come back and stolen her away from him.
Closing his eyes, George was still able to perfectly visualize how her fawn-
like eyes had always been full of shy mirth when she had looked at him. Now
though they were full of sorrow, fear and despair, and it was all his fault
truly. Still, Ethan was due to come back soon to take over the duties of
raising his son and daughter, and to bring them into the Brotherhood. It would
greatly lighten his burden of looking after and protecting the Frye twins. As
such, George would be free to look in on Cordelia from time to time just to
make sure she and her little daughter were not being abused by that bastard
Wakefield for if they were, then not even Ethan would be able to stop him from
piercing the man’s throat with his hidden blade.

* * *

“Go to the parlour, darling, I’ll have some luncheon brought for us to snack on
before supper time.” After making sure her daughter was dutifully going to the
informal parlour, Cordelia quickly made her way to her husband’s study after
giving the parcels she was carrying to her maid. She stopped just before the
door and composed herself, rubbing her shaking hands on her full skirt. She
knocked once and entered, Jasper sitting at his desk, his pocket watch in his
hand.
“Just in time, my dear,” he said coldly, snapping the lid of the watch closed.
“There was a change of plans I’m afraid. We have a visitor from London, my
nephew actually. He’ll be joining us for supper. I do hope this will not be an
inconvenience?” Even if it had been she would not have voiced it. Any
dissidence was met with a swift reprisal from him.
“Of course not, my lord,” she whispered back meekly. The last time she had been
anything but an obedient wife, he had locked her in her room for three days
with scarcely any food. That in itself had not been terrible but being
separated from Temperance had ensured she strove to always be compliant. She
felt the weight of his stare and made sure nothing other than docility could be
read from her every moves.
“Please go get Sophia. I want Crawford to meet her.” That almost made her pause
but she dared not show even that. Instead she curtsied and quickly made her way
to the informal parlour. She did not know why Jasper wanted their daughter to
meet this stranger but it felt as if her heart had been encased in ice. He
surely could not be contemplating pledging their daughter to his nephew. She
had never met Crawford Starrick but knew he was about her age. Nevertheless he
was someone her husband held in high esteem.
Walking through the parlour’s doorway, Cordelia stopped, her hand going to
where the medallion rested under her gown. Her daughter was not alone. A tall
young man was kneeling in front of her, holding her small hands in his, an
unusual bright smile upon Temperance’s delicate lips. She had to do something,
anything but a heavy hand dropped on her shoulder, her husband having come to
join her.
“Ah, Crawford, I see you’ve met my precious little Sophia,” he said, the man
turning to look at them, the warmth in his blue eyes melting away. He slowly
got up though still held onto one of Temperance’s hands as if reluctant to let
go. He was not overly tall but had an imposing aura about him despite his young
age.
“Yes, I have had the pleasure of meeting young Temperance,” the man replied
putting an emphasis on the name, and though Cordelia could feel her husband’s
displeasure at having Starrick use the name he hated so much, he nevertheless
said nothing. It was quite unusual of him to let the slight go unchallenged.
She did not like it, the entire situation making her skin crawl. “I find that
name much more suited to her than Sophia… as lovely a name as it is.”
“Since you have met my daughter, please allow me to introduce you to my wife,
Lady Wakefield,” Jasper said showing no displeasure in front of his esteemed
nephew. The man finally let go of her daughter’s hand to come and lift hers to
his lips though they never touched her skin, something Cordelia was more than
thankful for.
“My lady, you have an absolutely wonderful young daughter,” he told her, his
gaze turning toward Temperance. Unfortunately the sun chose that moment to
pierce the clouds and bathe her daughter in light, intense strands of garnet
flowing among the deep burgundy of her hair. She heard Starrick sharp intake of
breath and instinctively knew right then that her daughter would be doomed even
at such a young age. “If you would excuse us, I have business to discuss with
your husband. Until supper time.” he said before leaving without once looking
back at Temperance.
Cordelia let out a shaky breath and rushed to kneel in front of her daughter.
Her heart was beating madly, her teeth raking her lower lip while trying to
come up with a plan to save her sweet Temperance. For a brief moment, she
thought of George but quickly dismissed it. He was nothing but a stranger
truly, one that would certainly not go against the law. She was married thus
bound to her husband and there was nothing she could do. If he wanted, he could
cast her aside and keep Temperance from her. In the eyes of the law, she had no
rights as an individual.
“My sweet darling, what will we do?” she whispered, her daughter lightly
touching her cheek to wipe the tear that had escaped. She gathered her in her
arms and hugged her tightly. She would find a way for both of them to escape
this gilded prison. She would not let her husband marry off her daughter to a
fiend that was easily twenty years her senior. Her hand grasping her medallion,
Cordelia took a deep breath, her resolve to find a way for her and her child to
leave Wakefield growing firmer with every passing moment. Her ancestor had been
a fearless pirate. There had to be something of Mary Reid deep inside of her.

* * *

“Seeing as how Three Bridges has flourished with the coming of the railway
while it’s been the contrary with Crawley must have made you wish you had
invested in the former and not the later.”
Taking a sip of brandy his uncle had offered him, Crawford smiled while making
sure none of the disdain he felt showed through. It would not benefit him to
alienate the man, quite the contrary. Granted he had come here out of curiosity
about Wakefield’s secret group but now, now that he had met such a perfect
little doll he was altogether happy to have come.
He had chanced upon her quite by mistake and, at first, had truly thought her
to be a doll in truth so perfectly still she had sat. That is until she had
turned her gaze toward him. He had been caught off guard first by the colour of
her eyes, a mesmerizing grey, and then by the innocent purity and total trust
reflected in them. She was an unspoiled little flower, untouched by the ugly
chaos, violence, and general decay of society, one he wanted to pick up and
closely guard so she could remain as uncorrupted as she was. He had went to
her, had knelt so he had been at her height and had gently grabbed her
hands.They had been so very small and fragile. Everything about her was
beautiful and delicate.
“What is your name?” he had asked her.
“Sophia Wakefield,” she had answered back with a smile, one that utterly
charmed him. She was perfect in every aspects.
“Truly? I would think you more suited to something else than ‘Sophia’,” he had
actually chuckled.
“Mother calls me Temperance but not father,” she had explained in a clear
concise manner that belied her young age. With this simple sentence, she had
entrusted him with the knowledge that the Wakefields did not always see eye to
eye, and she had done so in a trustful and guileless manner. Yes, Temperance
suited her perfectly.
By what he had gathered from his very brief meeting with Lady Wakefield, she
was a timid, obedient and generally spineless woman, something he was sure his
uncle had well reinforced with physical or mental abuse. He did seem the sort
to want total subservience. With such a young wife, Crawford could understand
the desire to instill fidelity but there was a difference between obedience and
loyalty. One could start to disobey but true loyalty was not easily broken. The
thought of his Temperance becoming like her mother under her father’s tutelage
did not sit well with him.
“You would think so but I know I have not erred in my investment,” he finally
replied, his uncle giving him a questioning look. “Three Bridges has reaped
many benefits as did Croydon but the gentry will turn to Crawley and its rural
atmosphere so different than London. With the railway, it will be much easier
for them to make the journey back and forth. Mark my word, uncle, the housing
market will explode, new houses will need to be built which will require land
and materials, both I now control in the region as well as the railway.”
Crawford was only twenty-five years of age compared to his uncle who was now in
his early forties but he was not at the head of an ever growing empire for
nothing. He was after all a leader among mere servants.
“I guess only time will tell if your investment will prove true but enough talk
of business. I know you’ve heard of my Order. After thinking about it, I
believe that you would be a great asset to the Templars.” That picked
Crawford’s interest. It was, after all, the reason he had come all the way from
London.
“Please tell me more of this order, uncle.”

* * *

“Supper was delicious, thank you for receiving me even though it was a last
minute affair.” Cordelia demurely bowed her head while her husband laughed in
good humour obviously already far into his cup. Crawford Starrick had been a
gracious guest, and though he had done nothing untoward, there was something
about him that made her want to run away.
“Shall we retire to the study? We have much to discuss before I make plan to
join you in London,” her husband said, the young man acquiescing.
She kept her head bowed and showed no reaction though deep inside she was
relieved. Every day passed away from Jasper was a blessing, the oppressive
atmosphere of Wakefield Manor brightening whenever he was out. Starrick
slightly bowed to her before following her husband to his study. She stayed in
the dining room for a moment longer to make sure they were well engrossed in
their talk by the time she walked past the study and up the curved staircase.
Since the hour had grown late, her daughter was already sleeping.
She sat down on the side of the little bed and gently pushed a strand of hair
away from Temperance’s face making her mumble softly in her sleep. Though she
could not be sure she had heard the word correctly, Cordelia could have sworn
her daughter had whispered “Jacob”. Remembering the vicarious young boy, she
laughed silently. Her daughter had no friends her age, and though she knew it
would be beneficial for her to mingle socially with other children, Jasper was
set against the idea. He dictated so much of their lives.
Temperance had always been an undemanding baby and now she was just as
complaisant a young child as one could hope for though Cordelia often thought
she was too much so. It was not only because of her look that people compared
her to a doll but the fact she could sit in one place for long periods of time
seemingly contemplating her surroundings. The only time she had shown more
interest was that afternoon with the young Frye boy. Her husband could not
learn of it otherwise he would forbid her to take Temperance anywhere. The fact
his daughter showed such ‘poise’ at such a young age was a much prized trait
for him.
“She’ll attract a much better match being the way she is than if she were to
run wild like a commoner’s runt,” he had once told her when she had brought the
subject of Temperance’s unnatural calm behaviour. Naturally, that had quite
closed the topic and she knew better than to bring it up for it would have been
a sure way to annoy him to the point he would have enforced his will by locking
her away.
Cordelia lightly kissed her sleeping daughter before making her way to her
chambers hoping that her husband would be too busy with their guest and then
too drunk to come to her. She was just about to enter her bedroom when Starrick
walked up the stairs, Jasper not with him. She held her breath as his gaze
turned toward Temperance’s closed door. It seemed to take him a moment to
realize she was standing in the hallway.
“Good night, Lady Wakefield,” he said casually walking toward the guest’s
chambers. She stood still for a long moment after he had closed his door, her
mind unable to ignore the look that had been in the young man’s eyes when he
had looked at her daughter’s door.
***** An Unexpected Declaration *****

It had been barely a three days since her husband had left for some unknown
business in London and already Cordelia was smiling in a more carefree manner.
The sun shone bright despite the chill in the air, the crisp freshness of the
winds making her want to run through a field like she had used to do when she
had been a young girl. Instead, she had to content herself with a drive to town
with Temperance to get the dresses the seamstress had made for her daughter,
and buy some decorations for the Manor. Christmas was celebrated more and more
since the Illustrated London News had published a drawing of the royal family
celebrating around a decorated Christmas tree in 1848. It was supposedly a
tradition from Prince Albert’s childhood back in Germany. Needless to say that
many homes in England had quickly followed suit. Despite that, Jasper had
always been reluctant to celebrate what he considered a frivolous custom. But
since he was not expected to return before the turn of the year, she had
decided to celebrate it in concordance with Temperance’s birthday.
The Wakefield carriage stopped and, the door opening, she tended her hand so
that the coachman could help her out. Nevertheless, once her feet were on the
ground, she noticed that this one was still seated. Her hand was, instead,
gently held by George, his strange hood keeping most of his face in shadow
though she would have recognized that smile anywhere. Realizing they were in
public, Cordelia quickly withdrew her hand and took a step back, her head
bowing demurely.
“Can’t forget the little lady,” she heard him chuckle warmly. From the corner
of her eyes she saw him lift her daughter in his arms before gently, ever so
gently put her down on the ground beside her. Her hand automatically grabbed
Temperance’s small one. Why did he have to come back into her life in such a
manner when it was too late, much too late? Her young girl’s dreams having
dissipated on her wedding night. “I’m actually glad to have run into you today,
miss Cordelia.”
“It’s Lady Wakefield now,” she whispered but the man made a strange noise, a
mix between a hiss and a growl.
“No, I’ll never accept calling you that. A forced marriage is nothing but a
sham.” He seemed to take a deep breath before pulling off his hood. Cordelia
could not help but cast a quick glance, her bruised heart beating fiercely at
seeing his dark eyes looking down at her, the shadow of a beard accentuating
his strong jaw and that chin cleft she had come to love so much. “I’m sorry, I
shouldn’t have left all those years ago.” She cast her eyes downward once more.
“Here, I bought this for you… for Christmas.”
She had no other choice but to take the small wrapped parcel he had taken out
of his pocket and mumbled a barely audible “thank you” before pulling
Temperance behind her across the street and into the dressmaker’s shop. When he
did not follow them inside she was torn between being relieved and being
heartbroken.
“Ah! Lady Wakefield and miss Sophia! Come in! I’ve just put the finishing
touches on the last dress!” the seamstress called out. After a reassuring nod
from her, her daughter followed the woman to go try her new dresses. While
sitting alone in the shop, Cordelia opened the small parcel and brought a hand
over her mouth to mute the gasp that had escaped. It was a necklace, silver
with a delicate locket. The chain was long enough that the locket would rest
between her breasts.
She opened it and swallowed hard. It was empty on one side where she could put
a small picture or a lock of hair, on the other side the simple words ‘You own
my smiles’ were engraved. No one but the both of them knew what those words
meant and how very painfully poignant they now were. Before she let herself be
swayed by societal propriety, she quickly clasped the necklace and let it drop
down her bodice, the locket hanging lower than her medallion. Now she had two
talismans.
It was not until she heard the dressmaker panicked screams that she realized
something had happened.

* * *

George had let Cordelia walk away even though he had wanted nothing more than
to put her and her daughter back in the carriage, throw the Wakefield’s
coachman on the ground and drive them as far away as he could. Unless he was
willing to relocate in another country, there was no chance for them to escape
justice especially if the rumours of Jasper Wakefield being a Templar were
true. Unfortunately he had no real proof to bring the council and as such could
not simply go and make Cordelia a young widow. Assassins did not kill for
personal reasons, after all.
There was a reason why they tended to not form lasting relationships since it
could become a detriment to the objective. The only exception had been Ethan
and Cicely Frye, his mentors. He had seen first hand how it had destroyed his
friend when Cicely had died after giving birth to the twins, Ethan leaving for
India to try and make peace with his loss. He had only recently returned. Was
it truly worth it to love someone when the risk of losing them could be so
devastating? Thinking of Cordelia’s shy smiles and mirthful eyes, he knew it
was or could have been in his case.
“Now where has that boy gone to?” George suddenly heard his long time friend
growl, Ethan Frye coming to where he was, the man dressed in similar clothes as
him.
“If you’re searching for Jacob, I’d say go look at the dressmaker,” he
chuckled.
“The dressmaker?! Now why would he be there?” Ethan asked mere moments before a
commotion made them look across the street. There was a blur of movement, the
object of his friend’s frustration running on the sidewalk pulling a small girl
behind him.
“Oh hell!” he growled. “He just went and kidnapped little Sophia! I swear
Ethan, that boy of yours is a rascal!” They both jogged across the street but
George stopped and caught a running Cordelia in his arms, the young woman’s
cheeks tear stained, terror piercing through her chocolate brown eyes. “Shh,
it’s alright, Cordelia. Your daughter is safe or will soon be though I believe
Jacob will have difficulty sitting down for a while,” he told her, his hand
bringing her head against his chest.
She was shivering in his arms making him realize that she had ran out of the
shop without her cloak though when he had seen her daughter being pulled by
Jacob, this one had been wearing her little mint green fur-trimmed cape. At
least the little girl would not be freezing like her mother obviously was.
Silently, he walked her back to the dressmaker, the poor seamstress completely
undone.
“I don’t understand! One minute she was there and the next gone! Oh my lady,
please forgive me!” This one wailed but George ignored her as he helped
Cordelia to sit down before crouching in front of her, his large hands trying
to warm hers.
“It’s fine, madam, just Jacob being his rambunctious self,” he finally
explained, the poor dressmaker sitting down on the second settee with a sigh of
relief mere seconds before the door was kicked opened, Ethan holding Cordelia’s
daughter in one arm while pulling his wayward son by the collar.
“Apologize!” this one barked while gently putting the little girl next to her
mother, this one enveloping her in her arms. Large grey eyes looked at him and,
discreetly, he winked at her, her rosebud lips curving in a delightfully
charming smile. He could so easily understand Jacob in being blindsided by a
smile. He had after all lost his heart to a sweetly smiling young girl himself
years ago. “Jacob Frye! Apologize this instant to her mother! What were you
thinking?!”
George saw the little girl whisper something to Cordelia, this one smiling
softly at her daughter. His breath caught at the sight of it. There was such
love and utter devotion as only a loving mother could have. He straightened and
took a step back. Fortunately his best friend was too busy scolding a still
unashamed Jacob to notice his strange behaviour.
“Sir,” he heard Cordelia’s soft timid voice. “My daughter, Sophia, is just as
guilty since she told me she gladly followed him when she saw him waving at her
in the window so please don’t be too harsh on the boy. He is a charming young
lad.” She gave the young Frye a gentle smile though this one had eyes only on
little Sophia and, by what George could see, so was she, peeking at Jacob from
her mother’s embrace as she was.
Though he knew his friend would not forget his young son’s escapade, especially
not since this one was in training to become an assassin, he nevertheless bowed
his head in agreement though kept a firm hand on Jacob’s collar as he seemed to
want nothing more than to go near the little girl.
“Well! Now that everything’s back to normal, or as normal as it can be with
young Jacob Frye out and about, there is still one last dress to try on,” the
seamstress said clapping her hands happily, little Sophia Wakefield getting out
of her mother’s embrace to follow the dressmaker but not before turning those
beautiful grey eyes toward Jacob whose father now had to hold with two hands so
much the little rascal was trying to follow her.
“Time we left. There’s still much to be studied today. I believe emphasis on
self-restraint is more than warranted. My lady, please accept my sincerest
apologies for my young son’s impetuous nature. Are you coming, George?” He
hesitated for a heartbeat before nodding.
“No! I wanna stay with my Sophia! I wanna see her in a pretty dress!” Ignoring
young Jacob and how this one was trying to get out of his father’s grip only to
end up hanging off the ground by the back of his collar sputtering angrily,
George followed them outside sparing but one quick glance at Cordelia. Seeing
her fingers play with the locket he had given her almost made him turn around
and do like Jacob and kidnap her.
“Want to tell me what that’s all about? Is there some sort of history between
you and that young woman who is, by what I could see, married to someone else?”
Ethan asked as they made their way to the Fryes’ house.
“That was Cordelia Emery,” he replied, absolutely refusing to call her by her
married name. He had meant what he had said to her, a forced marriage was
nothing but a sham, especially hers. His friend stopped though he had enough
presence of mind to keep a firm hand on his young son since this one would have
most probably run back to ‘his Sophia’.
“You mean Lady Cordelia Wakefield!” Ethan cursed making even Jacob look at him
in shock. “George, why didn’t you tell me you had already met with her? Don’t
you remember the promise you made Cicely and I the night we had to stop you
from going to murder the bastard?” He knew it was a rhetorical question for he
well remembered it. He had promised not to actively go out of his way to meet
or see Cordelia, one he had kept all those years. “I can understand how you
feel but you do know we suspect him to be part of the Templar Order, right?
Tell me you’ll stick to what the council has to say about it and not let your
personal feelings get in the mix.” George clenched his jaw tightly for a
moment.
“I never let my personal feelings get in the way of the objective, Ethan. You
more than anyone else should know that!” he finally hissed.

* * *

After once more reassuring the dressmaker she was not holding her responsible
for what two young children had complicity done, Cordelia sat down in the
Wakefield carriage and closed her eyes tiredly. For the nth time she looked at
her daughter, this one as poised as ever.
“Why did you leave with young Jacob Frye?” she asked her, Temperance looking at
her pensively for a moment as if asking herself the same question.
“I like him,” she finally replied. Though Temperance had never said anything,
she could imagine that her daughter was, on a certain level, craving
interaction with other children her age. It was a completely normal desire or
it would be if they were a typical family and not mere pawns in Jasper’s hands.
“Darling, you mustn’t tell your father about it,” she said, Temperance slowly
nodding. The fact it was normal for her to keep such things from her father
made Cordelia want to cry. Not wanting their day to turn gloomy by the mere
shadow of her husband, she clapped her hands with a bright smile, Temperance
gazing at her silently. “I thought it’d be jolly fun to decorate the house for
your birthday. Would you like that?”
Her daughter nodded her head with a smile. Cordelia probably would not be able
to decorate the entire house but she could certainly make it festive enough and
that was all that mattered to her. Her marriage was, as George had said, a sham
but she would try her very best to make her Temperance’s life as happy as she
could. With that cheerful thought, they walked inside Wakefield Manor only to
come to a dead stop, her daughter’s eyes looking around her in wonder. The
entire house had been decorated during the time they had been in town.
Cordelia slowly put her parcels on the floor, a maid quickly coming to pick
them up, and walked into the informal parlour where a big Christmas tree stood
fully decorated with garlands made of fruits, candles, and even sweet bonbons,
wrapped gifts laid out underneath it. This could not be Jasper’s work since the
man barely even acknowledged his daughter’s birthday let alone the Christian
holy days. Temperance was already kneeling in front of the tree though her
hands were demurely on her lap and not even trying to touch the brightly
coloured gifts. An envelope bearing the name of her daughter in a stylish
handwriting set upon the table. She sat down on the settee, and rang a maid to
have some hot chocolate and food brought to them.
Cordelia waited until the tray was brought with two steaming cups of hot
chocolate and various savouries to munch on, Temperance coming to sit beside
her to daintily partake of their small impromptu luncheon. After a slight
hesitation she finally picked up the envelop and opened it. What she read made
every tasty food turn to ash in her stomach, her hand going to cover her mouth,
her brown eyes wide in shock.

“Dearest cousin, I do hope you find my surprise pleasant as I can not be there
to celebrate your birthday. Had I known it fell on Christmas Eve, I would have
endeavoured your father into postponing the business that takes us away on such
a joyous day.
I pray you will be delighted with the gifts I have bought for I am not
knowledgeable in what young ladies prefer. Perhaps next time we meet you could
counsel me on the subject.
I wish you a most happiest of birthday — Crawford Starrick.”

Cordelia felt like throwing the letter in the fire and then cleanse her hands
until the stain of it was completely washed away. This was not the sort of
letter a gentleman sent a little girl, not the sort any men would ever sent a
mere child. She felt almost physically ill. She truly should destroy the letter
but if Starrick had mentioned it to Jasper and this one did not find it upon
his return, he would be in a dark mood.
Turning to look at her daughter and finding this one still enchanted by the
tree and the gifts, she knew she would not order the staff to get rid of
anything despite wanting nothing other than that. With Jasper gone it would be
so easy to take Temperance and leave but she had nowhere to go, nowhere were
her husband’s reach, no worst, where Starrick’s reach could not catch them.

* * *

Opening his watch to look at the time and take a moment to gaze at the small
lock of burgundy hair tucked in its lid, hair he had discretely cut off before
leaving Wakefield Manor after having gone to look at his Temperance one last
moment, the peacefulness of her sleeping form engraved in his very mind,
Crawford sat back in a comfortable chair and lifted a cup of tea to is lips. By
now she had most probably seen the surprise he had arranged for her. He wished
he could have seen her face. Had she been happy? Had she been mesmerized? Had
she smiled that perfectly pure smile? He had not yet breached the subject with
his uncle but he was adamant that no one would ever possess such purity except
him. He would not let the vile world use her only to cast her aside. No, his
Temperance was made to be elevated to a much superior rank than the common
riffraff. She belonged by his side and together they would usher in an era of
perfection, of balance, of order.
“It’s time,” Jasper told him, the man garbed in the robes of his Order.
Crawford had learnt much about the Templar Order and saw in it a way to achieve
his vision of the world.
He silently rose and followed this one. How very fitting that he should be
inducted on the day of his Temperance’s birthday. Fate did indeed smile on the
both of them. He needed no other proof to know that they were destined to be
together despite their age difference. He saw nothing untoward about his desire
to marry her in the future. It was not like he actively lusted after her. She
was, after all, a mere child but after having met her, he knew he wanted no
other women, only her, his perfect Temperance.
Taking himself to task, he shook himself from his reverie. It was not the time
to be lost in thoughts of his Temperance. They entered large room, men and
women silently watching him as he made his way to where an old man stood. This,
as Jasper had explained, was the Grand Master of their order. Crawford smiled
and bowed his head in respect. He would not be a mere pawn of a Templar. No, he
would rise the same way he built and expanded his empire and then everything
would be as it should be.
“Do you swear to uphold the principles of our Order, and all that for which we
stand, to never share our secrets nor divulge the true nature of our work, to
do so until death — whatever the cost?”
“I do.”
“Then may the Father of Understanding guide you.”
“May the Father of Understanding guide us all.” The Grand Master slipped a
necklace around his neck, a Templar Cross dangling from it. Crawford was now a
member of the Templar Order of the British Rite. Nothing would stand in his
way.
***** The Rise of a Templar *****
Chapter Notes
     I am moving into a new house and then it will be time for Camp NaNo
     so it may take a while to have another chapter posted... Thank you
     for your understanding. :)

Christmas had come and went. It had been the happiest days Cordelia had ever
had since her marriage. Unfortunately the nightmare caught her up at the turn
of the year, Jasper coming back from London. He had not been alone. A tall and
thin man with distinguished manners though extremely cold and contemptuous eyes
had been accompanying him.
“My dear, this is Olivier Montagne,” her husband had said, the Frenchman barely
bowing to her. It had been clear he had viewed her as beneath him despite her
being the lady of the house. There had been something to the man, something
that had made her want to run away. Even Jasper had seemed, at least to her,
uneasy in the man’s presence. “He’s Sophia’s new tutor.” That had caught her
quite by surprise. Jasper had always been of the opinion that education was
wasted on women.
She would have argued the point especially when considering how the man had
made her feel but had known better than to say anything. Instead she had
graciously bowed her head and had whispered an appropriate greeting. Inside
though, she had been anything but poised. She had had no proof but somehow had
known Jasper’s change of heart had been orchestrated by Crawford Starrick. What
that man had planned for her precious Temperance, she had had no idea and,
three months later, she was still as clueless.
In a way Cordelia was glad her daughter was getting an education but she was
allowed to spend less and less time with her, her days passing by in wretched
solitude. Even Jasper had stopped coming to her bed altogether and was often
gone on business or, more likely, visiting his mistress in Croydon. It should
have been a blessing to not have to endure his presence but not being able to
see her daughter, the only bright light in her hellish life, was pure torture.
Nevertheless, every time she tried to spend time with Temperance, Monsieur
Olivier would hover close telling her in no uncertain terms she was distracting
his pupil from her studies.
Suddenly hearing a loud sound coming from the garden, she lifted her skirt and
ran down the stairs, almost tripping in her haste. She knew the sound of a gun
when she heard it, her father having often hunted. With the return of warmer
climate, Temperance and that dreadful tutor of hers had recently taken to go
study in the garden. She did not know who would come attack them but her
instincts screamed at her to go and protect her only child. She burst through
the back door, her heart in her throat, and stopped, a hand going to where her
medallion rested. Temperance stood beside the Frenchman, pistol in her small
child’s hand.
“What is the meaning of this?!” she found herself asking, her voice holding
more strength than it ever had in her entire life. For some strange reasons a
part of her, a deeply buried part had emerged, her left hand closing in a tight
fist. Her gaze went to the man’s throat as if she knew exactly where to slice.
Even stranger was the fact this one seemed to guess her thoughts, a hand
casually going to rest of the hilt of the sabre he always wore. She shook
herself mentally and closed the distance rapidly. She was done being
intimidated by the likes of him! “I don’t know what sort of tutor you are but I
won’t stand by and watch you teach my daughter such things! I want you gone
from this house as soon as you’re packed!”
She grabbed the pistol from Temperance’s hand and threw it on the ground in
disdain. Ignoring the man’s cold glare, Cordelia lifted her daughter in her
arms and quickly walked out of the garden. Through the entire ordeal, her child
had uttered not one word. She needed to get out and away from the Manor if only
for a few hours. She knew the punishment for what she had done would be swift
and severe.
“Let’s go to town,” she said with a shaking smile, Temperance looking at her in
a new stoic manner she hated. She did not know what they were doing to her
daughter but by what she had seen, this one was not learning what a young lady
would usually learn, far from it. Then again her reaction had been anything but
ladylike. Never had she felt such a violent rage burn inside her. She was still
shaking from it when the carriage stopped in town.
They bought some pastries at the baker’s shop, and went to the small central
park to eat them, Temperance still not having said a word, her daughter sitting
primly and daintily eating her snack, her grey eyes fixating on nothing in
particular. Cordelia could not help but noticed how much she had changed in
three months. She still looked like a fragile little doll but a more distant
one. She should have fought Jasper on it, should have demanded to see her
daughter and not let him and especially that tutor of hers push her away from
Temperance’s life without once putting her foot down.
She looked at the awaiting carriage, her heartbeat increased. Once more that
deep part of her surged forward. If she could make it to London she could
possibly be able to hide. The city was big after all. She could find some sort
of work to sustain herself and her child. No matter how much resources Jasper
and Starrick had, if they were in London it would be akin trying to find a
needle in a haystack. It could work though they would have to leave
immediately.
Cordelia turned to where her daughter had sat but this one was gone. She was on
her feet in less than a second, her eyes frantically looking around herself but
there was no trace of Temperance anywhere. The last time it had happened had
been when young Jacob Frye had ‘kidnapped’ her. Perhaps she was with the boy,
or so she hoped. She did not know exactly where the Fryes house was but it was
the most logical place to start. She forced herself to calm down. She had to
find Temperance and then they would leave for London. She dared not go back to
Wakefield Manor. She would never return to this place of nightmare ever again,
and neither would her daughter. Her arms were suddenly grabbed painfully.
“Dearest wife, where is my precious little daughter?” Jasper hissed dangerously
coming to stand in front of her while Olivier Montagne held her. Somehow
Cordelia knew she was done for by the look of pure hatred in her husband’s
eyes. “Take her away as we planned!” She would have screamed but the
Frenchman’s hand tightly covered her mouth before easily lifting her off her
feet despite her struggles. The last thing she saw before being roughly thrown
in her husband’s carriage was her old medallion falling on the ground.

* * *

With a groan Jacob fell on the ground though he quickly got back up on his
feet. Despite his young age the boy showed a marked affinity for hand-to-hand
combat though his impetuousness worked against him most of the time. Instead of
assessing the situation, he ran straight at the target like an enraged bull.
For a second time, his son fell on the ground making Ethan shake his head
slightly. He was of a mind to stop the training but Jacob got back up on his
feet once more. He was a determined boy, a hardheaded one but still determined.
He was already planning on throwing him on the ground a third time when
something hit him behind the head. He turned to look behind himself just as his
son rushed at him. Despite the fact he was much taller and heavier than his
child, this one crashed hard against his legs making him fall down.
“Ok! Enough!” he ordered, Jacob kneeling on his chest, his small hand flush
against his throat. He had to give it to him, had it been real, he would have
been dead though Ethan had been distracted. “I know you’re there so why don’t
you come out?” he added making sure his voice was much gentler while gazing at
the tall tree at the edge of his property. Slowly a small hand appeared on the
side of the tree trunk, a pale face with large grey eyes framed by dark
burgundy hair shyly peaking around it.
“Sophia!” Jacob shouted in glee jumping off him to go where the girl timidly
stood. Ethan could only deduce that the little girl had thrown something at his
head to help her friend. After all, she could not have known they were training
and not truly fighting. His son grabbed the child’s hand in his which earned
him a bright smile. The tree was quite a few paces away and yet she had been
able to accurately hit his head. He slowly got up and dusted off his hooded
coat.
“Jacob, would you bring your friend here for a moment? I want to ask her
something,” he said, his son hesitating slightly though nevertheless obeyed.
The two children walked to where he was, their hands still linked. “I’m Ethan
Frye, Jacob’s father. We met a few months ago,” he added putting a knee on the
ground. She seemed so shy and yet very poised for such a young child though her
timid countenance dissipated whenever her eyes turned to Jacob, his son
grinning brightly. “You have quite a good aim, little one. Do you think you
could hit that target with a dart? Now be careful not to hurt yourself.”
Ethan took a small empty dart and offered it to her. She hesitated and looked
to his son who simply nodded in encouragement. He watched her intently and what
he saw made him frown slightly for her gaze had suddenly become focused on the
target, her small hand quickly flicking the dart. Although it did not hit dead
centre, it was still on target. She turned to his son who was whooping, a happy
smile on her face. He chuckled silently. She had obviously wanted to impress
Jacob. It was evident though that she had some training but since he and George
were the only assassins in Crawley, it could only mean one thing.
Gazing at the adoration in his son’s eyes Ethan could only sigh. Jacob would
never understand that his young childhood crush was not meant to be. The
suspicion of the council concerning Jasper Wakefield seemed to be true and that
meant little Sophia would grow up to be a Templar like her father. He was not
too sure what he should do with the information. Notifying the council was a
must but keeping his friend George in the dark would most probably be
advisable. He could easily guess what this one would do with the information.
“Come on, child, let’s go find your mother. I’m sure she’s worried sick,” he
said gently though Jacob was vehemently against the idea, his hand grabbing
Sofia’s while pulling her slightly behind him as if trying to protect her.
“Why can’t we keep her? She could train with me and Evie! I’d even give her my
bed and sleep in the kitchen, honest!” his son pleaded.
“Jacob! She’s not a pet! She has a mother and a father who love her very much,”
he reprimanded his son who was furiously shaking his head. He knew her mother
loved her. Her father though, if everything he had heard about the man had been
correct, she was more his pawn than anything else. He would probably marry her
off to the highest ranking Templar in his Order. Ethan knew his type well, had
killed many men, and women, sharing similar beliefs as Jasper Wakefield. Even
though he already had his two children, he was of a mind of taking his son’s
idea and keep Sofia with them. Better to be an assassin than a Templar.
“Sophia there you are! I was worried sick!”
He schooled his face and coldly watched Wakefield make his way toward them. The
last thing he wanted was a confrontation though, if he was honest with himself,
he was visualizing his hidden blade stabbing the man’s throat.
“Where is mother?” Sophia asked in a small though clear voice. It did not seem
to be what the man had wanted to hear.
“She’s waiting in the carriage. Now come on, time to go home,” her father
hissed impatiently grabbing his daughter’s upper arm. Jacob though was still
holding her hand and he categorically refused to let go of her. The man hissed
once more, and before Ethan could do anything, he wrenched the girl to his side
hard breaking his son’s grasp. “Get your son under control, man!”
He quickly took hold of Jacob’s collar to stop him from jumping at the man’s
throat, something he himself wanted to do especially after hearing the tiny
gasp of pain coming from the child. He flexed his left wrist, his hidden blade
slicing briefly the air. Wakefield caught sight of it, his face going from red
to ashen in less than a heartbeat.
“Best be careful Wakefield, harm her once more, just once, and I will come for
you,” he coldly said. The man sniffed haughtily before turning and leading his
daughter away. He was, nevertheless particularly gentle about it. Sophia
dutifully followed him though not before giving Jacob one last look. Ethan
clenched his teeth at the look of misery in her grey eyes. “That’s quite
enough, Jacob!” he barked, his son fighting his hold. “Believe me, son, I wish
I could have done something but my hands are tied in this.” Jacob finally opted
to simply rip his shirt off and turned to spear him with a wrathful look.
“I hate you!” this one spat before running inside the house.

* * *

George had been in the process of walking through the door when young Jacob
barrelled his way inside, his father looking dejected. The young boy was a
handful and would most probably grow up to be an even bigger one but it was the
first time he saw his friend looking so discouraged about it.
“What was that all about?” he asked joining this one outside.
“In short? Young Sophia Wakefield.” He could not help but chuckle.
“Don’t tell me he ‘kidnapped’ her again. Poor Cordelia having to catch up to
your wayward son… or was it her wayward daughter this time? Honestly, Ethan,
these two seem determined to be together.” His chuckle slowly died. Ethan was
not even smiling. No, instead there was a deeply troubled look in this one’s
hazel eyes.
“It wasn’t her mother that came fetch her but her father and Jacob didn’t take
it too lightly nor the fact I didn’t let him keep her like he wanted.”
“Wait a minute. What do you mean her father came to fetch her? Sophia was with
her mother, not her father. I saw them both walk into the park and believe me,
they were alone.” He did not like it, the entire thing making his skin crawl.
The instincts he had spent years sharpening made him run toward the opened gate
ignoring Ethan’s shouts.
He arrived in the small park and quickly looked around. Everything seemed
normal though his mind kept telling him to search the surroundings. There was a
half-eaten pastry on a nearby bench, and a napkin not far from it in the
direction of the street, unmistakable signs of scuffles in the dirt. He
followed them to the sidewalk. By what he could guess, someone had been
forcefully brought to the street, most probably toward a carriage. He did not
want to jump at any conclusions since there was no reason for Wakefield to
actually go and kidnap his wife, was there? Something cought the corner of his
eyes, a glint of sunlight reflected from the street.
Crouching down, George picked up a thin golden chain and slowly lifted it until
a medallion twirled in front of his eyes. It was one he automatically
recognized having seen it around Cordelia’s neck so long ago when he had still
been working at the mill. Something had happened to her and he knew just who to
ask. His hand closed around the ancient looking medallion. Yes it was more than
time he got some answers.

* * *

Crawford was sitting at the piano in the Wakefield’s music room, his fingers
agilely running over the ivory keys, his eyes closed as he played. Hearing the
coming carriage, he stopped and got up, a smile upon his lips. It had been more
than three months since he had last seen his little Temperance, too long a time
really but he had been much busy in London, in part with his business empire,
in part worming his way up the ranks in the Order. Soon all of his scheming and
planning would put him in the perfect position to challenge the Grand Master
and take his place. It was, after all, his to take.
He made his way to the front entrance to welcome his Temperance, glad to see
his uncle had already gone to his study thus leaving him alone with her, but
one look at her crestfallen face and he was fast down on one knee, his hands
gently cupping her fragile shoulders.
“Temperance? What is wrong?” he asked in a soft voice while raging mentally.
Who had dared put such a look in his precious cousin’s face?
“Where is mother?” she asked in such a tiny lost voice that he almost revised
his plans. He still held firm in the belief that it was best to not deviate
from it but his heart was conflicted. He could not bear bringing pain and
sorrow to his precious Temperance but there truly was no other way. Cordelia
Wakefield would never have agreed to what he and his uncle had decided despite
being such a weak-willed woman. Worst, she could have gotten into her head to
either flee with his Temperance or seek refuge with the assassins, nuisance
that they were.
“Your mother fell ill so Olivier brought her to a hospital. She will be back
when she feels better, I am sure of it,” he explained. It was, at best, a half-
truth. Slowly she nodded her head and, much to his relief, gave him a smile. He
started to gather her up in his arms but quickly frowned. She had visibly
winced when one of his hands had trailed down to her upper arm. “May I?” he
asked, the total trust in her grey eyes something he cherished more than
anything.
Slowly so he would not hurt her more, Crawford lifted the sleeve of her dress
and swore silently at seeing the bruise forming on her pale delicate skin. He
would find the bastard that had dared lay a finger on his Temperance and flay
him alive. No one had the right to so hurt her! He asked her about it making
sure to not let his fury bleed through. He did not want to scare her, after
all. Bending her head slightly, she whispered in his ear as if afraid that
saying it loudly would bring swift reprisal. He had to take a deep breath to
control himself. No more would his Temperance be afraid in her own house!
“Temperance, do you play the piano?” he asked, his voice gentle. She shook her
head. “Would you like me to teach you?” The smile she gave him was so bright
and sweet that he found himself slightly bending his head towards hers only to
get up on his feet. He refused to ponder on what had flashed through his head,
pushing the thought deeply into the recess of his mind instead. “Go to the
music room. I will join you soon. Oh, I also have a little surprise for you.”
Crawford watched her walk away and, after making sure she was where she was
supposed to be, quickly went to his uncle’s study. The man was casually
standing in front of a window sipping a glass of bourbon.
“Ah, Crawford! The plan worke…” He did not let him finish. His hand grabbed the
man’s throat. He easily slammed him against the wall despite his uncle’s girth
brought upon by years of indulgence. “Now wait a min…” He pulled his arm back
only to push it once more forward making Jasper Wakefield hit the wall hard a
second time.
“I will say this but once, dear uncle,” he whispered dangerously letting the
man see the seriousness in his blue eyes. “Harm her once more and I will kill
you slowly and painfully. Never, ever put a hand on my future wife, is that
clear? I can and will make you deeply regret it. Remember that Olivier works
for me. He is Temperance’s tutor and protector when I am unable to attend to
her myself. You know full well who he is and how dangerous it is to cross him.”
He released his uncle who crumbled on the floor and glanced down at him in
disdain before walking out of the study and closing the door behind him.
Crawford took a moment to compose himself and put some order in his clothes
before going to the music room. He stood in the doorway admiring his Temperance
sitting at the piano, the light coming from the tall windows making her even
lovelier, her long burgundy braid streaked with deep garnet. He cleared his
throat slightly making her turn her head to look at him, her large grey eyes so
innocent and trusting as was the smile she gave him.
He sat down beside her and played a short partition. His Temperance’s eyes were
closed, her rosebud lips slightly parted, a gentle smile upon them. She was
clearly enjoying the music while he was unabashedly gazing at her, his heart
beating fiercely in his chest. She was his Temperance, his perfect Temperance,
his future wife. She was his and his alone. His fingers slipped on a key. He
stopped and took a slight breath.
“I did say that I had a little gift for you,” he said to cover his
consternation. Temperance turned in the seat to look at him, her eyes, those
large grey eyes almost his undoing. He took out a small box from the inside
pocket of his jacket and offered it to her. Crawford waited with bathed breath
as her delicate hands opened the box, her eyes lighting up at what was resting
inside. “I do so hope you like it,” he said though by her reaction, it was
clear she did.
He lifted the delicate necklace, a small silver and red cross at its centre. He
clasped it around her thin neck, the Templar Cross resting just over her small
chest. He watched as her fingers lightly traced the cross before lifting his
own out from under his vest.
“I have one too, the same as you. That makes us special,” he whispered, a
finger lightly touching the roundness of her cheek. Without a sound, she knelt
on the piano bench and put her arms around his neck, her lips giving him a soft
kiss on his own cheek. “Temperance, my sweet Temperance…” He framed her face in
his hands and lightly kissed her forehead. “May the Father of Understanding
guide us.”

* * *

George was slowly scaling the high wall surrounding Wakefield Manor. He had
waiting until the Frye household had fallen asleep despite the fact every
moments he waited were instants that Cordelia could be in danger. He would find
Jasper Wakefield and force him to tell him what he had done with her. He did
not believe that her medallion had ended up in the street by accident, quite
the contrary. It either had been ripped from her neck or she had struggled so
much it had broken. In both situation, that bastard Wakefield was responsible.
Jumping down from the wall, he silently landed on his feet and quickly ran to
stand under a balcony three storeys up where fluttering wispy drapes denoted an
opened window. There was nothing like an uncomplicated point of entry to make
an assassin’s life easier. Scanning his surroundings to make sure all was
clear, he quickly scaled up the ivy covered wall and lithely swung himself up
on the balcony, crouching low as soon as his feet touched the floor. So far
George had met no guards, no obstacles. He would have thought nobility,
especially one who was a Templar, would have had some form of protection.
Wakefield was making it much too easy for him.
He padded toward the opened window and noiselessly entered the room. He had to
wait for his eyesight to adjust but when they did, he breathed in a short
breath and forced himself to breathe it out as noiselessly as he could. He was
in little Sophia’s room and the last he wanted to do was inadvertently wake her
up and give her nightmares for years to come.
He lifted a foot and hoped none of the floorboards were loose but he never
quite took the step as a hand suddenly covered his mouth. Someone had been
hiding in the deeper shadows beside the window, someone even more stealthy than
him and since he had learnt from the best, he knew he had been well and truly
caught.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here but I would stand down if I was
you,” Ethan whispered ever softly behind him. “Your Cordelia isn’t here and by
what I gathered from the staff, she was brought to a hospital due to illness.
Now, you can come back home with me or you defy my orders and those of the
council and you find yourself a rogue.” His friend let that sink in him for
moment. “Don’t force me to hunt you down, please.”
George knew he was beaten and could only nod his head in agreement, Ethan
letting go of him and obviously waiting for him to exit before following. He
had failed Cordelia a second time. If she had truly been sent to a hospital and
not simply killed then he had no idea where to start looking. She could be
anywhere.

* * *

“I’m sorry, sir, but we’re rightly closed…”
“That’s quite alright, John, let him in.” Not deigning to give the young man a
second glance, he walked past the gates, the unconscious woman in his arms. The
doctor quickly came to assess her. “Chloroform? No? Ah, ether, yes! I had
forgotten you had gone to America.” He kept his silence though the fact his
hand rested on the hilt of his sabre made the man sweat profusely. “Good, good,
all good! We won’t have to fight her and by the time she wakes up, she’ll
already be in isolation under a fictive name. Please do tell our employer that
his instructions will be devoutly followed for as long as she lives. May the
Father of Understanding guide us.”
Olivier Montagne let the doctor take Cordelia Wakefield from his arms and
walked away not caring what happened to the woman. If it had been up to him, he
would have killed her but Starrick had been adamant. She was to be put away for
good but not killed. His employer was known to be ruthless but could be fair
when he wanted. Still, it seemed, at least to him, a waste of resources to keep
Lady Wakefield alive but when it came to anything pertaining to young miss
Sophia, Starrick became quite irrational.
Thinking about the young girl, Olivier allowed himself a slight smile. He would
now be able to fully concentrate on training his young charge to the best of
his abilities, the task strangely enticing him. It had been a long time since
he had felt excitement, the last time had been when he had failed to kill that
damn assassin back in America, his one and only failure.
He looked back only once before entering the carriage that would take him to
the train station, and pondered why Bethlem Royal Hospital was nicknamed
‘Bedlam’. Then again, he never proclaimed to understand foolish Englishmen.
***** A Strange Normalcy *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry for the long time since posting a new chapter but there was
     first Camp NaNo, me moving in a new house and then real life deciding
     to rear it's head and take all of my free time...

“Political economy is the knowledge of the means by which nations are best
enabled to provide a plentiful income for themselves. It refers solely to the
nature and causes of the wealth of nations.” With a soft sigh, Temperance
turned her attention from the book she was trying to read to the large window.
The day was cold, the snow falling ever since the early morning. That did meant
a white Christmas which was always a joy but it also meant that travel would be
difficult.
“Mademoiselle Sophie, your mind is far from your études,” Olivier reprimanded
her. She was now so used to having most people call her by her middle name that
she presented herself thusly to others. Nevertheless, deep down, she would
always be Temperance like her mother and dearest cousin called her.
“Désolée, Monsieur Olivier,” she whispered, turning her eyes back to the
economics book she was currently studying. Her days were usually devoted to her
studies. In the mornings it was studies of the mind mainly Mathematics,
Engineering, Political Sciences, and Economics. In the afternoon it was
physical studies including shooting and fencing. She also had piano lessons but
only when her cousin was able to come visit which was not as often as she
wished.
She did sometimes feel lonesome though Monsieur Olivier was ever present unlike
her father who could never seem to bear being near her, his emotional retreat
having grown since her mother’s mental breakdown all those years ago. She knew
she was to be blamed for it but no matter how often she had tried to apologize
to her father about it, he had simply disregarded her. In the end, she had
simply closed herself up whenever he was around so as not to displease him any
further.
As always, thinking of her mother and this one’s mental breakdown was painful.
It had happened when she had been six years of age and sweet on a young boy
from Crawley. One afternoon, she had escaped her mother’s watch to go spy on
Jacob Frye. Unfortunately, her escapade had worried her mother so that she
became ill and had to be sent to an hospital in London. She was still being
treated four years after the incident and showed no signs of improvements by
what the doctors reports explained. Temperance still blamed herself though her
cousin kept telling her it was not her fault, that her mother had always been
mentally fragile. From what she remembered of her sweet and gentle mother, she
guessed he was right. Still, that had been the last time she had gone to see
Jacob and now that her studies took so much of her time, she never even left
Wakefield Manor’s grounds.
With another soft sigh, she gazed at the clock before looking out of the
window. He should have arrived by now so it seemed the weather had prevented
him from coming or something had come up at the last minute that required his
attention. It would be the first birthday and Christmas she spent alone since
her mother’s illness. She grabbed her book with a newly resolve to concentrate
on it and not on the slight disappointment she was feeling.
“It was only in the year 1776 that the nature and causes of the wealth of
nations was fully and ably developed in the immortal work of Adam Smith, the
first treatise of political economy which steers clear of politics, and the
first in which the national income and national expenditure are carefully
distinguished from the revenue and expenses of the state.”
Suddenly hearing a sound outside, Temperance dropped her book and lithely ran
out of the music room where Monsieur Olivier had converted a corner into her
own private study. She opened the entrance door and, unmindful of the fact it
was still snowing, rushed to where the carriage had stopped, her cousin just
coming out of it.
“Crawford, you came!” she happily called her arms going around his neck. He
easily caught her, hugging her against his chest before lifting her in his
arms.
“Temperance! It is frigidly cold outside and yet here you are without a coat
nor appropriate footwear,” he said quickly walking toward the manor after
telling the coachman to bring his trunks to his chambers. Once inside, he
gently put her down and slightly crouched, his gloved hands framing her face to
give her a soft kiss on her forehead. “And I would not miss your birthday nor
spending Christmas with you even if there had been a raging snowstorm.”
Temperance gave him a bright smile before lightly kissing his cheek. He truly
was her dearest cousin, the only one who actually interacted with her other
than her tutor, the staff and her father going about as if she was not there
and when they had to speak to her, they usually did it stiffly as if they did
not quite know how to act with her.
“I will go make sure a fresh pot of tea and some light snack are readied while
you freshen yourself from the travel. Would you prefer to partake it in the
parlour or the music room?” she asked quite acting like the lady of the manor
which in a way she was until her mother was well enough to come home.
“The music room, if you please. I would much love to hear you play. You have
practised since our last lesson?” Crawford asked, she nodded her head and,
after giving him one last hug, she turned in swirl of skirts and made her way
to the kitchen.

* * *

Crawford watched his Temperance walk away. She had grown up since the last time
he had seen her. He wished he could spend more time at Wakefield Manor or, even
better, to have her come live with him at his estate in London but he dared
not. For one, come the turn of the year, he would become the Templar Order’s
Grand Master and as such, she could fast become a target if she were in London,
at least until he could firmly establish his dominance and crush any who could
try and challenge him. Best she stay safely behind the manor’s high wall and
under Olivier’s constant protection.
The other reason was more personal and one he kept struggling against. His
sweet, innocent, pure Temperance was destined to be his wife and though he was
a very patient man, keeping to the promise he had made to himself to wait until
she was of age was proving more than he had anticipated. She had become the
centre of his every thoughts, and was the reason behind everything he did. He
would become Grand Master for her, had expanded his empire across London and
soon England and the rest of the world just to offer it to her on a silver
platter. She was his perfect Temperance in all aspects but one and it was that
one that often kept him up at night. He could have satiated his need with
others but none could ever compare to his beloved cousin so the mere thought of
bedding these tarts was distasteful.
As he was doing more often as time went on, Crawford pushed the temptation deep
down and went to the usual chambers he used whenever he stayed at Wakefield
Manor. They were near Temperance’s room in the advent she was in danger and yet
far enough to keep the temptation to sneak in her bed at night. Olivier was
already waiting for him inside, the man bowing in deference. He had had no idea
the man he had saved more than five years ago was the descendant of the French
Templar, Louis-Michel le Peletier, had not even known about the Order of the
Templar Knights in those days. Nevertheless, Olivier Montagne was completely
loyal to him since then. Crawford would not have left Temperance’s education
and protection to just anyone after all.
“How goes her studies?” he asked while changing out of his traveling clothes
and into more comfortable ones.
“Très bien, monsieur. Mademoiselle Sophie has a quick mind though l’économie is
perhaps not her favourite subject. She is fairly good with le pistolet and
shows vast improvement in l’escrime however she needs refinement in her
movements. That will surely come with age,” the Frenchman explained.
“And her father?”
“Almost never à la maison and when he is, he ignores la mademoiselle as do the
staff. La petite is isolated most of the time except when you visit, monsieur.”
Crawford took the time to slick back his hair and reapply some wax to his
moustache, a contended smile curving the corner of his lips. His plan to have
Temperance rely uniquely on him was slowly coming into place. Remembering her
warm welcome, he briefly closed his eyes to relive the feel of having her in
his arms. Yes, everything was truly going accordingly.
With one last look at his reflection in the mirror, he readjusted his Templar
necklace and finally made his way to the music room, Temperance already seated
on the settee pouring him a steaming cup of tea. Despite what Olivier had said,
he did not think her movements lacked refinement, quite the contrary. She had
such a way of turning even the simple act of preparing tea into something
mesmerizing. As if sensing his presence, she looked up, her eyes lighting up,
her beguiling smile for him alone.
He sat down beside her and accepted the cup she was offering with a smile of
his own. It was nothing short of intoxicating to see her bend her head back to
look at him, her eyes always gazing straight into his, never shying away and
always so full of trust. His hand trembled slightly though thankfully he did
not slosh any tea onto him.
“Play for me?” he asked, Temperance lithely getting up to go sit at the piano.
As soon as she started to play, he closed his eyes. She had greatly improved
since the last time. Crawford could easily see himself spend his days like
this, with his beloved Temperance, just the two of them as they were now
actually. Many would condemn such impropriety but within the walls of Wakefield
Manor, such things were not even uttered among the staff otherwise those who
did do such utterance would quickly disappear to be replaced by another
servant.
He had weaved his web over the last five years until it was completely normal
to have him be alone with his cousin, normal that he could sit beside her and
gently caress her arm or her cheek even if only for a brief moment. He could
make anything into normalcy without being challenged. Temperance did not know
any better being so cut off from anyone and anything that would teach her
different. She had come to rely solely on him and that was as it should be.
Putting his cup on the table, Crawford went to sit beside her at the piano, the
both of them playing together though she was still looking at the ivory keys
not having them quite memorized as he had. That gave him the opportunity to
look at her, her rosebud lips slightly parted in concentration, her beautiful
eyes completely focusing on the task. The music came to a natural stop and she
turned her face toward him. He framed it with his hands and tenderly kissed her
forehead.
“That was lovely, dearest,” he whispered, his thumb lightly caressing her still
rounded cheek. “I do believe that it is time for us to start decorating for
Christmas.” Usually that was a chore left to the servants but he had learnt
that Temperance loved doing it herself and, naturally, he had joined her. It
was their special moment just before her birthday. She would be turning 11
years of age on the morrow meaning he still had at the very least six years to
go before making her his in every aspects.

* * *

The sounds of gunshot woke Crawford up from the drunken slumber he had been
under. In any normal circumstances the noise would have been enough for him to
grab his own pistol but he was in Wakefield Manor so he knew it was merely
Temperance practising outside with Olivier. He rolled onto his back and brought
an arm over his eyes. He had not wanted to drink so much the previous night but
then again, after what had almost happened, it had been the only thing he had
thought to do to stop himself from committing a grave mistake.
The day had been spent in decorating a portion of the house before enjoying a
rich supper in the dining room. The rest of the evening had passed in casual
conversation about the various subject she was learning. He had actually been
amazed at how much she knew about steam engines and mathematics, both obviously
her favourite subjects. The night having grown late, he had given her a chaste
kiss goodnight and had watched her retire to her room.
He should have gone to his own chambers, should have stomped on the urge to go
talk with her a bit more. Nevertheless Crawford had succumbed to the temptation
and had knocked on her bedroom door only to open it and been entranced by what
had greeted his eyes. Temperance had been sitting on her small dressing table
in her white nightgown, her usually braided hair flowing freely down her back
in long soft curls. It had been the very first time he had seen her hair
unbound. Her eyes had been closed, her head slightly angled while brushing her
hair. He had made a noise despite his best efforts to remain completely silent.
She had opened her eyes and had gazed at him through the reflection of her
mirror. Instead of been shocked, his Temperance had actually smiled.
“Here, let me help you with that,” he had found himself saying going to stand
behind her. In silence, he had slowly brushed her hair while watching her face
in the mirror. She had closed her eyes once more, a soft smile upon her
tempting lips. Once he had finished brushing her hair until it had been as
smooth as the purest of silk, Crawford had stood back to let her braid it once
more. As if they had done it multiple times, she had gone to her bed and had
let him tuck her in. “Goodnight, my dearest,” he had whispered kissing first
her forehead then her cheek only to stop less than an inch from her lips. He
had left and had gone to Jasper’s study. There he had drank until the only
thing he had been able to do was crawl into his own bed, his dreams tormenting
him with what he could not yet have.
Hearing another gunshot, he slowly got up and splashed some cold water in his
face. This was not the time for him to lose his control, not when all the
pieces were finally falling into places. Strengthening his resolve, he got
dressed and stepped in the coldness of the garden before Temperance was
finished with her shooting practice. The smile she gave him upon seeing him
warming him up.
“Practising I see,” he said turning his eyes toward the target. She was
definitely improving and would soon become a good markswoman.
“Show me, please?” she asked. Crawford bowed his head and took the gun Olivier
was offering him. He lifted it and after barely taking the time to aim, quickly
pulled the trigger, his bullet hitting dead centre. Temperance clapped with a
delighted laugh. He gave the pistol back to the Frenchman, this one discreetly
leaving them alone.
“Here, let me help you,” he said coming to stand behind her and, his left hand
upon hers, his right steadying her shoulder, he adjusted her aim and watched as
her bullet hit just shy of the bullseye. “With more practice, you will be able
to hit the centre every time.” She turned to look at him, her head bent back,
her eyes steadily staring at his. “Let us go back inside as the temperature is
simply frigid.” He took the small pistol from her hands and offered her his
arm. Together they walked back inside the manor akin a married couple.

* * *

They retired to the parlour after a light luncheon, the tall decorated
Christmas tree festive looking. Temperance was happy to once more be able to
spend her birthday and Christmas with her cousin, to actually talk to someone
who took the time to listen to her even when she went on about trains and
engines. Unlike her father who had once spat the words ‘unladylike’ at her
before running away when Olivier had turned his attention toward him, Crawford
was knowledgeable about such things. Their conversations something she prized
above all as were the times they spent together.
“Here, happy birthday, dearest,” he said offering her a slightly large box. She
put it on the table and slowly opened it. “It is a zoetrope,” he explained
making her happily clap her hands with a soft delighted squeal. After gently
taking the rotating drum out of the box, she knelt on the floor and gently made
it spin, her eyes looking through the slats at the moving pictures it created.
Naturally she knew how it worked but it was still enchanting.
A warm large hand cupped her left shoulder, and, slightly turned her head, she
watched as Crawford was looking at the picture over her right shoulder. She
took the opportunity to kiss his cheek, her cousin turning so that they were
facing one another.
“Thank you for the gift, I love it,” she told him before moving to go grab a
small parcel. “I wanted to give this to you for your birthday but I was not
able to finish it on time so it is a Christmas gift instead.” She sat down on
the settee beside him and offered it to him. He seemed to hesitate as if
unaccustomed to receive gifts. Actually, it was the first thing she had ever
gifted him. “It is not much,” she explained when he opened it to reveal the
purple scarf she had knitted for him.
“I absolutely love it. Thank you, dearest,” he said putting it around his neck
before pulling her in his embrace, his lips tenderly kissing her temple. She
was glad he appreciated her homemade gift. “I love you, Temperance,” he
whispered against her hair.
“I love you too, Crawford,” she replied putting her arms around his neck. He
was her beloved cousin after all, the only family member other than her mother
who ever showed her kindness.

* * *

Those simple words whispered by his Temperance almost pierced through
Crawford’s control but he was able to simply give her another kiss on her
temple before releasing her. His hand lightly caressing the scarf she had made
for him and him alone. He would find a way to have her come live with him in
London as soon as everything was settled with him becoming Grand Master. He
would give her her own train, her own railway company, he would give her
everything.
His thoughts were interrupted by the front door slamming open, Jasper walking
past the parlour only to retrace his steps, the man’s eyes looking from him to
his daughter and back to him. His uncle was clearly inebriated. Crawford gave
him a warning look over Temperance’s head. He would not ruin her birthday.
Unfortunately it seemed Jasper Wakefield was past being cowed.
“Look at you! Sickening!” he spat shaking a finger not at him but at his own
daughter whose face showed incomprehension, her large grey eyes quickly looking
down at her clasped hands, the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears apparent in
them.
“Your father and I have some business to discuss, dearest. I will be right
back,” he told her, his jaw clenching at seeing no reaction from her. Jasper,
on the other hand, looked like he was going to argue but Olivier had come to
stand behind this one and had covertly grabbed his arm. “Let us go to your
study, uncle.” The man had no choice to follow being held as he was by the
Frenchman. The study’s door was barely closed behind them that Jasper turned on
him.
“Now see here! This is my house!” Crawford calmly poured himself a glass of
bourbon ignoring the man who was sputtering angrily. “You’re a guest and… and
I’ve changed my mind! You won’t be marrying Sophia!” That made him react, the
glass going to shatter right beside his uncle’s head.
“Your house? If I wanted to I could ruin you financially and buy it for a
fraction of what it is worth. As for Temperance, she will become my wife and
nothing you say will change that fact,” he said in a dangerously soft voice.
Unlike others, the more he became angry, the calmer he appeared.
“I’ll tell her what you did to her mother!” That actually made his laugh
slightly.
“Come now, Jasper, who do you think she will believe? Her negligent father who
can not stand to be in the same room as her, or her beloved cousin who
understands her, who listens to her, who is there when she needs it? Go right
ahead, tell her if you think that will change anything.” The man knew he was
cornered, his eyes looking first to the door where Olivier was and then to the
window where Crawford stood. “May the Father of Understanding guide you, dear
uncle,” he whispered mere instants before Oliver’s small stiletto knife pierced
Jasper Wakefield’s neck. “Throw his body somewhere were it will be discovered
but not too soon. His death will be blamed on the assassins and give me the
edge I need to fully grasp control of the Order.”
***** A Sombre Affair *****

Wakefield Manor had never had so many visitors, so many strangers walking its
halls, so many people looking at her with pity and barely veiled speculations
about this now young heiress to a fortune, those with sons wondering how to go
about making a match. All Temperance could do was sit on the settee in the
formal parlour dressed in black and gaze out of the tall windows, her large
grey eyes blankly staring at nothing in particular. Her father’s body had been
found not too long ago and though he had changed after her mother’s illness, he
had nevertheless been her father.
She felt her thoughts drift aimlessly and though she appeared to have shut out
everyone, she was nevertheless quite conscious of those surrounding her and
especially what they were saying. Temperance had learnt early on that adults
would talk more freely when she took on her ‘doll’ attitude as if she was as
empty headed as one. Of them all, only her cousin was not fooled though for
some reasons this one was staying away from her. Instead, he was going from
people to people, many bowing to him in deference. Those who did show him such
homage were all wearing the red cross of the Templar. Hers was discreetly
tucked under the bodice of her mourning dress where none could see it,
something Olivier had strangely insisted on her doing.
“Such a lovely young child,” a woman cooed over her, her hand patting her head
like she was some sort of pet before grasping her chin to lift her face, her
lacquered nails slightly digging in her skin. Temperance made sure her eyes
betrayed nothing. “So this is Crawford’s little cousin on his mother’s side. I
knew he liked them young but still,” she added in a whisper. She did not
understand what the woman was referring to and would have greatly loved asking
her but a hand grabbed this one’s wrist and made the woman release her chin.
“My dear Pearl,” Crawford said and though he was smiling, Temperance knew he
was displeased by how rigid his stance was. She was surprised the woman had not
noticed it. Then again, she knew her cousin almost as well as she knew herself.
“The child just lost her father and finds herself without any true family to
rely on…”
“Except for you, isn’t that so, dearest cousin? I’m sure your mother would have
welcomed the chit with opened arms had you not so quickly made your move and
have her appointed as your ward. You’ve just become Grand Master and what
better way to solidify your position than by having the Wakefield heiress, and
her fortune, at your disposal. A very bold move indeed, my darling!”
“I am not quite sure I like what you are insinuating. Yes, I have taken upon
myself to take care of her, the crown having appointed her as my ward, but that
has nothing to do with the Wakefield fortune. I do not need it as you should
know. Believe me, I would have much rather not have my uncle be killed by those
damn assassins.”
The woman gently cupped the side of Crawford’s cheek and lifted her head toward
him but he took a step back making her hiss before quickly walking away.
Temperance had stayed still and silent throughout the encounter though her mind
was anything but. It was not the first time she had heard that word spat
hatefully, ‘assassins’. Her cousin crouched in front of her, his large hands
upon her shoulders.
“I am sorry, cousin,” he said in a slightly withdrawn manner. “They will soon
leave and things will go back to normal, I promise you.” He turned to go back
to mingling with the mourners, none whom she knew but she quickly grabbed his
hand.
“Who are the assassins?” she asked slowly lifting her eyes to gaze straight
into his.
“Later, I will explain later, dear cousin.” With that, he gently took her hand
off him and walked away, leaving her sitting alone as her ‘guests’ continued to
talk among themselves, most ignoring her. Even Crawford was avoiding her while
Olivier had been nowhere to be seen since the first guest had arrived. It was
like he was not even living here. She did not understand the need for such
deception, for not simply acting like normal. Then again, she had never
experienced a funeral so she could not know what was normal and what was not.
All she knew was that her cousin was treating her differently and she could not
comprehend why.
For the first time, Temperance felt suffocated and unable to actually sit still
anymore. The walls surrounding Wakefield Manor had been a reassuring comfort to
her since her mother’s illness but now they strangely felt like a prison, a
well built and disguised prison. She discreetly got up and made her way to her
bedchamber. No sooner was the door closed behind her that she was onto the
balcony. Looking down at the ground, she took a deep breath, swung her legs
over it and started to scale down the ivy covered wall as if it was the most
natural thing to do. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was off
running away, the oppressiveness she felt lifting with every steps that took
her away from the house, from that gilded prison, from her cousin.

* * *

Crawford hated having to walk away from his beloved, hated pretending she was
nothing but his young cousin but the fact she was promised to become his wife
had been kept well silent. After all, though arranged marriages were not
uncommon, far from it, having pledge the troth of a little girl to a man of his
age was not something society in general accepted. These lowlifes would never
understand the bond that united the two of them. After Jasper’s death, he had
thought a good idea to take Temperance on as his ward. It would certainly make
it easier for him to come spend time here without the guise of having business
with her father. But that also meant having to stand there while relatives with
young boys, boys around Temperance’s age, circled around him like the vultures
they were. He hated it, hated them with a passion.
He turned his gaze to where his Temperance was sitting but frowned when he saw
the settee empty. His eyes scanned the parlour but found no sight of his
darling. He quickly excused himself to the sycophant that was praising her
youngest son’s accomplishments and went to the hall and then the music room but
there were no signs of his beloved. He had interrupted Pearl before she had had
a chance to become truly nasty toward Temperance but he did not know what she
had told her before he had done so.
Pearl Attaway was his cousin on his father’s side and though he had courted a
liaison with her years ago, that had been before he had met his Temperance.
Since that fateful meeting, he had not looked at nor bedded another woman. If
his cousin had said something untoward to his beloved he would make her deeply
regret it. Still, he had to first find her before doing anything else. She was
not in her father’s study nor in the kitchen or the informal parlour. That left
her bedroom. He knocked on the closed door and walked in but found it empty,
the window open, her flimsy drapes fluttering in the wind.
He looked out of it but did not see her on the balcony and since her bedroom
was on the third storey, there was no way she would have been able to get down
from there. Crawford was now truly starting to get worried. He simply could not
find her anywhere. The last place he went to was Olivier’s rooms, the man
lounging casually on a sofa reading a book though he put it aside as soon as he
noticed him.
“Monsieur? Is there un problème?” He started to pace the room, the Frenchman
slowly getting up.
“I can not find Temperance anywhere. One moment she was sitting in the formal
parlour and the next gone. I have looked everywhere,” he explained feeling like
he could shoot someone but did not have any true targets. He stopped pacing and
stared out of the window, the clouds having become menacing, a coming storm
fast approaching. “She must have left the manor and most probably the grounds.
That or she was abducted. With that many people milling around, it would not be
impossible a feat to achieve. I want you to find her and bring her back safely.
If someone did kidnap her, kill him. I want her back here with me where she
belongs!” Crawford did not turn to watch the man leave. He would have to go
back downstairs and make sure no one suspected the turmoil his mind was in
especially not the reason behind such turmoil. He was starting to chafe at so
waiting until everything was as it should be. He already had his empire which
continually grew. He had achieved what he had set out to do among the Templar
Order and as Grand Master he could now start to bring order and perfection. The
only thing left was making Temperance his.

* * *

Jacob lithely jumped down from the roof upon which he had hidden from his
sister. She was perhaps the most stealthy of them but yet had to beat him in
roofrunning. He knew she was going to tell their father he had left but he did
not care. He had pleaded with his father to let him go to Wakefield Manor, at
the very least to offer Sophia his condolences but this one had categorically
refused. He knew it was because she was a Templar and he was an assassin, had
known for the last five years but he simply did not care. Sophia was his girl
ever since he had first seen her at the dressmaker all those years ago. What
she was did not change that. And now with her father dead, maybe she did not
want to be a Templar anymore.
Pulling his cap lower on his head since the winds had picked up, Jacob ran in
the direction of Wakefield Manor, making sure to stay on the less travelled
route. He knew those roads like the back of his hands since he had used them
often in the last five years though his father had always caught up to him
before he could reach his destination. He would not this time since he was
determined to see Sophia no matter the consequences. He would fight through a
crowd of Templars to reach her if needed.
Jacob reached Broadfield Brook in record time. He did not know if it was his
new intensive training or simply his burning desire to see Sophia that had made
him run so fast. There was still quite a bit of a way to go to actually reach
Wakefield Manor but as he passed over the old stone bridge, a sound made him
stop. He stood still for a moment, one hand reaching for the small dagger
cinched at his waist but all he could hear was the winds in the trees.
Convincing himself he had imagined the sound, he took a step and stopped once
more. He had definitely heard something.
He closed his eyes and took deep breaths trying to concentrate like his father
had taught him. He opened his eyes and focused his sight. There was a very
brief pulsing sensation coming from between his eyes, his vision turning into
muted tones of black and white. Slowly, a shape started to appear from the
hollow of a tree, the lower ground and thick roots a perfect hiding spot, and
right before his special sight faded, the shape flared green. He wanted to go
see Sophia but he was curious as to whom was hiding in the hollow. As his
father had once explained, the vision helped them identify allies from enemies
and green was a friend colour, like George appeared when he looked at him using
his vision.
Slowly approaching the hollow, Jacob frowned slightly for the sound he heard
were soft muffled sobs. He crouched and shimmied himself between two thick
roots. No adults would be able to get inside so that could only mean one thing.
Silently, he sat beside Sophia and gently pulled her in his arms. She resisted
at first but then turned her face to his chest, her arms going around his waist
and cried. He closed his eyes and rested his head on her shaking left shoulder.
“I’m here so cry all you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. He had
found his Sophia and she was green, a beautiful green and not blood red. His
father had been wrong. She was not a Templar at all!

* * *

Being in Jacob’s arms felt like she had returned home, as strange as that was.
It truly made no sense but she was not trying to figure it out. Eventually her
tears stopped but she made no move to get out of his embrace. His hands were so
small compared to Crawford’s and yet they made her feel completely safe. After
a while she sat up and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hands.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I got your shirt all wet.” He grinned at her while
shrugging his shoulders.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s just a shirt.”
She drew her knees to her chest and held them tightly, her head resting on
them. When they had been young they had not truly needed to speak since all
they had wanted was to be in each other’s company, finding themselves strangely
attracted to one another as if a cord had been binding them together. And now,
slightly older, they still did not need to speak, just being near him was
soothing Temperance in ways she simply could not explain.
“Jacob?” The boy turned to look at her. “Do you know who the assassins are?”
Crawford had not wanted to answer her and though it was a reach in hoping Jacob
knew, she nevertheless asked the question. She never thought he would chuckle
though.
“Well yeah, I know who the assassins are. I’m one of them!” That made her look
at him, a soft gasp escaping her lips. In less than a heartbeat she was upon
him, her small fists hitting him. “Hey, calm down! Sophia, please stop! I don’t
want to hurt you!” He grasped her wrists, the struggle having made them fall on
the spongy grass, Jacob somehow ending up on top of her. “What was that for?”
“You killed my father!” she accused feeling tears once more trickle down her
eyes. “My cousin said assassins killed him!” She started to sob once more
hating that he was seeing her so weak. He sat up and shook his head.
“Sophia, we didn’t kill your father. Please believe me.”
Through her blurry vision she watched him look at her in earnest. Either he was
lying or Crawford was. Her cousin had no reasons to lie to her but neither did
Jacob. Perhaps someone had led Crawford astray in thinking it had been
assassins. She loved her cousin dearly but deep inside she believed Jacob. If
he said assassins had not killed her father then it was the truth. Slowly she
sat up while nodding her head and saw him smile in relief before cocking his
head slightly to the side, his hazel eyes becoming quite serious all of a
sudden. Before Temperance could even blink, he had closed the distance between
them, his somewhat cold lips briefly touching hers.
They sat facing one another, a strange tension having appeared between them.
She parted her lips to say something while Jacob had inched closer once more
but someone coughed loudly right beside the hollowed tree where they were
hiding.
“I hate to interrupt something that you two are really much too young for but
there’s a storm coming and unless you both want to catch your death, I’d
suggest coming out from under there.” Temperance hesitated slightly while her
companion groaned in defeat.
“Seriously, father! How do you always find me?”
“Short answer? You don’t bathe often enough so I just follow my nose.” Jacob’s
offended face actually made her giggle softly though it was slightly strained.
His father obviously loved him. She wished her father had loved her as much.
She bit her lower lip so she would not start crying once more and, without
waiting to see if Jacob was following, she easily passed through the roots,
Ethan Frye’s large hand gently grabbing hers to help her get on her feet. “You
alright?” he asked, his gaze gentle and warm.
She could only nod in answer not trusting her voice knowing she would start
crying again. Jacob soon joined them, his hand grabbing hers, their fingers
naturally linking. He turned in direction of the town and she quite fell in
step with him. Somehow Temperance knew she would follow Jacob wherever he would
lead her. Still, they had barely crossed the bridge that this one’s father
suddenly swore, a large lethal looking curved dagger in his hand.
“Though I wish I could kill you, assassin, I’m only here for la petite. She is
missed back in her maison,” Oliver coldly said appearing out of nowhere.
“Seems to me she’s not too happy living there. Perhaps she’d be more so living
with us. Better an assassin than a Templar after all!”
She did not want anyone fighting because of her and tried to move in front of
Ethan Frye but Jacob tightened his grip on her hand, his eyes pleading with her
to not leave him. Temperance was torn but, in the end, she had to go back home.
She had her studies, her training, her cousin. She simply could not turn her
back on everything just to follow Jacob despite the fact that was exactly what
she wanted to do. Her logical side battled for a moment with her emotional one.
As always, the former won over the later. After all, she was a Templar, not an
assassin.
She pulled her hand out of Jacob’s grasp, her heart hurting at hearing him
whisper her name sadly, and walked past his father, Olivier already tending his
hand toward her. As soon as she was within distance, he gently pushed her
behind him and drew out his sword. Temperance knew how lethal her tutor could
be with his preferred style of weapon. She had seen him best even her cousin.
“It’s nothing personal, assassin, though I do hate your kind. I do what I must
to protect her…”
“Then fucking protect her! She was alone! Damn it, man! She could have been
kidnapped or worse!” Ethan Frye shouted cutting off the Frenchman. This one
slightly lowered his sword.
“Vous avez raison. I should have protected her better. I guess you’ll live un
peu plus longtemps, assassin,” her tutor said putting his sword back into its
scabbard. “Come on, Mademoiselle Sophie, your cousin was very distraught to
find you gone,” he added to her. Temperance nodded and turned in direction of
the manor.
“NO!” Jacob screamed, his father yelling his name in alarm. Olivier swiftly
turned back, his sword out and pointing straight at Jacob’s throat at the same
time as she grasped his sword hand. She had never moved so fast in all of her
young life.
“Please, Olivier, je vous implore. Do not kill him,” she begged, the man
looking down at her with a raised eyebrow. “Jacob… I have to go back home. I am
sorry.”
“No, Sophia! You belong with us! You’re not a Templar, you’re an assassin!” She
shook her head before casting her eyes toward the ground. She did not want to
look at him otherwise that part of her that was strangely connected to him
would push her to go to him. “Father! Look at her! Just look at her, please!”
There was a brief pause, Temperance feeling like everyone present was staring
at her until Ethan Frye sighed in defeat. She slightly lifted her eyes and
looked at him. He was strangely gazing at her as if he was focusing too much
and not at all at the same time. She saw him frown before shaking his head as
if to clear it.
“Let’s go, Jacob,” he said, Jacob categorically refusing. “You will obey when I
give you an order!” The boy finally relented but not before promising to do
everything to get her away from the Templars. Olivier was still standing with
his sword drawn, her hand still grasping his. “Listen well, Templar,” Ethan
Frye said, his voice colder than the winds. “You protect her well otherwise
we’ll come and get her.”
Her tutor said nothing and waited until they were well out of sight before
sheathing his sword once more. Temperance shivered slightly making him take off
his long blue and white coat so he could put it over her shoulders. She thanked
him in a small voice while wondering about what Jacob had meant when he had
said she was not a Templar, wondering what this one’s father had seen when he
had looked at her. Even Olivier was gazing at her in a peculiar fashion.
“Mademoiselle, how did you get out?” he asked her. “I am not going to yell at
you, I’m just curious.” She explained to him how she had gone onto the balcony
from her bedroom window and scaled down the wall. He briefly closed his eyes, a
disturbed look upon his usually dignified face. “D’accord, ok. Perhaps we do
not tell your cousin about it nor about you being with that boy. Best to let
him think you needed time alone.”
Temperance could only nod not understanding the need for such subterfuge but
Olivier was her tutor and as such it was best to do as he instructed.

* * *

Crawford was getting more than anxious having still no news from Olivier. He
could not bear the thought of something happening to his Temperance. Despite it
all, he had to pretend everything was normal and mingle with the guests. If he
had known how much of a bother it was going to be, he would have told Olivier
to simply dump his dratted uncle’s corpse somewhere were it would have never
been found and would have concocted a story about him travelling to the Indies.
Unfortunately, that was not the case and, as Temperance’s guardian and Grand
Master, he had duties to see to.
“Ah, Crawford there you are!” he heard Pearl call out, his cousin making her
way toward him. This time she was not alone. Making sure a smile was plastered
on his lips, he bowed over the hand of the woman his cousin had brought to be
introduced. “This is Marjorie Stewart. Her husband is one of your father’s
greatest investors. Now I’ve just learnt that Marjorie dear as a son the same
age as our sweet Sophia. Now I didn’t want to presume but a match would greatly
benefit both families…”
He had to call upon every fibre of his being not to go for the small pistol he
constantly kept upon his person and put a hole in the woman’s head. She dared
much to try and give his Temperance to a mere child who would never understand
how special his beloved was. Though Crawford did not depend upon his father for
anything ever since this one had gifted him with his first railroad at the end
of his studies, this one doing so as more of a lark than anything else not
realizing he would take that railroad and build himself an empire, he
nevertheless had to tread carefully and be diplomatic in his rejection.
“Though I do understand the benefit of such match, my new ward is still but a
child. It is much too early to pledge her troth to anyone especially during her
time of mourning,” he explained, Mrs Stewart nodding in understanding while
Pearl merely pursed her lips.
“But surely…,” this one was starting to object.
“The mourning period must be respected, dear cousin. Sophia is now the sole
heiress to the Wakefield fortune and lands. As such she must follow the proper
etiquette. She will be in mourning for a full year,” he interrupted, his voice
more forceful than he had wanted, Mrs Stewart beating a hasty retreat.
Nevertheless he was right. The mourning period had to be respected which would
give him twelve months of respite from the vultures wanting to take his
Temperance away.
“You just want her to yourself, dearest, but society will vilify you if you
do,” Pearl hissed. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips though he
made sure to hold it tightly, the woman’s eyes going slightly round in alarm.
He could so easily break her fingers.
“Best be careful, dearest cousin. Such talk could be dangerous to your
continued health. There is more than one way to get rid of wagging tongues.” He
gazed straight into her eyes so she knew he was more than serious. She wrenched
her hand from his and left in a huff. He would find someone to spy upon her to
make sure she did not try and ruin him with her insinuations no matter how
truthful they were.
“Sir, a certain Frenchman wanted me to give you this,” the butler whispered
offering him a folded paper. He took it and walked onto the garden for some
much needed fresh air and a bit of privacy. Making sure no one was near, he
unfolded the paper and breathed a sigh of relief.
“La petite is safe and sound. She needed d’un peu d’air and solitude. She is
now in her bedchamber. I will stay with her until your invités are gone. — O.M”
Crawford could understand how lost his Temperance had to be having just learnt
of her father’s death especially when she could not even count on him to
comfort her, not when so many people were under foot. Like Pearl had said,
society would not understand, at least not before a few years. Once Temperance
was of age, everything would be fine and perfect. They just had to wait a bit
more. He would make it up to her though, as soon as her mourning period was
over.
***** A Bloodied Truce *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter features more French words than the others since Olivier
     is more active. I just can't imagine him with a different voice than
     his unique mix of English and French. FYI, the word "stupide" used in
     one scene is in French and not a typo.

Sitting at the piano, her fingers lightly running over the ivory keys, her eyes
closed, Temperance’s mind drifted without much thought to the music she was
playing. It had now been more than a year since her father’s dead body had been
found, her dresses no longer black and sombre. It had been a long year though,
thankfully, since Crawford was her guardian until she either reached majority
or was married, he had been spending more and more time at Wakefield Manor
making her social isolation more bearable.
Another thing that had helped were her secret meetings with Jacob in their
hollowed tree with the help of a young maid who discreetly carried messages
back and forth. They did not met as often as they wanted since his training was
intensive as was hers. Adding to that was the fact it was hard for her to
escape Olivier’s sharp gaze. Nevertheless she had become quite proficient in
sneaking away. Once she had even hid inside the cart of hay used to feed the
carriage horses. It had been a good thing no maids helped her bathe anymore
otherwise she would have been at a loss to explain the tiny scratches she had
sported for a few days. Naturally she never went to meet him when her cousin
was there since they were in each other’s company from morning to evening
making it impossible for her to sneak away.
Thinking of Jacob and how hard it was to leave him every time they met, how he
kept pleading her to run away with him, Temperance stopped playing and sighed
softly. She often dreamt of doing just that but knew it was no more than
wishful thinking. Jacob had a tendency to be impetuous and rash, his constant
disregard toward his father more than proof of it. She had to be the voice of
reason not only for his own good but also because she could not bear to leave
her cousin knowing it would distress him terribly should she just vanish. She
loved him too dearly to cause him such grief. Though he was an adult, she
sometimes had the feeling she was the only person really close to him.
Now thinking of Crawford she sighed once again. It had been more than two weeks
since she had last seen him, an urgent business requiring his personal
attention back in London. He had promised her a surprise upon his return though
when that was going to be, Temperance had no idea.
Realizing she would not be able to concentrate on her music practice, she got
up and picked up the latest book on steam engines her cousin had brought her
during his last visit. She made herself comfortable at her small desk near one
of the tall windows overlooking the garden and opened the book. She barely read
two sentences before noticing the note that had been slipped inside it. Making
sure Olivier was well engrossed in whatever he was reading, she discreetly
opened it and quickly read it. Jacob wanted to meet on the morrow.
It was a good thing Temperance was hiding behind her book since it hid her
delighted smile. She would have to try and get away from the manor but with
Crawford absent, it was much easier to do. She tucked the note back in the book
before putting it down on the desk opened on the current page she had been
reading. Picking up her quill pen she wrote down some elements of interest and
drew up some some very basic plans. While doing that, she wrote a small “yes”
on a corner of the page. She knew the maid would come to pick up the tray and
would see her reply so she could then somehow inform Jacob that she would be
meeting him.
It was quite a series of subterfuges to so communicate with her friend but
compared to what she was studying, concocting such plans were nothing short of
elementary. Though young, Temperance could debate quite articulately on many
past and current issues. She had even once argued against the French Revolution
with Olivier during an entire afternoon only to have the Frenchman throw his
hands in the air and leave in a huff. The gruelling sword practice the day
after had been his revenge.
“Will you be needing anything else?” she suddenly heard the maid ask beside
her, this one holding the tea tray, her eyes darting briefly on the corner of
her paper.
“No, thank you,” she replied. The message had been sent now she could
concentrate on trying to finish this engine plan she had been working on.

* * *

“Jacob, I can still see you.” Hissing under his breath while his sister giggled
softly from wherever she was hiding, Jacob got up from behind the cart he had
been attempting to hide, his father looking at him sternly. “Hide in plain
sight is one of our tenets.” He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Don’t give
me that look! Stealth is one of our best assets when we are stalking a target
as well as escaping once said target is dead. Why can’t you be more like your
sister?”
He chafed at being almost constantly compared to his twin. She was good at
hiding but he still could defeat her easily in combat. He simply did not
understand the need for such tactics preferring brute strength to finesse. That
was why he and Sophia would make the best duo of assassins ever. Her approach
was all about subtlety and stratagem while he would take care of the take downs
and the killings. Now if only he could convince her to leave with him
everything would be perfect but she still insisted on going back to that
dreadful place where that French Templar could subvert her to their ways. She
was an assassin and her place was by his side something he would once more
strive to make her understand later on in the afternoon.
The only thing he now needed was for his father to be occupied so he could slip
out. Fortunately for him, George walked through the gate, his father calling an
end to the stealth training. The man had recently returned from Manchester on a
mission though Jacob had heard his father say that he was still searching the
hospitals for Cordelia Wakefield, Sophia’s mother. By the haggard look on this
one’s face, he had once more been unsuccessful. Jacob did hope George would
find her if only to make Sophia happy.
Waiting until the men were otherwise occupied, he discreetly slipped away and
hit the ground running as soon as he could. He did not stop until he had
crossed the bridge and almost broke his neck in his haste to get into the
hollow. She was not there but he knew it was harder for her to get away. It was
like that Frenchman and whoever that cousin of hers was were keeping her
prisoner. It was one of the reasons he wanted her to leave with him. Sophia
should be able to go wherever she wanted as long as it was with him, naturally.
He sat on the spongy grass and waited hoping she would come. It had not been so
long since they had last met but he still missed her terribly. Jacob could not
explain why it was so, did not even care to try and understand it. All he knew
was that he had this need, this visceral need to be near her, to be with her.
He needed to be with Sophia as much as he needed to breathe. He did wonder if
it had been the same between his father and mother.
George had once told both him and Evie that their parents had loved one another
so much and had been so close that they had been the best team of assassins
England ever had. Jacob did not know about love. It was not something he ever
thought about. He did know though that he and Sophia were close and that they
would make an even greater team than his parents, he was sure of that. He just
needed to convince her of that fact, to convince her to come home with him. She
would finally be where she belonged.
Hearing the rustle of silk, he sat up a bit and tried his best wipe the dirt
from his coat though he knew it was a futile effort. His hand pushed his light
brown hair out of his eyes just as Sophia joined him. He was glad she was no
longer wearing black dresses, much preferring her usual ones especially the
deep green ones like the one she was currently wearing. She always looked extra
pretty when wearing green. As usual, her hair was braided though a few strands
had freed themselves to curl softly around her face.
Acting on impulse, Jacob brought his face close and touched his lips to hers.
It was now the second time he had done so and he found he actually liked doing
it though he could not explain why nor how strange it made him feel deep
inside. To cover his slight embarrassment, he shrugged out of his coat and laid
it on the ground so she could sit, the sight of her white pantalettes peaking
from under her full skirt making him look anywhere but at her. Jacob was twelve
going on thirteen and was completely confused as to why he now felt slightly
different about his Sophia.

* * *

If Temperance found Jacob’s reaction peculiar, she made no mention of it
instead making herself comfortable on his coat. It was the second time he had
kissed her but other than the fact it was on the lips and not on the cheeks,
she saw no reason why it would disturb him in such a manner. After all, a
greeting was a greeting. To break the strange tension, she offered him a parcel
wrapped in linen.
“I brought you a warm meat pie from the manor’s kitchen. It is quite
delicious,” she said knowing he was often ravenous. He took it with a quick
thanks and almost swallowed it in one bite. She had once asked him if his
family had enough to eat. He had laughed and had explained that they did. It
was just that he was always hungry. She guessed it was because he had quite
grown in the last few months and though they were the same age, he now quite
literally towered over her. She knew she would take after her mother who had
been small and lithe or so she remembered. It was getting harder and harder for
her to recall how her mother had looked before she had walked away from her.
Temperance did not believe that her mother was mentally ill anymore, not after
all those years. She was now convinced this one had ran away with someone and
had had no choice but to leave her behind. There were times she wished she had
taken her with her but there were days she quite hated her. She bit her lower
lip to not cry but still one little tear escaped, Jacob’s arms gently pulling
her against his chest.
“Hey, don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” he whispered. She could only nod her head
though made no move to sit up, his familiar warmth soothing her. She was used
to Crawford hugging her but it never quite felt the same as when Jacob did it.
“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I promise.” She giggled softly and shook her
head while finally sitting up. She smiled brightly at him, one that he
returned. His smiles never failed to make her feel warm inside.
“Silly, that has nothing to do with that! I was just thinking of my mother,
nothing more,” she explained. He had been the only one to whom she had confided
her suspicions. He had told her about George Westhouse’s almost constant search
since her mother had disappeared and this one’s thoughts about it all. None of
it made sense to Temperance. Either her mother had been kidnapped by her father
and put in a hospital somewhere to keep her away for whatever reasons or she
had truly disappeared. In either scenarios the fact remained that Crawford had
lied to her and that was something she had difficulty believing. Her cousin was
nothing if not doting on her. He treated her as an equal and not as a mere
child. In any event she did not truly want to dwell on the subject so she asked
Jacob about his training instead.
They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about various combat methods,
Jacob preferring brute strength while she had an affinity toward the more
gracefulness of swords which was not altogether surprising considering who her
tutor was. They discussed various tactics, hers always more complex than his.
Finally the time came for them to leave their hiding place and each go their
separate ways. As always, Jacob tried to have her go with him and as always
Temperance refused while giving him the same reasons she always gave.
“Fine then! Promise me one thing and I’ll never ask again,” he suddenly said
his hand grabbing hers to stop her from leaving the hollow. She knelt back down
and looked at him. He opened his mouth only to close it back as if he was
debating with himself. “Promise me that you’ll marry me when we’re of age!”
Temperance had not expected that at all, her mind for once as empty as a doll
she kept being compared to. She knew that when it came to her troth, she truly
had no say in the matter. Because he was her appointed guardian, Crawford was
the one who would decide whom she would marry. Still, she knew he loved her so
she did not believe he would ever refuse her choice for a husband. There was
the matter of her being a Templar while Jacob was an assassin but she could not
see why it would become a problem. Granted she did not understand the enmity
between the two factions for it was not something she felt despite her
upbringing. Before she could over think it, she quickly bent and gave him a
soft kiss on his cheek.
“I promise,” she whispered before getting out of the hollow and straight into
Olivier’s arms.
“Time to come home, Mademoiselle,” he said and by his tone of voice Temperance
was in deep trouble. She prayed for Jacob to remain hidden but knew it was a
futile wish as this one almost catapulted himself out of the tree and tried
attacking her tutor only to end up on his back, the man’s sword flush against
his throat. Before she could do anything to stop him, a gun shot detonated
nearby, the Frenchman’s sword dropping on the ground, the guard slightly bent
where the bullet had hit, Ethan Frye jumping down from a nearby tree.
“Now, now! We’ve both known for a while that these two were meeting in ‘secret’
and since we both did not move against the other in all the time we’ve spied on
them, I’d say today was a little over the top,” this one said walking closer
though his gun was still aimed straight at her tutor.
“You knew?” she asked this one who slowly nodded, his eyes never leaving the
assassin.
“There is nothing you do that I do not know, petite,” he replied. “I have
allowed you to meet avec le garçon. Who do you think told la servante to pass
the messages? I simply followed from afar every time you came here. I would not
be remiss in my protective duty again.”
“No you didn’t dare since you knew I’d be here as well,” Ethan Frye chuckled
coldly. “The moment I’d have seen her come unprotected, I’d have snatched her
up and away from you and her cousin.” There was such venom behind that one word
that Temperance almost gasped in shock. What did Crawford ever do to the
assassins for them to hate him so much? Granted he was a Templar but so was she
and yet they kept talking as if she would be far better with them than her own
family. It simply made no sense.
“A mistake I will never make, assassin. This was la dernière fois les enfants
met here. There will be no more meetings,” Olivier announced and though she
wanted to argue, she realized that she had been able to leave the manor’s
grounds only because her tutor had allowed it. She was not as clever as she had
thought.
“I’ll fight you!” Jacob growled and despite his father’s shout, this one jumped
back on his feet and rushed toward a now unarmed Olivier with the dagger that
was always tied at his waist.
“Jacob, stop!” she pleaded and made the mistake of grabbing his arm as he
passed her to prevent him from hurting her longtime tutor. He lost his balance,
the blade of his dagger winking in the sunlight. With a gasp, she grabbed the
left side of her waist, blood seeping through her fingers, her knees buckling
under her. Jacob’s dagger had sliced through her clothes and into the flesh
underneath.

* * *

The girl was in the Frenchman’s arms in less than a heartbeat, Jacob looking at
his bloody dagger in horror while Ethan was already ripping a piece of his
shirt and pressing it against her bloody side. How everything had gone from bad
to catastrophic he had no idea but knew he would have to deal with his son in a
more than harsh manner for acting in such a foolhardy behaviour that it
resulted in him wounding the girl he obviously loved even if he was still too
young to recognize the emotion. He looked at the Templar and saw the look of
deep concern in this one’s green eyes. After a slight pause, he picked up the
sabre and deftly slid it in the man’s scabbard.
“Come with me to my house. My wife’s mother is knowledgeable in herb lore.
She’ll be able to help her, please,” he pleaded, the Frenchman hesitating
before slowly nodding his head.
“Mon nom est Olivier Montagne.”
“Ethan Frye though you already knew that.”
“Just as you knew my name since I am sure ma renommée is still pretty much
alive despite my inactive years among the Order but I am not an uncivil oaf
like you Anglais! So I freely gave you my name in politesse.”
Since they were not at each other’s throat, he deemed it an improvement and
though he preferred his Templars somewhat dead, he had to admit there was
something about the man that made him actually respect him despite his renown.
On that, the Frenchman was right. Though the rumours were that he had vanished
from sight, such was the fame of the Bête Noire that every assassins knew of
Olivier Montagne. In his days, the man had been an unsurpassed hunter, one who
could stalk and kill assassins as stealthily as the best of the Brotherhood
could while escaping every assassination attempts on his life. It was just his
luck that this was the man who was not only tutoring young Sophia in the ways
of the Templar Order but protecting her as well. He wished he knew what sort of
hold Crawford Starrick held over the Frenchman. With a slight shake of his
head, he finally turned to his son who was still looking at the blood on his
hand in horror.
“As soon as we’re home, you’re to leave for the council with George. They will
deal with you and what you’ve done today,” he said through gritted teeth, Jacob
barely nodding his head not looking at him nor at Sophia who was trembling
against her guardian’s chest. He turned back to the Templar. “It’s a bit of a
walk…”
“I will follow,” the Frenchman said coldly. Ethan simply nodded. They had
achieved a truce of some sort but for how long, he did not know. There was a
reason why he was sending Jacob to the council with George and not bringing him
himself. Simply put, he needed to keep his longtime friend from trying to kill
the Templar whom he believed was responsible for Cordelia Wakefield’s
disappearance.
Their pace was much slower than he would have liked and by the time they
entered the house, the girl had fainted hopefully from the pain and not the
loss of blood though her dress was indeed drenched. Leaving the Frenchman with
Cecilia’s mother, he grabbed Jacob by the collar refusing to let this one’s
tears change his mind and went in search of George. He found him in the
training yard with his daughter, both throwing daggers at the targets.
“George!” he called, the man looking at him with a frown. “You’re to bring
Jacob to the council. He drew a weapon against an unarmed man and ended up
injuring young Sophia Wakefield instead. I trust you will explain the situation
to them and make sure Jacob respects the sanctions the council will give him.”
His friend nodded slowly while putting his throwing knives back on his belt.
“Can I… can I say goodbye first?” his son said in a small frightened voice. He
had grown much but was still just a child, a very scared one. Ethan held tight
to his resolve. Jacob had to learn to curb his impetuousness once and for all.
“No,” he said the tone of his voice brooding no arguments. He crossed his arms
over his chest and watched as George led his son away. Hopefully the council
would not be too harsh on him. Being a father and an assassin could be hard
sometimes especially with a child like Jacob. “Evie, I want you to go to my
study and continue your reading. Stay there until I tell you otherwise.” His
daughter nodded and quickly left. He was still amazed at how silent and
stealthy she was.
That took care of George and his children. He walked back inside his house and,
finding no one downstairs went up the stairs. There the Frenchman stood in
front of the closed door of the guest bedroom. Though he was standing straight
and alert, there still was a haggard look to him.
“La dame took la petite inside and is tending her.” Ethan sighed softly and
went to stand against the wall opposite the room. “By your reaction earlier you
know about her cousin?” He wondered just how much to tell him not too sure it
was a good thing to let a Templar, especially this one, know how extensive his
knowledge truly was, knowledge he had not shared with the council.
“I know who her cousin is and what he is. It would be so easy for me to cut off
the head of your Order,” he casually said.
“Then why don’t you, assassin?” Olivier Montagne spat back, this one’s hand
going to where his sword was. It had probably been a bad idea to give him back
his weapon.
“Short answer? He’s always near the girl and I would never harm a child
especially not one who is of the Brotherhood. You guys may train her as a
Templar but you and I both know she’s not one.” The Frenchman refused to answer
but his silence spoke volumes. “You seem like a decent fellow for a damn
Templar. Tell me, how can you live with yourself knowing what he’s got planned
for her? She’s just a child!” He had not wanted to show his hand but the
thought of a man of Starrick’s age marrying a girl the same age as his own
daughter sickened him.
“Why should I deign to answer you, assassin? You could never comprehend the
harsh and often ugly reality that those born into nobility live with nor the
inhumanity many hide behind a veneer of aristocratic civility. How can you?
Vous n’êtes qu’un petit bourgeois!” Ethan did not quite catch the last thing
the Frenchman had said, his knowledge of the language not as extensive as what
Cecilia’s had been but by the look of haughty disdain the man was giving him,
he was pretty sure he had been compared to a piece of shit. “Arranged marriages
are not uncommon even to you Anglais. Starrick stays within the bounds of
propriety until la petite is of age.”
“How can you be sure of that?” he counter-argued heatedly.
“Think you me so stupide as to truly leaving them alone when he is in
residence? I am good at what I do, assassin. I’m a good tutor and trainer but
la chasse est ma vraie vocation, as well you should know since many of your
kind fell to my sabre. There is no better hunter or spy in the Order than I. I
always know what Starrick is doing… always!”
Ethan would have continued to argue his point but the door opened, Cecilia’s
mother coming out while wiping her hands on a bloodied apron. She stopped and
put them on her hips while spearing both of them with a wrathful look.
“Now I don’t want any fights inside. If you must both kill one another, do so
outdoors! The girl needs her rest, poor thing. I’ll not let anyone other than
myself near her until she does. She lost a fair good amount of blood but
nothing a warm hearty broth won’t cure which I’m about to go and prepare. If I
learn that either one of you went inside the room, so God help me, I’ll string
you both by the balls!” With that said, the old woman walked past them with a
sniff.
“She is… quite a colourful woman,” the Frenchman whispered making Ethan snorts.
“You have no idea! She’s Welsh,” he explained as if that answered everything.
The man kept his silence and, by his stance, would stand guard by the door. He
made himself more comfortable against the wall. Perhaps they had achieved a
sort of truce but he was not ‘stupide’ enough to leave the Templar free to roam
in his house.

* * *

Moving in her sleep, Temperance hissed softly at the flare of pain in her left
side. Her mind was foggy but she remembered meeting Jacob, promising to marry
him when they were older, and then Olivier being there as well as Jacob’s
father. There had been a gunshot, an attack, and an atrocious burning pain. She
opened her eyes and immediately panicked. Though the room was dark, she was
obviously not in her home. She tried to sit up but a gentle hand touched her
shoulder to keep her lying down before lightly caressing her cheek.
“It’s fine, you’re in my home,” she heard Jacob whisper. “Sophia I’m so sorry!”
She shook her head but the room was too dark to truly see anything other than
shadows so she grabbed the hand that was cupping her cheek.
“Shhh,” she said her voice barely above a murmur. “It was an accident, one I
take full responsibility since I am the one who made you lose your balance.”
She felt him bring her hand up, his lips lightly touching it. Something hot and
wet dropped on it making Temperance realize that he was crying. She tried to
sit up so she could hug him but the burning pain was too much for her.
“I’m leaving as soon as the sun gets up. The council decided I needed some
intensive training to curb my wildness. I don’t know where they’re sending me.
I’m not even supposed to be here but I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”
She sniffed silently, her own eyes filling with tears. Jacob was leaving
meaning she would not see him for weeks, maybe even months. She did not want to
think in terms of years for she would never be able to be separated from him
for such a lengthy time. She did not know how their assassin council worked but
at that moment she hated it and wanted to destroy it with a passion. “Will you
wait for me?”
She knew he was referring to what he had asked her and though she knew it was
not up to her to decide, one of the banes of being born into high society, she
nevertheless brought their joined hands to her face and rubbed her cheek on his
knuckles.
“Yes, I will,” she promised once more. “I will wait for you no matter what.”
She could not promise him otherwise. After all they had had that connection
between them since they had been barely five years of age and though they had
only recently reconnected, that bond had never diminished, instead it had
strangely grown stronger. She wished she had something for him to remember her
promise but the only thing in her possession was an old pence she had found in
the Wakefield’s garden. She nevertheless gave it to him. “A token of my
promise,” she said, Jacob taking it in his hand before lightly kissing her
fingers.
“I’ve got to leave before being found here…” Temperance tightened her grasp on
his hand. She knew it would be wiser for him to leave but she could not let him
go, not just yet especially now that she knew they would not see one another
for quite some time.
“Stay? Just a few minutes more.” She felt him move gently, the bed creaking as
he laid beside her being careful not to cause her undue pain. His head resting
beside hers, their joined hands on his chest, they both stayed silent simply
content to being in each other’s company. They had never needed more than that.

* * *

His son’s skills had improved but he would still need years of training to be
able to pull a fast one on Ethan. He was still resting on the wall facing the
guest room, the French Templar likewise keeping watch next to the door. None of
them had moved from their respective spot. What had started as merely guarding
an injured girl had fast turned into a battle of wills between them. It was
truly an innovating Templar versus assassin battle where neither wanted to
compromise, neither wanted to declare forfeit. It was going to be a very long
night.
He concentrated his assassin sight once more and gazed through the wall, the
greenish auras of the two youths present. Ethan knew he had forbidden his son
from seeing the girl but now that he knew the council’s decision he saw nothing
wrong in letting them say goodbye. Or so he thought until he saw the shape that
could only be his son actually get in bed with Sophia. He was intent on barging
in there and kick his wayward child through the window but then relaxed when he
saw they were simply lying and doing nothing young twelve years old should not
be doing. He must have moved slightly or made some sort of soft noise for the
Templar chuckled.
“I guess les enfants are not being so wise, huh! Do not look so surprised,
assassin. I have my ways to know about such things.” Ethan lightly cocked his
head to the side and considered the man standing opposite him. He wondered if
he had the sight. It would have explained how the Frenchman was such an uncanny
hunter. The only Templar that had had the assassin sight had been Haytham
Kenway but it had been due to this one’s father, Edward Kenway, being an
assassin. The chances of Olivier Montagne having it were so slim they were
almost nonexistent. After all it was a rare ability even among the Brotherhood.
“And that doesn’t bother you that they are together?” he finally asked, the man
merely shrugging his shoulders.
“I would not deny la petite a bit of happiness, far from it.” That actually
made him hiss angrily.
“And yet you’d stand aside and let a man more than twice her age marry her?!”
He seemed to have hit a nerve as he saw a muscle jump in the Templar’s face, a
more than telling sign of anger as were the clenching of this one’s jaw.
Perhaps the man did have a conscience after all, something Ethan had never
thought Templars possessed.
“Je n’ai pas à me justifier to the likes of you, assassin. As soon as la petite
is fine to travel, I will bring her back to her manoir.” Ethan could try to
kill the man but that would not change anything other than, at best free him to
go seek his rest, at worse have him rest eternally in death. Starrick would
never let the girl go, not if what he had gathered about the man was right.
Nothing they, the Brotherhood, could do would stop the Grand Master into
reclaiming what he thought was his. The council would not support him in this
so truly his hands were tied. He hated it, hated not being able to save Sophia
from her fate, to save Jacob from a heartbreak. In this, Crawford Starrick had
won on all fronts.
***** Train for Two *****
Chapter Notes
     ****** A bit of warning : Crawford's obsession with Temperance is
     progressing at a slightly faster rate now and can become
     uncomfortable for some readers. ******

The last of the leaves were falling from the trees, the coldness of the autumn
season making Temperance finally accept to claim what had once been her
father’s study as hers. She was sitting in a plush leather armchair in front of
the fireplace, a large mathematical volume on her lap though she had stopped
reading it an hour ago, her gaze mired straight to the dancing flames, her
heart as heavy and cold as the outside sky.
It had been almost two months since that dreadful accident, almost two months
since that hateful assassin’s council had taken Jacob away. The wound on her
left side had slowly healed though the puckered scar it had left behind was
still sometimes itchy. She was glad that it was not somewhere publicly visible
otherwise she would have had to explain everything to her cousin, something she
had not particularly wished to do.
She still hated keeping him in the dark about certain things but Olivier kept
telling her it was for the best. Crawford had already so much going on in his
life, so much stress that she was loathed to add to it. He had been supposed to
come back a month ago but there had been unscheduled problems in one of his
factories which demanded his personal attention. Temperance had been feeling
discouraged when she had received his missive. She was feeling particularly
lonely despite Olivier’s constant presence. She knew he cared for her in his
own peculiar way despite his usual cold haughtiness but his companionship was
not the same as Crawford’s or Jacob’s.
Lost in silent contemplation, she had not noticed someone coming to stand
beside her. A cold hand lightly caressed her cheek, blue eyes looking tenderly
down at her.
“Crawford!” she joyfully shouted jumping out of the armchair to give him a
welcoming hug. He had obviously just arrived bringing with him the cold crisp
late November air, the scarf she had knitted him ever present around his neck.
“My! Did you grow up in the last three months?” he chuckled, his hands framing
her face so he could lay a kiss on her forehead.
“Maybe a bit. Soon I will have to wear my skirts longer,” she answered. As was
custom, the older a girl became, the longer her skirts were. Since she was only
twelve soon to become thirteen, her skirts reached just below her knees. At
fourteen they would need to be at least to her mid calves. At sixteen they
would be at her ankles or even reached the floor if she was deemed old enough
to have her coming out. Since she had pledged herself, if albeit secretly, to
Jacob, Temperance was not particularly anxious to reach that stage in her life.
“No matter what you wear, you will always be fetching, dearest,” her cousin
said in sincerity grabbing her hand to lay a soft kiss upon it. She bowed her
head at the compliment. “Speaking of attire, I do hope you will not mind but I
had a stylist make you some travelling clothes.”
“Travelling clothes? Are we going somewhere?” she asked excitedly. She had
never travelled farther than Crawley, the idea of travelling beyond the small
town exciting beyond belief.
“Yes, I am taking you back with me to London. I had promised you a special gift
for when you came out of mourning. It ended up taking a little more time than I
expected but it is now ready and waiting for you back in the city,” he
explained. Temperance actually squealed in glee, her arms going around her
cousin’s neck, this one hugging her tightly against his chest. She still missed
Jacob but being with her dear cousin helped alleviate the sorrow she was
feeling.
“What about Olivier?” she asked looking where this one was usually sitting and
reading but finding him gone from the room. She had not noticed him leaving.
Crawford gave her a tender smile.
“Naturally he is coming with us. I do not want to take any chances with your
safety. Now, if I may, I will go change into something more comfortable.”
She took the time to pick up her scattered paperwork and put her desk in order
before he came back, a maid following behind him with a tea tray. They sat in
front of the fire drinking their tea and eating a light luncheon, her cousin
asking her about her studies while she enquired about his many business affairs
back in London. Once the tea had been drunk and the food eaten, the maid came
to pick up the tray and discreetly closed the door behind her.
“How about a game of chess?” he suggested as soon as they were alone.
Temperance smiled brightly for she loved chess though Olivier had stopped
playing against her when she had started to win more than losing. Crawford
though was a very worthy adversary, one against whom she had yet to win.
While he set the board between them, she took off her shoes and tucked her legs
in the big armchair. He asked if she minded him enjoying a glass of bourbon
while they played. She naturally shook her head. Far from her to deny him such
comfort. They played in silence, both concentrating on the game. Though
Temperance had more than once put Crawford on the retreat, she made a few too
many last minute mistakes and, in twenty-four moves, she dropped her King.
“I can never seem to win against you. It is vexing!” she giggled before
bringing a hand in front of her mouth to hide a soft yawn.
“Perhaps but you are becoming quite good, I must say. You just need to
anticipate your opponent’s strategy more. But since it is my win, I want a
boon,” he told her before taking a sip of his bourbon. “A kiss.” Temperance
untangled her legs and got up to lay a kiss on his cheek. “Dearest, we are
cousins and as such we can kiss on the lips.” She did not even hesitate but
lightly brushed her lips against his.

* * *

Crawford had to restrain himself from grabbing her and kissing her in the
manner he wanted, the innocent purity of her chaste kiss making him burn for
her, the feeling so intense he was of a mind to go outside to cool himself off.
Instead, he chastely kissed her on her forehead.
“I do believe it is time for you to go to bed,” he gently said, his voice not
betraying the turmoil which gripped not only his mind but his body. Wishing her
goodnight, he waited until she left to pour himself a full glass of bourbon,
his eyes looking at the chessboard. He had not told her but she had come very
close to actually win. His Temperance would soon be thirteen and already had a
mind that belied her age. Her engine drawings though simplistic compared to a
seasoned engineer was still up to par with anything young men learnt in school.
Her maturing faster than a normal child had to be the result of her isolation
and of losing her parents, an aspect he had not counted on, one he more than
appreciated though it did come with a drawback.
In high society there were no true age for a debutante to have her coming out
ball. Instead, many factors were taken into consideration, mainly the level of
maturity and of the education of a young girl. Usually, debutantes were sixteen
or seventeen years old but it had not been unheard of to have them as young as
fourteen or fifteen. Crawford knew that his beloved would fall into the later
category and now that she was no longer in mourning, he could expect the
vultures to start circling once more to try and snatch a match before she was
presented to the Queen.
He was taking a risk in so bringing his Temperance to London but,
unfortunately, her special gift could not be given anywhere else but there.
Still he knew he could more than protect her and with Olivier present, no one
would dare try anything. Nevertheless, he would have to be careful, to act only
as a guardian would toward his ward and nothing more. It would be pure torture
but all worth it when his beloved would be presented with her gift.
In his mind Crawford could easily see her excited smile and shining eyes but it
quickly turned into something else, something he did not want to imagine and,
with a soft curse, he drowned the bourbon in one long gulp. He had been
celibate now for eight years and knew he still had a few more to go. He stared
at the fire and composed himself. Now was not the time to do anything rash.
Everything would be theirs once she was of age and nothing could compromise
that.
Putting everything away, he took the time to leaf through her scribbled notes
once again astounded at her level of knowledge in matters usually reserved
uniquely to males before walking out of the study and up the stairs. He knew he
should not tempt himself by going to her room but he could not stop from doing
so. Knocking softly and not hearing a reply, Crawford slowly opened the door
and silently walked inside. The only illumination came from her window where
the pale moonlight peeked out from behind the clouds. Still it was enough for
him to see.
By the soft breathing, he knew Temperance was sound asleep, her body on its
side, one hand tucked below her chin, the other resting on her waist. Her
sleeping face was nothing short of angelical. He knelt beside her bed, his face
close to hers, his hand hovering over her body. It would be so easy, so very
easy. Nevertheless he got up and, as silently as he had entered, he left her
room and went straight to his bedchamber. They would leave in the morning for
London and once there, it would be easier for him to keep his distance since
they would not be as isolated as they were in Wakefield Manor.

* * *

A shadow slowly appeared in the young girl’s window entering the room akin a
ghost. Olivier’s gaze went from the door, to the bed, and back to the door. The
assassin’s words kept replaying in his head. He did not like the entire
situation between Sophia and Starrick but he owed that one a life debt and as
such was loyal to the man. Nevertheless he was not a fool, far from it, and
once a hunter, always a hunter. He felt no qualms at so spying upon Starrick
whenever this one was alone with Sophia.
Looking down at the sleeping girl, he let his usually stiff lips curl into a
smile. What neither Crawford nor the assassin had figured out was that she had
become someone very dear to him. After all, he had been Sophia’s constant
companion for years, longer than he had ever stayed with anyone. In truth he
was more a father to her than the man who had sired her, and, like a father, he
would devoutly protect her from anyone and anything.
Olivier truly did believe it was best for her to marry her cousin when she came
of age. He more than knew how aristocrats could viciously destroy anyone they
deemed a threat and Sophia Wakefield with her unusual education and sharp mind
would be deemed one. Only someone with as much power and influence as Starrick
had would be able to protect her from that. Still it did not mean he would
stand by and watch the man do anything perverted to his young charge before she
was older.
One could argue that taking her mother away and killing her father were strange
ways to go about protecting her but Olivier cared not for those useless pawns
who would have held Sophia back from her bright future despite her assassin’s
blood. Only she mattered. Going down on one knee beside her bed, he gently
pushed a strand of hair away from her face.
“Bonne nuit, ma petite chérie,” he whispered, the girl smiling in her sleep. He
went out the window once more nothing but a shadow silently moving in the
night.

* * *

“Dearest, it is time to go,” Crawford called out at the bottom of the stairs
while putting on his gloves. Olivier already waiting in the carriage. The
morning had been a flurry of preparations for their trip to London, Temperance
having been exuberant during most of breakfast, rushing to her bedroom as soon
as she was done eating to go prepare.
“I am sorry, I could not decide which books to bring with me to read,” he heard
her say when she finally walked down the stairs. She was a vision dressed as
was fitting her position in society. She looked even more like a fragile doll
in the steel grey fur-trimmed travelling cape and bonnet, the colour making her
eyes seem almost silver by comparison, eyes that gazed straight at him in
happiness. He chuckled with a soft shake of his head.
“Why am I not surprised? Let me guess, engineering books?” he asked, his
chuckle getting stuck in his throat, his lungs seemingly deprived of oxygen
when she lifted herself on the tip of her toes to smooth out the lapel of his
long coat. “Thank you, dearest,” he finally added with a whisper, his lips
laying a soft kiss upon hers. It was a simple but very domestic gesture, one a
wife would do for her husband. He truly could not wait until it became reality.
“Quite naturally it is an engineering book. I have started to read about the
recent progress made in internal combustion engines. It is fascinating and is,
I am quite certain, the future of engineering.”
Crawford listened to her talk about this new aspect of her passion as the
Wakefield carriage took them to Crawley. In this aspect his Temperance was more
knowledgeable than himself but, unlike a majority of men, he did not mind.
After all, he loved her because he knew she was his equal. He simply adored how
animated she could become when discussing engineering, her cheeks taking on a
pinkish hue of excitement, a look he did not want to share with anyone, truly.
Not for the first time since planning this trip he found himself wondering if
it was a good idea to so bring her to London. The city was not prepared to have
such a fascinating young girl with her love of engines storm through its still
very rigid society.
He was still debating having the carriage turn around when they arrived at the
railway station. One look at his beloved’s enchanted face and Crawford knew he
would not bring them back to Wakefield Manor. He got out of the carriage and
turned to help Temperance, her small gloved hand so delicate in his. He
resisted the urge to kiss it and laid it on his forearm instead, He guided her
through the crowd, Olivier walking a few paces behind them. He did not need to
look over his shoulder to know that this one’s eyes were assessing their
surroundings for any sorts of threats. Many turned to gaze at his beloved, some
even cooing in appreciation. It was not something he was used to having never
been with her outside the manor. He did not like it much to have so many
strangers dare to stare at his Temperance.
“Which train are we taking?” she asked, her hand tightening its hold on his
forearm in trepidation. He smiled gently down at her.
“That one, dear cousin,” he said pointing to an awaiting train not wanting to
call her anything else, not while they were among so many people. She looked at
the crowd with a slight frown.
“Why are they not boarding it?”
“Because that train is my personal one,” he casually explained. Ever since
owning his very first railway, he had travelled in the private comfort of his
personal train. Had he not possessed it, he would have bought one just for this
particular trip. The last thing he wanted was to be on a public transport and
have to constantly watch how he acted around his beloved. He was much too used
to the isolation found in Wakefield Manor and having Temperance all to himself.
They were not even in London and already he chafed at the prospect of
pretending to be only her cousin and legal guardian.
“I know you own multiple railways but I never guessed you actually had your own
train!” Temperance said letting him help her inside the lavish passenger coach.
She was looking all around with her enchanting mouth slightly parted in
enthusiasm. She was so lovely that Crawford almost led her to his private coach
where he would finally bed her and make her his. Instead, he sat down on a
plush seat, his beloved taking the one opposite him.
“We will reach London in a few hours so you might as well make yourself
comfortable,” he told her. She shrugged out of her cape and took off her
bonnet, the high whistle of the train announcing their departure making her
squeal softly. To so see her this happy and lively, he would have them travel
the length of England and back. As the train pulled out of the station,
Temperance suddenly jumped off her seat and put her hands against the window, a
soft gasp escaping her rosebud lips. “Is anything wrong?” he asked. She shook
her head and sat back down and though she smiled at him, there was a strange
sadness. Crawford looked out of the window but saw nothing that would have
warranted such a look in his beloved eyes.

* * *

Temperance had not imagined it, she had really seen Jacob standing in the
crowd. She wondered if he had finished his intensive training or was just
visiting. Though she was looking forward to her time in London, she could not
help but wish she had stayed home and, perhaps, been allowed to meet him. She
missed him so much it was like an ache deep inside her chest. She knew her
cousin was wondering about her strange behaviour so she tried her best to
remain composed. After all, he did not know about Jacob Frye and, being a
Templar, he would not understand the bond she had with the young assassin. With
that in mind, she gave Crawford a warm smile.
“What is there to do in London?” she asked making him chuckle.
“What is there not to do? London is vast, dearest, with many a sight to see.
Unfortunately there is also a drawback to the city life and that is poverty and
every negative aspects coming with it,” he explained sombrely before he waved a
hand in the air. “But this is not the time to be all philosophical about it.
Would you like a tour of the train?”
“Of course!” Temperance replied. She always had a passion for trains, had even
drawn the blueprints for one some time ago as a pet project. She certainly did
not need any incentive to go explore her cousin’s train which was, by what she
could guess, one of the most modern trains in existence. After the tour, they
decided to stay in the dining coach and though there was some food put out, she
had not seen a single other occupant except for Olivier who had been casually
lounging, an ever present French book in his hands.
It was a novel thing to nibble on some pastry while looking at the passing
countryside, the speed at which it swept past dizzying. She could have sat and
gazed out of the window for the remainder of the voyage but the temperature
soon started to get colder the farther north they travelled, the train not
providing much isolation against it. She rubbed her hands over her arms
slightly.
“Are you cold, dearest?” Crawford asked her.
“I am slightly cold, yes. Perhaps I should go get my cape,” she replied but he
shook his head and indicated she should sit next to him, his arm going around
her shoulders as soon as she did so. He was blessedly warm and, closing her
eyes slightly, she inched closer until she was fairly resting against his side.
“Here, take a sip of this. It will warm you up.” She took the glass of sherry
he offered and took more than a few quick sips, the alcohol burning down her
throat making her cough though a blessed warmth spread through her chilled
body. “Dearest, you should not have taken so much. You are not used to alcohol
and it will fast go to your head if you are not careful,” she heard Crawford
laugh gently while putting a finger under her chin and slowly lifting her face
toward his, his lips touching hers and staying there quite a bit longer than
usual. Strangely, his kiss made her shiver in dread as if there was something
perverted about it. He had been right, the alcohol was going to her head and
making her think silly things. He was her beloved cousin after all.
She shook her head with a giggle before bringing a hand to her head. Everything
had started to spin, the effect pleasant at first but quickly becoming less so.
Crawford chuckled warmly, his arms easily lifting her making her close her eyes
tightly to stop the entire train from twirling. She put her arms around his
neck and rested her head on his shoulder, the soft spicy scent she always
associated with him never failing to make her feel safe.
Temperance was half asleep and barely noticed when he gently put her down on a
comfortable bed. The last thing her brain registered was his hand lightly
caressing her cheek.

* * *

“Is there un problème avec la petite?” Crawford heard Olivier ask, the man
seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He straightened himself up, pulled a thick
blanket over Temperance’s sleeping body before sitting down in a comfortable
leather seat near the bed.
“Everything is fine,” he answered. “She was cold and I offered her some sherry
thinking she would only take a sip and not drink half of the glass. I will keep
watch over her and let her rest.” He opened a book clearly dismissing the man.
He knew this one’s position on his relationship with Temperance, knew the
Frenchman would slice his throat without an hesitation should he ever go beyond
what he considered proper behaviour.
Crawford wondered if it would be wiser to get rid of the man but, then again,
Olivier did help keeping him within the bounds of reason when it came to his
Temperance. Having her sleeping in his private coach was enough to make his
blood burn in desire. It was already hard to simply go about giving her chaste
kisses when he wanted, no when he needed to embrace her like a husband.
He closed his book with a snap and rubbed a hand over his face. She was driving
him wild, wilder than any man on opium became. She was his raison d’être, the
centre of his very life. She was everything to him. Looking at the closed door
that connected his private coach to the rest of the train, he silently got up
to kneel beside the bed, his hand delicately grabbing Temperance’s lax one, he
lightly kissed her fingers, his mouth moving on to her wrist, her shoulder, her
cheek, and finally to her lips. He lifted his head slightly to gaze at her
sleeping face. His trembling hands lightly framed it, his touch lighter than a
butterfly. He closed his eyes and bent his head, his lips caressing hers softly
before becoming more insistent until he was finally kissing her fully, his
blood rushing furiously in his veins. With a gasp, he got up, his breath as
erratic as his heartbeat.
Knowing he could not stay within distance to his Temperance and continue to
keep himself from her, not after having finally tasted her lips like he had
craved, his body clamouring for him to go farther, to completely claim her,
Crawford walked into the next carriage and found Olivier waiting there for him,
the man’s impassive face chilling. For the first time in his life, he felt like
a prey in front of a predator, his instincts screaming at him to flee. He now
understood the reason he was called the Bête Noire, the very Devil. With an
arched eyebrow, the Frenchman threw him a sword, one he agilely caught despite
his current mindset.
“A bit of escrime will help burn it off, monsieur,” Olivier said letting him
know he was more than aware of his inner struggle to keep to his promise
concerning his beloved.
Crawford shrugged out of his vest and faced the best swordsman he had ever
sparred against.
“En garde!”
***** Lessons in Etiquette *****

Temperance had never seen so many people in one place in her entire life and
that was just in Victoria Station. She had woken up not too long ago and had
had time to put some order to her dress and hair, her head no longer fuzzy from
the sherry. She would never drink another drop of alcohol ever again.
The train came to a stop in a hiss of steam, Olivier already out and helping
the coachman with their luggage. She looked at her cousin and, after letting
him tuck her small hand in the crook of his elbow, walked into the crowd. She
felt swarmed by the crush of people and only Crawford’s reassuring presence
helped her keep her composure.
Although her travelling clothes were of the finest quality, she still felt like
a country bumpkin compared to the elegant dames and lords, their children as
fashionably dressed as them. Temperance had not often been outside of her
manor, her isolation making her feel like she had stepped into a different
country altogether. Her distress must have shown for Crawford bent his head
slightly toward hers.
“Is your head still hurting you, dearest?” he asked in a hushed voice. She
shook her head.
“No, it is just that there are so many people. Do not let go of me, please?”
she begged, her cousin’s hand covering hers on his arm in reassurance.
“Do not worry, Temperance, I will never let you go.” She gave him a grateful
smile.
It took them some time to actually get out of the station. She thought the air
would have been better once outside but she had been wrong. Where the sky was
clear blue back in Crawley, here it was more grey than anything else, the air
carrying an undertone of foulness. All in all, Temperance was not impressed
with her first foray into London despite being in the nicer borough of
Westminster.
The carriage waiting for them could have rivalled any from Wakefield Manor. She
had known her cousin was well off but had not realized to what extent. She
wondered why he was not yet married. He was, after all, quite a good match.
Crawford helped her inside and sat opposite her while Olivier settled himself
beside the coachman. Once more they were on the move though Temperance did not
understand how they did not ram into the other carriages so many were to be
found on the street. There had to be more traffic in this single road than all
of Sussex and that was without counting the people milling about on foot! Their
coachman was nevertheless able to adroitly manoeuvre the horses through it all.
“We will be in my main residence shortly, dearest. I know how tiring such
travel can be.” She was not particularly tired but then again, she had slept a
good portion of the voyage.
“Main residence? Do you have more than one?” she asked, Crawford laughing
slightly.
“Quite naturally. I usually stay in my secondary residence in the City of
London but it is not an appropriate place for you.”
“Oh? How is it not appropriate?” Her cousin seemed to try and compose his
thoughts after a slight hitch in his breath.
“Not enough rooms, dearest. It is more a man’s residence than anything else.”
Temperance tried to imagine what a ‘man’s residence’ differed to a normal one
but simply could not.
To pass the time she gazed outside once more but soon felt herself gasping for
air. The buildings towering toward the sky, the numerous carriages, the people
milling in and out of the traffic, it all made her feel like she was
suffocating. She missed her house, the sprawling grounds of the manor, the
small city of Crawley, the expenses of Sussex. Two gloved hands framed her face
and made it turn away from the window.
“Look at me, dearest,” Crawford told her. “Good, try to take a deep breath and
hold it for a second.” She did as he instructed until her breathing started to
return to normal, her cousin’s concerned look fading away. “I am sorry I did
not know you would react in that manner. I am used to London after all.” He
bent his head as she lifted hers. He hovered over her lips for a moment before
kissing her forehead instead. The carriage finally stopped in front of a lavish
house. “Welcome to my main residence, dearest.”

* * *

Crawford had become much too jaded to London and had completely been unprepared
to see his beloved in the grips of panic. Nevertheless his Temperance was a
fighter and had calmed down under his guidance. He did wish he could have
kissed her but did not fully trust himself, also they were among society and
not closed off in Wakefield Manor. He was her betrothed and should have the
right to act thusly but due to her still young age and the strict rules of
society, he had no choice but to cage in his feelings.
Not too soon for his taste, they finally arrived at his main residence, his
beloved looking at the sprawling mansion in awe. It was rather grand and
pretentious, an extravagance he had acquired when he had being younger and so
new to his wealth. Now he much preferred his apartments in the City of London.
Not only was it less ostentatious but its location was central, much better to
direct his numerous business venues. It was also a difficult place to
infiltrate which granted him an added measure of security. He would have loved
to bring his Temperance in what he regarded as his home, not this large
mausoleum of a mansion, but there were truly not enough chambers unless he gave
her either one of the servants’ quarters or his own. Now that brought images of
her sharing his bed, something he definitely did not need to be imagining. His
sparring with Olivier had been more strenuous than he would have liked. He
would not be able to to go another round with the French swordsman without
risking real injuries.
The old butler opened the door and, by that one’s face, Crawford knew something
was amiss. He had given the staff very strict orders to make sure his beloved’s
first visit to London went smoothly. He would not tolerate any sort of
disruptions. He helped Temperance slip off her travelling cape while silently
vowing to have another chat with his staff to remind them how easy they could
all be replaced. It was not before he was shrugging out of his own coat that he
saw the reason for the old man’s strange demeanour. Pearl was sweeping down the
central staircase as if she was the lady of the house. Unfortunately she was
not alone, his mother following her at a sedate a pace. He clenched his jaw
briefly before plastering a smile on his face though it markedly lacked warmth.
“Crawford, dearest! We were wondering when you’d arrive and oh, you brought
your… ward with you. How quaint,” his cousin drawled before gasping when
Olivier entered the house. His cousin being a Templar more than recognized the
man, her eyes going round in fear.
“This is Olivier Montagne, Sophia’s tutor,” he said, Pearl’s face having become
completely white, her bosom heaving more than it was warranted for such a
situation.
“Really, Crawford? Such a man as a tutor? What have you been teaching my
niece?” his mother asked coldly. He bowed over her hand though he completely
ignored Pearl’s. Temperance had retreated behind her calm and stoic shell, her
large grey eyes fixing on nothing in particular. He blamed both his cousin and
mother for tarnishing his beloved’s first experience in London.
“I am teaching her to become a great Templar, mother. As Grand Master is it not
my duty to make sure those who will stand by my side are not only trustworthy
but apt to defend our ideals?” he replied just as coldly.
The woman who had birthed him had taken great pride in pitting him and his
brother against one another in every aspects of their lives, from academics to
athletics. Her love had been as fickle as the one who had been currently on
top. His older brother had, quite naturally, won more often than not but he had
been lacking in ambition. By what he had last heard, he was struggling with his
various failing business ventures while, starting with a simple railway
company, Crawford’s empire was now easily thrice that of his father and all
before being in his forties. He was, after all, far superior than all of them
as was his beloved.
“Well I do hope you have taught her some etiquette. We will be hosting a small
soirée at the house in five days’ time. Your presence and that of your ward is,
quite naturally, required.” He more than knew the true reason behind such an
invitation especially since his mother usually went out of her way not to
invite him and, by the smug look in Pearl’s face, he realized this one had
orchestrated the entire thing. This little fête was nothing more than an
attempt at having his Temperance meet young men, preferably those who would
make a nice alliance with the Starrick family.
“Her name, dear mother, is Lady Sophia Wakefield. If you want to bring up
etiquette, perhaps showing proper respect to your betters would be
appropriate.” His mother took a deep breath but he knew she would not dare say
anything untoward since, despite her young age, Temperance was a high born and
unless Persephone Starrick wanted to be snubbed by the social circle she loved
so much, she actually had to show proper deference. After all, the Wakefield
family had already shunned her when she had married his common born father,
something she would want to redress by getting into the good graces of the last
living Wakefield. Naturally the fact Olivier was still standing behind him
probably helped as well.
“Then we will see you and Lady Wakefield in five day’s time. Come my dear,” his
mother said through clenched teeth, Pearl having no choice but to follow her
but not before giving him a wrathful look. He went down on one knee in front of
Temperance as soon as the front door closed behind them, her eyes slowly
turning to look at him, a soft smile lifting the corner of her lips.
“I am so sorry you had to endure this,” he said lightly caressing her left
cheek. “My mother is not the warmest of women.”
“It is quite alright,” she replied giving him a light kiss on his cheek. He got
back up and raked a hand through his hair. They now had no choice but to attend
his parents’ soirée. At least it would be informal since Temperance was too
young to be formally introduced to society. His hope of spending quality time
with his beloved, of having her discover his city, of bringing her to see her
special gift had been completely crushed by that imposed get-together. “But
will there be dancing? I do not know how to dance.”
Crawford looked at Olivier, this one shrugging his shoulders. They had five
days to teach Temperance the proper etiquette that one expected in a young lady
of her rank.
“It seems we were remiss in our éducation of Mademoiselle Sophie,” the
Frenchman said.
“Is my shooting and fencing not up to par?” she asked clearly confused.
“These are not things normal young ladies learn,” Crawford explained.
“I can take a steam engine apart and name all of its components.” Olivier
snorted softly while he tried to find a way to explain it to her. He had wanted
to isolate her so she would rely solely on him. His plan had, perhaps, worked
too well. She was completely unprepared for London’s society.
“Dearest, ladies learn etiquette, dancing, singing, piano… flower
arrangements.” The more he talked, the wider her mouth opened.
“How dreadfully boring!” she finally said, her voice slightly more heated than
what he was used to hear from her.
“Perhaps but that is what is expected in a lady of your social rank and since
we have but five days, I believe we should start as soon as we have refreshed
ourselves from the travel.”

* * *

Temperance felt like hitting her head on Crawford’s desk, the book about
dancing etiquette boring beyond belief. All the formalities of it made
absolutely no sense to her. She would have much preferred to continue reading
about internal combustion engines than knowing when it was acceptable to refuse
a dance to a gentleman. At least the dances themselves were not complicated
since they rested on simple mathematical counts of 2/4 or 3/4 time. Crawford
was teaching her the various ballroom dances she would be expected to know
while Olivier’s ever watchful eyes made sure she read the tomes she was
supposed to be reading and not those she was constantly trying to smuggle into
the study.
If that was not bad enough, a stylist had come to take her measurements so she
could have a fitting gown for the Starricks’ soirée. She had stood on a small
dais while the woman had poked and prodded her, covered her in fabrics while
yapping mercilessly at the poor hapless young maid who had to write everything
down, all the while bemoaning the fact she was being rushed by the very limited
deadline. After the stylist had left, Temperance had almost crumbled on the
floor so much she felt worn out but Crawford had come to fetch her for another
dancing lesson and what conversation subjects were acceptable for a young girl.
“Why the long face, dearest?” Looking up from the book she was supposed to be
reading, she forced herself to smile as Crawford tiredly reclined in the chaise
lounge tucked under a window overlooking the lush gardens. Her cousin was just
as much caught as she was and more than once she had watched him spar with
Olivier, sometimes even twice in the same day, his frustration palpable even
for her. He was her guardian so naturally her actions would reflect upon him.
The last thing she wanted was to add to his already heavy burden.
“The book is slightly boring, nothing more,” she replied going sit beside him,
his arm automatically going around her shoulders so she could rest against his
side. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. “I understand the need for
me to learn these things, truly I do but, at the same time, it is useless
information since we are going to go back home eventually.” He kissed the top
of her head, his hand resting on her shoulder, his fingers drawing lazy circles
upon it.
“I promise you, once that dratted evening is behind us, we will be free to
enjoy London just the two of us,” he said before sitting up and turning so he
faced her, his blue eyes utterly serious. “You will most probably be presented
to young men during that soirée, many wishing to know you only for your money.
Do not lose your heart to any of these young scoundrels!” His hands were almost
digging painfully in her shoulders.
“I could never, not to someone who expects me to not be who I am nor respect
what I love,” she said giving him a reassuring smile. She thought of Jacob and
how he would most likely challenge her to a throwing knife competition than
expecting her to know the proper way to faint. Crawford chuckled, lightly
kissing her before lounging back and tucking her against his side once more.
“So you truly believe that internal combustion engine will replace steam
power?” he asked. Temperance did not need anymore prodding to launch into an
animated discussion, Crawford listening and even pointing out a few arguments
in turn. As always her cousin knew just how to make her smile and feel safe.

* * *

With the soirée on the morrow’s evening, Crawford thought to have a practice
run with Temperance. At the same time it was a way to spend an evening
completely alone with her, his numerous spars with Olivier having helped to
keep himself in check though the incident in the train was never far from his
mind. He shook himself mentally. Now was not the time to remember things best
not dwelt upon especially not when his beloved was slowly walking down the
stairs in one of her best gowns, the colour making her hair gleam more garnet
than burgundy, hair that for once was not braided but loosely piled on top of
her head with long strands left to curl softly around her delicate face. The
effect made her look older than her near thirteen years. He bowed over the hand
she offered and though his lips were supposed to hover just above her knuckles,
he nevertheless fully kissed them.
“You look lovely, dearest,” he whispered getting quite out of character.
Temperance did not act upon it but instead inclined her head in thanks, her
calm poise more charming than he would have imagined. She truly looked and
acted like a young lady.
He guided her out of the foyer and into the music room where he led her into a
waltz making sure he was not holding her closer than what was proper. She
faltered slightly making him smile in encouragement.
“Three steps clockwise, three steps straight, three steps counterclockwise,” he
whispered making her lift her face to gaze into his eyes. Soon they were
gliding around the floor as if they had been dancing together for years instead
of only four days. Crawford loved her more in that instant than he ever had,
his mind elating that in just a few years more she would be completely his and
that, no matter what Pearl had nefariously planned.
They spend a portion of the evening dancing and then made their way to the
dining hall, his discreet staff having put up a small banquet for them. So far
Temperance had showed remarkable etiquette, her conversation demure and most
probably boring her to death. There was just one little point of correction he
needed to address.
“Dearest, you must not be so forward with your gaze. A young lady does not
stare into a gentleman’s eyes,” he said, her grey eyes automatically glancing
down at her dinner plate and though she continued to eat daintily, Crawford
knew her movements were more automatic than anything else. She had retreated
once more behind her stoic shell.
“I feel like everything I do is wrong,” he heard her whisper after a long
moment of silence. “Perhaps I am not meant to live in this society.” Putting
his napkin on the table beside his plate, he got up and pulled Temperance to
her feet, his hand gently lifting her face so she was looking at him. She
quickly averted her eyes.
“No, look into my eyes as you usually do,” he said, his thumb lightly caressing
her cheek slightly inching too near her lips. She slowly lifted her eyes until
she was gazing into his. “You are perfect the way you are, Temperance, and if
this society can not see that, if they can not accept you as you are then damn
them all. We will simply have to force them to change their views.”
Seeing the bright smile she gave him, Crawford lightly kissed her on her
forehead before laying one on her cheek and then finally her lips. As always,
she simply accepted it as if it was the most normal of things between cousins,
a normalcy he had carefully built though this time, his kiss was longer and
slightly more demanding, his hands going to her shoulders intent on pulling her
tightly into his embrace so he could deepen it but someone coughed making him
take a step back, Olivier walking out of the dining room as silently has he had
entered it.
“The time has grown late and we have a long day tomorrow and an even longer
evening so it may be wise to seek our beds,” he said hoping Temperance could
not hear how unsteady his voice was. She nodded and wished him goodnight,
giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before walking out of the dining room.
Being near her was becoming harder and harder. He did not even want to think
about how it would be to see her mingle among young men and not want to snatch
her away from them. One thing for certain, Crawford would have to make sure he
was not armed otherwise his family’s soirée would end up in bloodshed. With a
sigh he made his way to the ostentatiously large ballroom, the Frenchman
already in position. As it had become a habit since arriving in London, he
would duel this one until he was too tired to do anything more than crawl in
his bed and sleep.
***** The Death of a Templar *****
Chapter Notes
     ****** This chapter is where the warning tags come from (other than
     the "Graphic Depiction of Violence"). Though the scene can be
     uncomfortable to read, it is NOT explicit except for a few glimpses,
     flashes is you will. Still, despite that, it is a scene some could
     have problem reading. Believe me, I usually don't put such warnings
     but since we're talking about a young 12 yrs old girl, I thought it
     was best to do so. ******

Being motherless since she was six years old, Temperance was used to dressing
herself but she had never worn a ball gown before so Crawford had fetched one
of his mother’s maids to help her, the young woman sickly sweet and amiable
when her cousin introduced her but quickly became brusque and cold the moment
he left them alone. She could only endure the maid’s attitude in the manner she
was used to.
Like an obedient doll, she let herself be dressed, the chemise and drawer made
of fine cotton. Then came the under-petticoat, her small cage crinoline and
then the longer petticoat with delicate broderie anglaise around the hem.
Finally her gown was lowered over her head and adjusted, the ochre yellow silk
taffeta with steel grey accents fitting her perfectly, the skirt longer than
she was used to since it fairly reached her mid-calves, the short ruffled
sleeves slightly off-shoulder. Her hair was coiffed with the crown of it pulled
into a chignon, the rest left to cascade down her back, a thin garland of tiny
pale yellow silk flowers weaved around her head. The last thing she put on
where silk slippers and tight-fitting gloves that reached halfway to her
forearms. She wore no jewelry, not even her Templar necklace which was on her
night table. Temperance felt strangely bereft without it but society dictated
that young girls wore no frivolous accessories. Those were reserved for older,
mature women.
“Miss Attaway was right. Empty headed chit’s probably too dumb to know what’s
going on around her,” she heard the maid snicker not even trying to lower her
voice. Temperance let it go unchallenged. She had gotten used to insults, her
father having spat many at her before his death. She had learnt early on that
by not reacting to them, those doing the insulting eventually grew bored and
stopped.
The door of the chamber suddenly banged open, Olivier’s green eyes glaring at
the young woman with such ire that she got up and rushed to where he was
standing to prevent him from attacking the maid who was visibly shaking in
fright. She had never seen him so angry.
“Dehors espèce de putaine de mégère!” he spat at the young woman but she
obviously did not understand French. “Get out of here before I slice your
throat!” he said in English, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The maid ran
out of the room in tears. Temperance wanted to feel bad but somehow could not.
Instead she put a hand on her tutor’s arm and smiled up at him. “Tu es
magnifique, ma petite Sophie,” he whispered while actually bowing, the gesture
so very different than what she had seen from Crawford, his right foot held
slightly back, his right arm across his abdomen while his left was held away
from his body. It was something he had never done before, the gesture so
formal. She came to curtsy but he shook his head. “N’oublie pas that you are
better than all of them combined so hold your head high and make me proud, ma
chérie.”
She quickly gave him a brief hug before walking out of the bedroom. She started
to walk down the staircase but stopped, a hand grabbing the railing as a sharp
pain pierced her right between the eyes. She lightly shook her head, the pain
receding until it was completely gone. She had not eaten during the day so
perhaps the strange pain was simply due to her being a bit peckish. She
continued to walk down, Crawford waiting for her in the foyer, his eyes going
slightly round when he gazed up at her.
“Dearest, you are beautiful,” he whispered lifting her hand to his lips.
Temperance smiled warmly.
“And you, dear cousin, are very fetching.” She took her fur-trimmed cape the
butler was offering and lifted the hood up. The temperature had quickly turned
frigid, Crawford explaining that the Thames often brought gusts of cold winds
which made London colder than Crawley. They got inside a lavish carriage,
Olivier acting as the coachman which actually surprised her.
“Only an added protection,” her cousin explained having guessed the reason
behind her bemused look. “Are you nervous?” She could only nod her head
slightly. “Do not be. It is just a soirée and though I know my cousin and
mother will try their best to make you miserable, do not give them the
pleasure. They are not worth it.” She let out a small humourless laugh.
Crawford bent forward he gently grabbed her hands in his. “I promise, once
tonight is over it, you will not have to endure them anymore. I will see to
it.”
She gave him a grateful smile but quickly blinked. Temperance could have sworn
she had seen a brief flash of red surrounding her cousin, her vision strangely
distorted, the pain between her eyes pulsing for a heartbeat before it vanished
once again. She definitely needed to eat but knew supper would not be served
before late in the evening. She closed her eyes and tried to remain calm
despite the panic that had laid claim to her heart.

* * *

Crawford had to admit his mother had well hidden her ruse since his Temperance
was not the only young girl present though most were merely the children of
rich bankers and businessmen unlike his beloved. Naturally, they were swarmed
as soon as they had been announced, business associates and Templars alike
wanting to be seen with him and his ward. It was all a dreadful bore. He was
perhaps the most influential man present, certainly one of the richest while
his Temperance was far better than them all combined. Nevertheless, no matter
how much it bothered him, he played the part of guardian well and introduced
Temperance, this one showing nothing but poise.
“There you are, Crawford dearest! You remember Marjorie Stewart, yes?” he heard
Pearl titters and, not able to snub his cousin without causing a scandal, he
bowed over her hand though his lips stayed well above it before doing the same
to the woman while ignoring the two young boys standing beside her.
“Mr Starrick, it’s pleasure to meet in more convivial circumstances.” He
inclined his head slightly while putting a hand on his beloved’s back.
“May I present you, Lady Sophia Wakefield. Sophia, this is Mrs Stewart.”
Temperance bowed her head while the older woman curtsied.
“These are my sons, Edmund and Byron,” the vulture said with an ingratiating
smile. His beloved offered her small hand, the youngest merely bowing over it
though the oldest, Byron, actually lightly kissed it.
“Pleased to meet you,” this one said with a smile. Crawford saw Temperance’s
eyes dart up to the young man before turning back toward the floor. His blood
started to boil. Not soon enough for his taste, they moved from groups to
groups until they were finally free to greet his parents, his older brother
standing beside them with his betrothed, a vapid sort of young woman who
probably did not have an original thought in her blond head.
“I’m glad you were able to attend our little informal soirée, Crawford,” his
father coldly said turning his attention to Temperance. “And this lovely young
lady must be your ward, the one you so effectively convinced the crown to
appoint to you.” He presented his family to his beloved before he addressing
his father.
“The crown knew Sophia’s interests were best in the hands of someone who not
only already knew her but who would not be swayed to divest her of her estate.
My empire is firm and more than stable so I certainly have no designs on the
Wakefield’s fortune,” he explained quite knowing his family would have freely
taken his beloved’s inheritance for themselves. Though unspoken, Crawford’s
eyes more than conveyed the thought. His father huffed himself up. He would
have probably called out a challenge but one look at his Templar’s cross and he
automatically stood down. It had never sat well with Robert Starrick that his
youngest son, the one who would not inherit his business, was far more
successful and influential than he ever was or ever would be.
Throughout the exchange, Temperance had simply stood, her general attitude one
of meekness meekly. Nevertheless he knew she was far from oblivious to the
mounting tension. He truly hated his family, hated having them put Temperance
in such a situation.
“I do believe the dancing is about to start. If you will excuse us,” he added,
his tone of voice brooding no arguments. He offered his arm to his beloved, and
guided her toward the ballroom. The opening dance was, quite naturally, the
Waltz and since Crawford was her escort, he had the privilege of having this
dance even if it was a bit unconventional. He was fast losing his patience with
the entire charade and wanted to shout to them all that his Temperance was
already promised in marriage. Unfortunately, since these affairs usually ran
late, and he had let Olivier know he could use that time to actually go do some
socializing himself. They were stuck here.
After having gracefully waltzed, he escorted Temperance to the edge of the
dance floor, a young man quickly bowing to her. Off she went with this one
leaving him staring at them until he was accosted by some businessmen and
though he kept an eye on his beloved, he soon found himself engaged in animated
discussions. The next time he looked to her, she was dancing with young Byron
Stewart. Despite the fact they were quite a distance away, he nevertheless
could see the smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Crawford,” his mother said calmly. “Go and mingle with the other gentlemen. I
will watch over Lady Wakefield in your stead.” Since she had said it loud
enough, Crawford could not refuse without sparking some unwanted speculation
and, bowing to her, he made his way to the study where most of the men were
already gathered, many drinking and smoking. He grabbed himself a glass of
bourbon and stood by the window. He did not much feel like mingling. It was not
long before his father approached him as he knew he would.
“I’ll say this. You should bed her to compromise her so she has no choice but
to marry you. You already have a firm base in London. With her as your wife,
nothing could stop you.” He simply lifted his glass in mock salute to the man
who had sired him. Naturally no one knew she was destined to be his wife
although he was adamant in marrying her before bedding her. Remembering the
fleeting smile she had given that Byron brat, he emptied his glass only to pour
himself another one. He knew he had nothing to fear. After all, who else
understood her, knew of her passion for anything pertaining to engineering?
None but him.

* * *

Temperance declined the young gentleman needing to actually sit a bit. She had
almost danced nonstop and though she was in good physical shape due to her
Templar training, the thin slippers did not do much to protect one’s feet from
bad dancers. All in all, she truly did not care for balls. She would have much
preferred being home and study calculus than dance and be boringly
complimented. The only one who had stood out from the throng of young men had
been Byron Stewart. Not only was he older than the rest at seventeen years of
age but he had actually made her genially smile.
“Pray tell me you actually have a brain in your head compared to the others,”
he had whispered as soon as they had started to dance. She had briefly smiled
before before remembering to school her face into a semblance of decorum. “I
knew it! I knew you weren’t as boring as the lot of them! What subject?” She
had hesitated not knowing how to answer that question. “It’ll be our secret,
promise.”
“Engineering and mathematics are my favourite subjects. I fear I had not heard
of flower arrangements before last week,” she had finally admitted, looking up
to assess his reaction. He had smiled brightly at her.
“I’m more partial to physics and medicine. I’m liable to be a big
disappointment to my father since I want nothing to do with his business,” he
had confessed in turn. She had giggled which had not gone unnoticed by many of
the chaperons, Crawford’s cousin smiling smugly when Byron had escorted her
back to the sidelines.
“Sophia! I want you to know that I’ve already arranged it with Crawford to have
young Byron escort you to the dining room,” Pearl said lazily fanning herself
with her fan. Temperance nodded but then clenched her teeth to stop from
whimpering as the pain flared burning hot between her eyes. She looked up and
almost gasped. There the woman stood, her body surrounded by a red haze. She
looked to the dance floor, her vision a strange muted tone of black and white,
most dancers being only a shade of dark grey though some were red like Pearl.
She closed her eyes tightly and waited until the pain went away. Only when it
did did she open them, Byron standing before her offering her his arm.
“Hungry?” he asked with a smile. She got up and put her hand upon his forearm.
“Famished,” she whispered. She let him guide her to the dining room, her gaze
scanning the crowd in search of her cousin. She finally was able to locate
Crawford among the throng of guests, a more than beaming Pearl at his arm.
Their gaze briefly locked. She gave him a smile but for the first time since
she had known him, he did not return it. He seemed displeased though she could
not begin to imagine why he would be. She had not once stepped out of bounds no
matter how many times she had wanted to.
She felt like running to him and seek the comfort and solace only he could
provide. She needed him to reassure her that she was not becoming crazy. She
had believed her mother had ran away but, with the pain and the strange
visions, Temperance was starting to wonder if this one had not in truth became
sick in the head and if she had, then perhaps she herself was beginning to show
the same sickness.
Realizing she would not be able to talk to him about it until they were back
home, she sat down on the chair Byron had pulled for her, giving him a grateful
smile, and concentrated on filling her empty stomach. All too soon, she was
back in the ballroom and dancing with another young gentleman. She was starting
to wish the evening would end. After the third dance in a row, she declined
Edmund Stewart for a second time and went in search of Crawford.
“Is everything alright, dear cousin?” she heard him ask having quite suddenly
appeared beside her. There was a stiffness to him but Temperance put it down to
fatigue.
“I am tired and wish to retire home,” she told him in a small voice. He gazed
at her for a moment before slowly nodding.
“Olivier might not be back since the soirée is far from being over.
Nevertheless if you truly want to leave, I can hire a carriage to drive us
home. Let us go take our leave of our hosts.”

* * *

His mother was taken aback but Crawford was adamant. They were leaving despite
the evening not being over. He and Temperance had been more than accommodating
about this farce of a soirée that had been dumped on them at the last minute.
The fact he had spent most of the evening drinking in the study and chatting up
useless businessmen and investors while his beloved danced with young men had
burned whatever patience he had. He wanted to be back in his house where they
could finally be alone.
“But Crawford, surely you should wait for your coachman…,” his mother pleaded
but he shook his head.
“I have already informed your butler to hail a carriage for us.”
“The streets at night are not safe even in this neighbourhood.” It took all he
had not to swear viciously. Instead he glared coldly at the woman who had
birthed him.
“You can rest assured, madam, that I can more than defend not only myself but
my young ward who, I might add, can well protect herself as well thanks to her
tutor.” That said, he bowed to his mother and guided Temperance to the foyer.
They were about to walk out of the door when someone called after them.
Crawford was tempted to continue but his beloved had stopped so young Byron
Stewart could catch up to them.
“I’m so very sorry but I want to know if I could call upon you? Perhaps
tomorrow or in two day’s time?” this one asked. Temperance turned her gaze at
him, a clear question in them. He plastered a smile on his face.
“Unfortunately, young Byron, we will not be in residence for long this time
around, perhaps upon our return to London in a few months?” he suggested, the
young man obviously wanting to argue while knowing he could not. Crawford had,
naturally, no intention of bringing Temperance back to London until she was to
kneel before the queen in the hour before marrying him, the sooner the better.
“Then perhaps we could correspond? I will send my coordinates tomorrow
morning.” He could do nothing but watch the whelp take his beloved’s hand and
lightly kiss it. Though he showed it none, inside he was formulating plans to
have him disappear. The Thames at this time of the year could be so traitorous.
“I would like that,” Temperance replied smiling at him in a way that made him
grind his teeth. “You could send me some thesis on physics and I will do the
same on engineering.” Crawford felt his heart turn to ice. She had told this
boy about her passion, one of the advantages he had over these young rakes!
Once more, blood rushed in his ears.
“Our carriage is here, dear cousin, we should leave,” he said almost dragging
her behind him. They were out the door and into the rented carriage before she
could say one word.
“Did I do something untoward?” she asked him in a hushed voice. He simply shook
his head not trusting his voice. He was in a dark mood, the combination of the
alcohol, mounting frustration, impatience, and now young Byron Stewart only
adding fuel to his already burning fire.
The drive was done in absolute silence, Temperance having retreated behind her
stoicism while Crawford tried his best to calm himself. He was not having much
success. Not soon enough for his taste, they finally arrived at his residence
and, after paying the fare, he guided her inside, his grasp rougher than usual.
“I need to talk to you before you retire for the night,” he curtly told her
before leaving her alone in the foyer to divest herself of her winter cape. He
poured himself a more than generous glass of bourbon as soon as he entered his
study. He knew it was unwise to so drink when he was already more than
inebriated but he was past being reasonable. He took the time to empty his
glass before finally turning to face her. “You will not communicate with young
Byron Stewart,” he coldly said. “I wanted to wait until you were older to
explain it to you but swat! Your father promised me your hand in marriage a
long time ago. You, my dearest, have been my betrothed all those years.” He
watched her doll-like face go from stoic to astonished. Slowly, very slowly she
shook her head.
“No… I already… I promised…,” she whispered softly.
“You promised?! Surely not so soon after barely meeting him!” he spat coldly.
“No, you do not understand. There is this boy in Crawley. I have known him
since I was a child… I am sorry, cousin, but I can not marry you.” Crawford had
to relax his grip upon his glass otherwise it would have shattered in his hand.
The hour was late and they both needed rest. Come morning he would make her
understand that her future was not hers to decide. In time she would come to
accept it.
“We will continue this discussion tomorrow,” he said turning back to pour
himself another glass. “Go seek your rest.” He heard her whisper an apology and
then was left alone with his thoughts, his dark thoughts. He would find that
boy in Crawley and he would kill him with his own hands. No one would stand
between him and his beloved!
He continued to drink, his mind churning angrily. He desperately needed to vent
his frustration but since Olivier was not back, he decided to grab his pistol
and go outside to shoot at some targets despite the lateness of the hour. He
walked out of his study but instead of going to the gardens his feet took him
to Temperance’s room.
Crawford stayed in front of the closed door for a moment before walking in
without knocking. The blood in his veins was still burning through him and
seeing her in bed in her white nightgown did not help alleviate it. He went to
sit beside her, his trembling hand wiping her tears away.
“Please do not cry,” he whispered. “I am sorry for being so curt with you.” He
gently caressed her cheek before laying a kiss on her forehead, his lips
travelling down her temple, cheek, and then her mouth. “I love you so much,” he
whispered against her lips before claiming them once more though this time his
Temperance tried to push him away, her small hands quite ineffective against
him. Her useless efforts only inflamed him even more, his mouth ravaging her
tender lips while his body covered hers, one hand holding her arms over her
head by her slim wrists while the other was frantically trying to push her
nightgown up.
There was a sudden crash, Olivier standing in the doorway, his sword drawn but
Crawford was lost in a fog of rage, lust and alcohol. Not hesitating, he
grabbed his pistol and shot the man straight in the head. No one was getting
between him and his beloved! Temperance started to scream and thrash under him
but he quickly put a hand over her mouth.
“Shhh, beloved, everything will be fine, shhh…” She stopped screaming, her face
turned to the side, her body becoming lax. He could not stop himself, did not
want to stop. He loved her and tonight she would finally be completely his.

* * *

Temperance stared blindly at her Templar necklace on her night table. She knew
he was whispering things to her but her mind could not make sense of the words.
All she could think of was Olivier’s body crumbling on the floor, her beloved
tutor killed by the man she trusted with her very life. She felt him fumble
with his trousers for moment, his knee pushing against her legs, parting them,
her nightgown becoming bunched around her waist. He moved and then she felt an
agonizing pain as if she was rent in two. She kept her lips tightly closed
while mentally screaming. All she did was stare at her necklace, its Templar’s
cross starting to sway back and forth until she realized it was she who was
moving.
Her mind curled tightly upon itself and brought her back to her beloved
Crawley, to the tree hollow. She was safe there, far away from London, far from
whatever her beloved cousin was doing to her body. Nevertheless a few snatches
still filtered through, the hotness of her tears on her cheeks, the iron clasp
of his fingers on her wrists, the sound of his ragged breathing against her
throat, the rhythmic creaking of her bed.
She stayed locked in her mind long after she felt his weight lift from her,
unwilling to emerge from her mind. In truth, Temperance did not want to ever go
back to the harsh reality her life had suddenly become. However she knew she
had to escape before Crawford could do that to her again, and he would since he
was her betrothed. By law, she was his. The thought was enough to make her come
out of her imaginary hollow. She stayed utterly still wondering if he was going
to jump on her but by the soft snores, she knew he was sleeping.
Slowly as to not wake him up, Temperance got out of bed and almost ripped her
nightgown from her so much she wanted it off. She grabbed the first dress her
hand touched and put it on, not bothering with petticoats and crinoline, all
the while trying her best to ignore the pain and warm wetness below her waist.
Though she did not want to, she nevertheless went to where Olivier’s body was.
With a trembling hand she closed his eyes and caressed is still warm cheek
before taking his sword and scabbard. Holding it tightly against her chest, she
stiffly walked out of her room, down the stairs and through the front door.
Only once away from the house did she start to whimper, the sound not unlike
that of a small wounded animal, her body shivering not from the cold but from
belated shock. She started to run aimlessly in the dark streets, her instincts
pushing her to put as much distance between herself and that house. She ran
until her body finally collapsed, her naked feet blessedly too numb from the
cold to hurt from the numerous cuts they had suffered running barefoot as she
had been through the streets. All she could do was crawl toward the nearest
building and huddle against its wall, Olivier’s sword still held firmly in her
arms. She brought her knees against her chest and hid her face upon them, her
hands going over her head, her teeth raking her lower lip hard to stop herself
from screaming. Since she had been successful in escaping, her mind turned upon
her with a vengeance forcing her to relive the event of the night. Feeling a
gentle hand touch her shoulder, Temperance tightly closed her eyes and let out
soft keens of distress while trying to push herself away from the touch but she
had nowhere to go her back resting against the wall as it was.
“Hush, child, I’m here to help,” the person whispered. His voice was familiar
but she was so far locked into her nightmarish memories to truly do anything
other than react like an injured animal and try to get away. “I’m really not
going to hurt you. I was searching for someone and chanced to see you…” Pain
flared between her eyes and she slightly lifted her face, the man kneeling
before her was surrounded in green. As previously, it lasted but for a moment
and she hid her face once more. “What the…?! Sophia…?!

* * *

Ethan had been searching for his wayward son throughout London for the past two
days. He had been so sure the intensive training the council had forced upon
Jacob had been beneficial to him but no sooner had he learnt Sophia had
travelled to London that off his son had gone in search of her. He had loved
his wife with all of his heart and it had deeply wounded him when she had died
so he understood the sort of bond his son kept insisting he had with the young
Wakefield heiress. Nevertheless, he was intent on finding Jacob and explaining
to him once and for all that there would be no future for the two of them since
she was well and truly a Templar despite being of assassin’s blood.
If he was honest with himself, he also had wanted to come to London if only to
make sure the Frenchman was doing his job and protecting the girl from her
cousin. He had actually been debating what to do while running upon the
rooftops when he had come to a sudden stop at the sight of a young girl
huddling against a dilapidated house. She was obviously in some sort of
distress, barefooted and without a coat or a cape as she was. He had approached
her intent on helping the poor child. He had not recognized her until she had
briefly lifted her face, the terrified horror in young Sophia’s eyes having
made him want to find whoever had hurt her and kill him.
Ethan gently touched her shoulder once more, the girl still trying to push
herself through the wall. Everything about the entire situation felt wrong.
Olivier was nowhere to be seen and yet she was definitely holding this one’s
sabre so unique in its genre. Furthermore, she was wearing only a dress and
nothing more, her small feet completely white from the cold, their soles
crusted with blood. It was not the only place that had bled. He swore viciously
and, ignoring her screams of fright, he lifted her in his arms. He had to bring
her someplace safe where she would be warm and watched over while he found
Starrick and ripped this one’s throat after divesting him of his manhood.
He knew the nearest safe place was perhaps not the best to bring a young girl
to, especially not a mentally fragile one. Nevertheless he had no other
options. He could not run long with her in his arms without attracting undue
attention. He could also not risk hailing a Hansom Cab or a growler. He did not
know how she had escaped Starrick and he did not want to risk having her being
taken back to the monster. He knew the law was on this one’s side, that the
crown would force Sophia into marrying her cousin despite what he had done.
Whispering words of comfort, Ethan ran as fast as he could through the twisted
streets of Devil’s Acre until he came to a nondescript house. Instead of going
to the front door, he made his way toward the back and kicked the door hard. He
would pay for a replacement. Right now he only wanted to bring Sophia up to the
bedroom he sometimes used when he was in the city.
“By Joves, Mister Frye! What’s the meaning of…!” He pushed past a man wearing a
garish dress and ran up the stairs and into the room whereupon he gently laid
her on the bed, Sophia automatically curling up into a tight foetal position
facing away from him. He was pouring water into a bowl when someone entered the
small chamber.
“Ethan, Madam Clementine told me that you quite barged your way… Who’s this?”
Ford Bradley, owner of the Westminster’s Molly House and one of his contacts,
asked coming to stand beside the bed. The man took one look at Sophia and
hissed. “Have you killed the bastard that did this?” He shook his head. “I’ll
tend to her and make sure my darling Madam keeps her mouth shut about your
impromptu visit while you go and do whatever it is you do.”
“Her name is Sophia. She’s thirteen or close to being,” Ethan whispered. With
one last look at the girl, he ran out of the house as fast as he had walked in.
He was on the rooftops in less than a minute. Since Sophia could not have ran
all the way from the City of London to Devil’s Acre, he guessed Starrick had
brought her to his mansion in Westminster. That would make his job much simpler
since the house was far less guarded, Starrick an easier target there than
anywhere else. He would not rest until the man was dead, not after what he had
done to Sophia, not only his cousin but a mere child! Just thinking about it
made him growl dangerously. He would protect her even if he had to disobey the
council. She was an assassin and as such deserved the Brotherhood’s protection!
It was with that frame of mind that he arrived at Starrick’s mansion. He
crouched on the edge of the roof he was on and assessed the situation. Ethan’s
instincts actually made him get down to street level and furtively walked
toward the front door. Strangely enough, it was wide open, servants running out
with their arms full of various knickknacks. He did not even stop to ponder and
boldly walked in. Nothing but chaos met his eyes. He focused his sight,
everything becoming muted tones but no matter where he looked, he saw no
telltale signs of red though there was a pale green two storeys up. It seemed
he had found his wayward son in the first place he really should have looked.
He quickly went up the stairs and stopped in the doorway. Jacob was kneeling
beside Olivier’s body. The legendary Bête Noire had found his demise not at the
hands of the Brotherhood, but by his own Grand Master. It was not hard to
deduce the Frenchman had tried to stop Starrick. He had been Sophia’s protector
right to the end. Ethan vowed watch over her in his stead.
Turning his attention to the room, he felt his breath freeze in his lungs.
Almost every furniture had been thrashed, the act behind such destruction born
out of pure rage. Though he did not want to, he nevertheless gazed at the bed,
the blood found on its sheet further proof of what had happened. He quickly
grabbed a blanket off the floor and threw it on it unable to bear the sight any
longer. He finally went to stand beside his son.
“I didn’t do it, honest,” this one said. “He was already dead when I arrived.
Where’s Sophia?” Ethan knew where the girl was. It was Starrick’s location he
was wondering about. With this one still alive and in London, he had to find a
way to keep Sophia safe.
“I know, Jacob. I should kick you straight back to Crawley for leaving the way
you did. Still I’m proud that you were able to find this place on your own,” he
said putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “But we best go from here before the
police come sniffing around. I want you in the next train bound to Crawley.” He
knew his son would argue so he quickly lifted his hand to stop this one.
“Sophia’s safe for now…”
“I want to see Sophia! Where is she?” Why did he have to have such a stubborn
son?
“Like I said, she’s safe. I’ll bring her home with me as soon as she can
travel.”
“Then I’ll wait here with you so we can both bring her back!”
“Jacob! You will go home and that’s final! I’ll bring Sophia home but I won’t
be able to protect her fully if I have to also worry about you. Go home and
prepare a room for her.” Jacob finally relented though grudgingly. It was a
good thing he was an adept at keeping a neutral face otherwise his son would
have sensed the boldfaced lies he had told him but it was the only way to have
him go back home. He had, quite naturally, no intentions of bringing the girl
anywhere near Crawley. It would be one of the first places Starrick would look
for her. No, Ethan more than realized that the only way to keep young Sophia
Wakefield safe from her cousin was for her to die.
***** Adieu an Farewell *****
Chapter Notes
     This is the last chapter in this part of the story. Temperance's
     journey will continue forth with 'Path of the White Owl'.

Temperance slowly opened her eyes, the weak sunlight filtering through the thin
curtain hurting her vision. Her throat felt like she had swallowed small rocks,
her entire body aching. She tried to remember how she had come to be in this
strange small room but her mind was sluggish and refused to cooperate.
“Ah, our lovely guest has awaken,” she heard someone gently say. She turned her
gaze to the tall thin man standing beside the bed. He was a complete stranger
which only confused her more. She parted parched lips but he tsked softly.
“Don’t try to speak. At least not until you’ve drank something.” He came to
help her sit but she shied away from his touch, her heart beating madly in her
chest. Her mind finally shook off its lethargy, her memories swarming her until
she was fairly whimpering. “Oh my dear child, please rest assured that you’re
completely safe here. I’m Ford Bradley, a friend of Ethan Frye.”
Slowly Temperance calmed herself and though she did not want to, she
nevertheless let the man help her sit up in bed so weak her body was. His touch
was gentle and thankfully very brief as if he knew she hated the feel of his
hands on her person. Finally, she took the cup of tea he was offering her.
While she drank, he explained how Ethan had brought her to him to be cared for
and kept safe. She had unfortunately gotten sick due to running barefoot in
such frigid temperatures, and had lain feverish for more than a week. He
stopped talking for a moment and seemed to hesitate before taking a deep
breath.
“I have to ask in case I need to go consult a more specialized sort of doctor…
have you had your first menses?” Temperance had no idea what he was referring
to, Ford raking a delicate hand through his wavy ash blond hair. “Well since it
seems you know nothing of this, we don’t have to worry about a certain…
outcome.” She wanted to ask him what he meant but the troubled look in his
brown eyes kept her from doing just that. The silence stretched until someone
lightly knocked on the door, Ford almost rushing to go open it. From the bed,
she could not see who was standing in the doorway, the hushed conversation
obviously not meant for her ears.
While waiting, Temperance looked around the room, her dress was nowhere to be
found, the nightgown and underthings obviously new. They were of cheaper
quality than she was used to but at least they did not bear his taint, bear
Crawford’s touch. The only thing remaining from that night was Olivier’s sword
which was resting against the wall below the small window. At the sight of it,
she started to silently cry. He was dead. Crawford had killed him, he had
coldly killed him. She must have made a sound for Ford quickly came and, slowly
as to not scare her, sat on the bed beside her, his hand gently stroking her
head.
“Hush, child, hush. You’re safe here. No one knows you’re here, I promise,” he
whispered soothingly. She shook her head. He did not know, could not understand
that Crawford would never rest until he found her. He would destroy everything
in his way, kill anyone in his path. She had already lost Olivier, the guilt
she felt akin a physical blow. She did not want to be the cause of yet more
deaths, especially not because they were merely trying to help her.
“My cousin…,” she started to say but someone entered the room.
“Your cousin will soon believe you’re dead as will everyone else. I’m sorry,
Sophia, but you have to disappear and for that, you’ll have to die,” Ethan Frye
said, a hooded man standing beside him. There was something familiar about him,
something that tugged at her memory. She had met him when she had been young,
on a day in the city with her mother. He lowered his hood and smiling sadly at
her.
“You look just like your mother.”

* * *

Seeing the look of fear mixed with distrust in the young girl’s eyes made
George discreetly close his hand into a tight fist. He had been so focused on
finding Cordelia that he had not even once thought to make sure her daughter
was safe and now it was much too late. The damage Starrick had done to young
Sophia something he could not undo, not even by killing the bastard.
When Ethan had secretly ordered him to London, he had had no idea it had been
to hunt the Grand Master of the Templar Order. London was, after all, a
fortress of the Order, had been for a hundred years. He had been reluctant in
defying the council, had actually been surprised his longtime friend had
planned on doing so. Ethan Frye had always stood by the council’s edicts no
matter his personal opinions. George had told him as much. In a chocked voice,
his friend had explained the reason why he was hunting the man. Crawford
Starrick was not only Sophia’s cousin but her betrothed as well, and though the
thought of a young child being given to a man more than twice her age had been
sickening, it had not been what had made Ethan go against the council’s decree.
No, the man had actually raped her, he had brutally stolen the innocence of his
young twelve years old cousin.
George had never wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill Starrick.
Even his hatred of Jasper Wakefield could not come close to what he was now
feeling. Nevertheless, despite having enlisted the help of Ethan’s former pupil
from India, Jayadeep Mir, and this one’s underground contacts throughout
London, they had been unsuccessful in finding Starrick, the man still remaining
elusive despite their intensive hunt. The longer he was alive, the more in
danger Sophia was.
“I do not truly remember what she looked like,” he heard Sophia say bringing
him back to the present time. Her voice was so forlorn he wanted hold her in
his arm and comfort her while knowing she would more than probably shy from the
touch like a once tamed animal would after being abused by humans. Instead, he
crouched beside the bed and slightly cocked his head to the side trying his
best to show nothing but gentleness.
“If you look in a mirror and imagine your hair being more brown than burgundy
and your eyes the colour of the richest chocolate, you would see your mother at
your age,” he explained. Slowly she made a tentative to smile at him but her
eyelids started to droop. She was fast asleep in less than a few minutes, Ford
having waited for her to sleep before gently tucking her in bed so has not have
her endure his touch.
“I’m sorry,” his one whispered. “I didn’t know you’d come today. I put a small
amount of laudanum in her tea since she needs to recuperate her strength and,
well, she has terrible nightmares.” The man hesitated for a moment, his usually
cheerful disposition shadowed by anguish. “As for what we had previously
wondered, I’m fairly sure it won’t come to pass. The poor child obviously
hasn’t been given any information about such things. I’m not even sure… I mean…
I’m not sure she understands what was done to her.” In other words, Sophia
would not become pregnant and had no idea about general sexuality and
everything it entailed. Once more George wanted to kill Starrick, the need so
fierce his entire body shook. “But I’m glad you’re here. I just received news
from one of my frequent guests that Starrick is combing the city looking for
her. He’s even got the police working for him by claiming Sophia was kidnapped.
It won’t take him long to find her despite London being so vast, not with all
the resources he has.”
He heard Ethan swore under his breath. They had waited on moving Sophia only
because her fragile health had been a concern but the growing threat could no
longer be ignored. She could not stay in London and yet moving her now would be
risky. Not only would they need to do so while hiding from the numerous
Templars, but also from the street gangs they controlled, and now the police
force. They were well and truly stuck between a bad situation and an impossible
one. No matter what, there was no way George would ever let Starrick get his
hands on her.
“How soon do you think she can leave?” his friend asked gazing at the sleeping
girl in concern.
“You’re still intent on sending her to India?” Ford asked before sighing while
raking his hand through his wavy hair. “That’s hard to say, really. You realize
that the voyage to India is a long and arduous one, Ethan. With her sickness of
the lung… I don’t know if she’ll have the strength for such a venture without
putting her life in danger.”
All three of them were silent for a moment though George knew their options had
quite flew out of the window. She had to disappear and fast. His hand went into
one of his inner pockets, his fingers lightly touching the medallion he had
kept all these years. He had scoured most of the country’s hospitals and
asylums but his search had been so far fruitless. Perhaps he was not meant to
find his beautiful Cordelia. Perhaps he was truly meant to watch over her
daughter instead.
“We move her as soon as we can. Disguise her because she’s too easily
recognizable. As for the trip to India, I’ll go with her,” he said, Ethan
frowning at him.
“It’s one thing to hunt Starrick in secret, quite another to leave without
alerting the council.”
“The council can go to hell, Ethan!” he hissed angrily. “I should have
protected her instead of going around like some sort of idiot on a quest to
find a woman who is probably long dead!” His hand very lightly pushed a strand
of hair away from her delicate face. “I’ll go to India and stay with her until
you deal with Starrick. She’s an assassin and we protect our own!”

* * *

Ethan had to admit Madam Clementine had done a good job as he walked around
Sophia. He was finding no fault with her disguise. She looked like a young
street urchin right down to the dirt rubbed on her face, the slightly too big
cap pulled low on her head to hide her tightly braided hair, her clothes
convincingly threadbare and dirtied. It was a good thing she had not yet
started to come into her womanhood so she could pass off as a boy though that
only made what had happened to her even more sickening.
He had hoped to have more time to plan her escape and, more importantly,
choreograph her death but he had received a telegram from his wife’s mother
telling him that Jacob had once more vanished. The stubborn boy was most
probably on his way to London. He really should have had someone strung him up
on a tree and left him there like a Christmas decoration until the girl was
safely away in India. Obviously his son had gotten tired of waiting for him to
bring Sophia to Crawley and had decided to do something about it.
“Well, it’s now or…,” he started to say but was drowned out by Madam
Clementine’s wails. The man could rival a banshee!
“Why, darling? Why are you letting them take my baby away? Why can’t we keep
her here with us?” Ford gave him a slightly pained look while gently rubbing
his lover’s back. Sophia went to Madam Clementine and, after a slight
hesitation, put a trembling on this one’s arm.
“I’ll find a way for us to communicate, I promise,” she whispered in a small
voice.
“Oh I know you will, baby, you’re such a smart young girl. I’ll miss you
terribly.”
“Do be careful, child, and when it’s safe, please come back to us… at least for
a visit,” Ford added.
Ethan felt like he was invading what seemed to be a private moment so he walked
out of the room and waited in the hallway. The strange couple had obviously
grown attached to Sophia in the fortnight she had been with them. The girl
joined him after a few minutes, Ford beside her. By the loud sobs coming from
the room, Madam Clementine had opted to stay behind. It was actually a relief.
The last thing he wanted was to draw attention.
“Ready?” he asked Sophia. She slowly nodded, her eyes red, the innocence that
had once been shining in them forever extinguished. Nevertheless she lifted her
chin and whispered something in French, her hands holding tightly to a rolled
up blanket, the French Templar’s sword hidden in it. In silence they walked out
into the cold morning, a two-horse dingy waggon loaded with some useless
knickknacks waiting for them, George sitting casually in the back wearing
similar clothes as Sophia’s.
Since she was still weak from her sickness of the lung, they had opted for a
waggon instead of trying to have her move across rooftops as they usually did.
It was somewhat more conspicuous than he would have liked but they had no true
other options. He could only hope they looked like the poor peddlers they were
trying to pass off as and not two assassins trying to smuggle a young heiress
out of England. If he was honest with himself, Ethan had to admit he would have
loved to go to India with her and train her in the way of the assassins. He was
curious as to how extensive her training under Olivier Montagne had been and
how he could combine it with his own teachings. However George was the one who
would be mentoring her. He knew his friend would be a patient and competent
teacher.
He jumped on the driver’s seat while Sophia got up in the back to sit beside
George, this one correcting her posture until she slouched just like a young
boy bored out of his mind would do. Ethan took a moment to quickly scan his
surroundings before snapping the reins over the back of the horses, the waggon
slowly moving into the traffic. So far, so good but they still had a long way
to go before getting from Devil’s Acre to the docks in Southwark.

* * *

“Don’t look so nervous, just act casual. Ethan is a Master Assassin so you’re
well protected if it comes to that. We’ll keep you safe Sophia, I promise,”
George told the girl. Though she was imitating his pose, her eyes were open
wide, the fear emanating from her easily felt, her breaths coming out in gasps.
He put his hand in his inner pocket once more and took out the medallion. He
offered it to her and had to kept himself from swearing when she briefly shied
away. “This is rightfully yours,” he said gently. Slowly, Sophia took the
necklace, her eyes looking at it, tears silently trickling down her cheeks
while her fingers lightly traces the complex and yet primitive Rose of the
Winds.
“It was my mother’s. I remember that she always wore it,” she said. He nodded
with a sad smile. He would have offered to put it around her neck but knew
better than to try and touch her. He could only watch as she fumbled with the
old clasp before finally closing it, the medallion resting over her chest. She
gazed at it one last time before slipping it under her dirty cotton shirt. They
still had quite a way to go to reach their destination so he decided to start
getting to know her. After all Sophia was now his initiate.
“First thing I want to know is do you have the sight? It’s a rare occurrence
though. There are more of us without it than those who do.” He saw her hesitate
for a moment, her teeth worrying her lower lip slightly.
“I have started to see strange things recently. It usually comes with a pain
right here,” she explained pointing between her eyes. There was no doubt about
it, she actually came from an assassin bloodline and since Wakefield had been a
Templar that meant it had come from her mother’s lineage. He wondered if
Cordelia had had it as well. There were so many things he did not know about
the woman who had captured his heart, so many questions he would have loved to
ask her. “I thought I was starting to have a sickness of the head.” Ethan
chuckled with a shake of his head.
“Don’t worry, you’re not. Your sight has just started to develop. It’s
different for everyone who has it. With Jacob it developed when he was quite
young while Evie didn’t start having hers before she was eleven years old,”
this one explained not turning his gaze away from the road. “Though it’s rare
to hear of it starting to flash accompanied by pain it’s not unheard of. What
you’ve got to do is concentrate and focus. Feeling a pressure between the eyes
is normal.” George never got tired of listening to his friend explain things
and hoped he would be just as good a mentor to his initiate as the great Ethan
Frye. “Naturally, there are many types of sight but the basic common
denominators is that Templars and their cohorts give off a red aura while
assassins and our allies are usually green.”
Sophia nodded slowly. He wished he could help her with that part of her
training but, not having the sight, he could only encourage and support her in
developing her special ability. He saw her eyes become somewhat unfocused, her
brows knitted in concentration. A soft hiss escaped her lips and then, as if
someone had flicked a switch, her gaze became the queer combination of extreme
focus and faraway look. She turned her head from one side to the next before
bringing a trembling hand to her forehead.
“With time it’ll come to feel normal so the best thing to do is just practice
whenever you can,” he told her his hand hovering over her shoulder for a
heartbeat before very briefly clasping it. She jolted under his touch like a
frightened animal. Whispering a soft apology, Sophia turned her gaze to her
tightly clasped hands though not before he saw the terror in them. It would
take time but with patience, and much empathy, they would work through her
fear. He would not give up on her even if it took years.
“Shit! Hang on!” George suddenly heard Ethan swear, this one spurring the
horses, two carriages racing to catch up to them. Their plan had backfired on
them since the waggon could never outrun growlers, their horses not made for
speed but to pull heavy loads. He grabbed Sophia and pushed her behind him so
she was protected by the driver’s seat. He crouched and took out his throwing
knives. As soon as one of the pursuing carriages came into targeting distance,
he threw one knife. The driver fell down on the road, the wheels passing over
his body making the horses veer away in fright. Unfortunately, the second
carriage was fast coming, another one quickly turning a corner to pursue them
in turn.
“Get us out of here, Ethan!” he yelled.
“I’m doing the best I can, George!” the man barked in answer while Sophia sat
on the floor of the waggon her knees held tightly against her chest.
They had underestimated Starrick and how fast this one had garnered his
resources. He pushed aside a crate and picked up the loaded rifle he had stowed
there. Bracing a foot on the side of the cart, he took a second to aim and
felled one of the horses from the second carriage. It overturned blocking a
portion of the street. He swung the rifle toward the third one but something
slammed him hard in the shoulder. He would have fallen off the side of the
waggon had Sophia not quickly grabbed his shirt to pull him down.
By the fiery pain coursing down his arm George knew he had been shot and,
laying as he was, he made the perfect unobstructed target to the marksman on
the rooftop. Nevertheless no bullets claimed his life for Sophia had quite
literally covered his body with her small one. She was utterly terrified, small
panicked whimpers ripping through her throat and yet she still had been able to
assess the situation well enough to deduce that their attackers had very strict
orders not to harm her.
“If you could just pull my rifle toward me, I’ll be able to kill that bastard,”
he said. She did not even hesitate, the rifle quickly in his hand. “Now!” he
shouted. She rolled to the side as he lifted the weapon, aimed and pulled the
trigger, the man falling from the roof to end up crumpled on the street. By
then they were near the docks though the third carriage was still a problem.
“We’ll have to make a stand. I’ll rein in the horses. As soon as you can, you
jump and you run! Lose yourself in the crowd around the docks and find a place
to hide. If you can, use the sight. Safe places will have a stronger shine than
the surrounding objects. We’ll come and find you as soon as we’ve dealt with
those Templars!” Ethan said. George could only hope Sophia had the strength to
run but there were now more carriages racing toward them. They simply could not
outrun them and they dared not fight while trying to protect her at the same
time.
“Sophia,” he said the seriousness of his voice making her concentrate on him
and not the coming threat. “No matter what, hide. Whatever you hear, whatever
you see, you hide. If we can’t find you for whatever reasons, try to make your
way to the Thames Tunnel and search for the one called the Ghost.” The girl’s
eyes were round in terror but she nodded. The cart drastically slowed down.
“NOW!” he yelled, Sophia hesitating for a heartbeat before grabbing the rolled
blanket containing her sword. She lithely jumped down to the ground and was
running off toward the crow before the cart had even come to a full stop.
George sent a quick prayer to the Heavens to keep her safe.
“You’re alright to fight?” Ethan asked coming to stand beside him. With one
last look toward where his initiate had run off, he snorted with a crooked
smile.
“I’m always more than willing and able to kill Templars!”

* * *

Temperance ran though she knew she was rapidly burning through what little
strength she had, her lungs already having that unbearable scratchy feelings
which had plagued her ever since her sickness of the lungs. She tried her best
to use the crowd to hide like Ethan had told her to but the long rolled blanket
she was tightly hugging against her chest made her an easy target to spot. She
blindly ran, her rapid panicked breaths drowning every other sounds in her
ears. She could have sworn she heard someone shout her name but she did not
stop to look, much too afraid it was one of Crawford’s accomplices. Her
instincts were screaming at her to flee and she was intent on doing just that.
She did try to use her sight but simply could not concentrate weaving in and
out of the crowd as she was.
Less people were to be found the farther she was going and, feeling her legs
quiver in tiredness, Temperance stopped running. Except for a few people here
and there she was completely out in the open. She walked aimlessly while
constantly looking behind her to try and see if she was being pursued. She was
not paying attention to where her feet were going. Someone suddenly barked a
warning, a large hand grabbing her by the arm and pulling her against an
equally large chest. Terror exploded in her heart and, screaming in fright, she
tried to hit the man holding her, Olivier’s sword clattering on the ground, the
blanket it had been wrapped in fluttering away.
“Whoa! Calm down kid. I just didn’t want you to fall off the dock. I said calm
down, damn it!” a rough voice growled but Temperance was locked in her mind,
her panicked state overwhelming everything else. Her other arm was gripped, the
hold tight and painful. She felt herself being shaken slightly. She struggled
even more fiercely, the collar of her threadbare shirt ripping, her medallion
winking in the pale sunlight. “What the hell…?! Vahid! Take the kid’s sword and
bring it to my cabin. The rest of you stay on deck and come get me if anyone
seems to be searching for the kid especially if they wear the Cross!”
Temperance was thrown over a powerful shoulder, her screams cut off from the
lack of oxygen due to it painfully pushing against her rib cage. She did not
know what the man planned to do with her, at least not before he quite
literally flung her on a bed. Memories flooded her mind making her crawl away
from the edge of the bed until she could move no more, her back against the
wall. Her eyes gazed frightfully at the man, her teeth biting down hard on her
lower lip to stop herself from whimpering in fear.
His hands on his hips, his legs braced apart, the man was staring down at her
with cold hazel eyes, a long puckered scar running down the right side of his
face, his lips thin, his black hair streaked with grey long and tied loosely in
a low queue. He was as broad as he was tall and exhuming an aura of command.
“I’m not going to harm you, kid, so relax.” Temperance flinched at the
gruffness of his voice, a soft whimper breaking through despite doing her best
not to utter a sound. The man swore softly, his eyes peering at her with more
intensity. “You’re no lad aren’t you?” he said but a high whistle made him look
toward the door. “Seems my men spotted someone. Listen, you’re on my ship and
as long as you remain on it, you’re safe. Now I’m going to go deal with whoever
is searching for you and when that’s done, we’ll talk ‘cause that medallion
you’re wearing means you’re a long way from home. Now stay in my cabin.
Vahid’ll stand outside to make sure no one gets to you.”
With that said, the man walked out the door and left her alone. Slowly, she
inched out of the bed and stood up only to almost fall. The floor kept moving
under her. Trying her best to stay upright, Temperance made her way to the long
table where Olivier’s sword was. She started to breathe better as soon as it
was in her hands. The weapon was the only thing she had left of her old tutor,
a memento of her life before Crawford had ripped it apart. Looking around
herself she wondered if she could escape but since there was someone watching
the door, the likelihood of being able to was almost nil. If they had been in a
house she could have simply gone out of a window but she was on a ship and
learning to swim had not been a part of her training.
Temperance continued to try and find a solution when the door to the cabin
opened, the tall man walking back in. She quickly went to the farthest corner
and stood there, the sword held so tightly against her chest that her knuckles
were white. Nevertheless, he simply went to sit at the table, one booted foot
resting against it so he could incline the chair back, his brown-green eyes
gazing unflinchingly at her, assessing her.
“Like I said, I’m not going to hurt you, lass. I just want to have a chat with
you before I decide what to do. I’ll stay right here and not move. If I do, I
give you the right to impale me with that sabre of yours.” She slightly relaxed
though stayed on her guard, not moving an inch from where she was standing.
“Have it your way. I’m Captain Casey Haggard and this here’s The Soaring Lark,
my ship.” He waited with a cocked eyebrow obviously waiting for her to speak.
“Come now, despite your dirty face, you’re obviously from good stock since your
complexion is flawless so you know it’s only polite to give your name when
someone’s already done so.” She hesitated. She did not want anything that
connected her to her previous life.
“Temperance… just Temperance,” she finally whispered. Granted, it was what
Crawford always called her but other than him and her mother, no one knew her
by that name. Captain Haggard slowly smiled while bowing his head.
“That’s a lovely name, lass. Now care to tell me how you came to be in
possession of that medallion?” One of her hands left the sword to grab her
mother’s necklace. She did not know much about it other than it was old, very
old.
“It was my mother’s.” Once more, the man bowed his head though this time he
frowned slightly.
“Do you know what it represents?” She shook her head. “Have you ever heard of
the assassins? Ah, by your reaction I’ve hit it on the head it seems! That
medallion, lass, was once worn by the Brotherhood of the Caribbean Assassins.
Is there something engraved on the back?” Temperance turned the medallion and
read the inscription out loud making the man whistle in awe. “Mary Reid… well
I’ll fucking be damned! Bernard will flip when I tell him that!” His chair
banged back on the floor making her grab her hilt of the sword but he had
simply sat straight, his elbows on the table, his fingers linked, his chin
resting on them while his eyes looked at her pensively. “The man we caught
snooping around the docks is a Templar and though trying to get information out
of them is like trying to pull out a shark’s tooth while its chewing your arm,
I was still able to have him confess he’s searching for a kidnapped girl. You
don’t look kidnapped to me, more like running away.”
Temperance did not know what to say other than slowly nod her head. She did not
want to actually have to explain the reason why she needed to disappear but it
did not seem as if Captain Haggard was much interested in knowing, the man
closing his eyes as if he was debating with himself. He suddenly snorted and
slapped a hand on the table.
“Alright! You running away from Templars is good enough for me. We’re not due
to the Caribbean this time around, quite the contrary. Anyway I wouldn’t know
how to get in contact with the assassins over there. No, we’re bound for
America and have some cargo to bring Bernard. I’ve never been much of a
superstitious bloke but this can’t be a fucking coincidence. Vahid!” A bald-
headed dark bronzed man entered the cabin. “Tell the men to get ready to lift
anchor. We’re setting sail for Davenport earlier than planned.” He quickly got
up on his feet and walked to where she was. She shied away but he only took the
cap off her head. “Throw this in the water and have the men’s wenches start
rumours that a young kid had an unfortunate accident.”
Temperance’s legs collapsed under her, her chest hurting from the deep coughs
that wracked her body, Captain Haggard crouching in front of her with a look of
concern. She gave him a shaking smile. She did not have to run anymore. She was
being taken to a place Crawford would never find her.

* * *

“Damn it, Ethan! I’m fine! Go back and search for Sophia!” George cursed at his
friend but this one ignored him as he almost carried him away from where they
had been fighting, his entire side coated in blood, his arm hanging uselessly
by his side. The bullet was still lodged in his shoulder and hurt like all
hells. “Don’t compromise the objective, remember?”
“I know that but we can’t stay. There’s too many of them,” Ethan growled trying
to lose their pursuers through the twisting alleyways. “If I leave you to die
and go back to the docks to try and find Sophia, I’ll only be bringing them
straight to her. She’s a smart girl, she’ll find a way to stay safe.” George
desperately wanted to believe him. The girl was smart, there was no doubt about
it, but she was also just recovering from a bout of sickness. Nevertheless,
Ethan was right. So far the Templars were concentrating on them and not on
searching the docks so if they could lose them, they would be able to circle
back to the docks.
Despite his best efforts, his legs suddenly buckled under him, Ethan’s getting
unbalanced forcing him to stop. He was too weak to help this one fight off the
few thugs that had caught up to them. But, quite suddenly, one of them had a
knife in its throat, Jacob coming to stand beside his father, his young face
set in determination.
“I should be pissed that you’ve disregarded my orders yet again but I’m glad
you came,” Ethan growled. “Now let’s take care of them and then find Sophia.”
“Dad, once that’s done, I’m going to beat the shit out of you for so lying to
me about bringing her home!”
The father and son easily dispatched the remaining Templars, Jacob’s fighting
style more brawling than anything else but he had to admit it was effective.
Only when they were finished did they went back to the docks. The boy ran ahead
to find ‘his Sophia’, disregarding Ethan’s shouts to wait. When they caught up
to him, two Templars were groaning at his feet. The boy utterly failed at
stealth but he was a good fighter despite his young age.
They stopped and sensed their surroundings for a moment but found not other
threats. George breathed a sigh of relief while resting his weak body against a
wall. If the Templars had been searching that meant they had not found Sophia.
Unfortunately for them, she was nowhere to be seen no matter how much they
searched, Jacob frantically calling her name. It was not until he heard Ethan
curse hoarsely that he looked toward the water, a very recognizable cap
floating on it.
“What happened?” he growled at the first person he was able to grasp, the young
sailor shaking in fear.
“A kid fell in the water and drowned, sir!” His breath exploded out of his
lungs, the young man making a run for it. Sophia was dead, she had drown and it
was all his fault! He had failed to protect her, had once more failed Cordelia.
Something broke inside of him and though he wanted to rage at the unfairness of
it, all George could do was watch his friend hold his screaming son in his
arms, Jacob’s grief stricken face forever branded in his mind.

* * *

Sitting at his desk, Crawford lightly traced the strand of hair tucked in the
lid of his pocket watch. He had to find his Temperance, needed to have her back
in his arms. He knew he had frightened her with how rough he had been. He could
only blame the alcohol for his transgression and his forced celibacy for his
roughness.
Still, what was done was done. If he could only explain it to her and show her
how gentle he could be with his loving, everything would return to normal. They
would be married by her birthday despite her young age. After all, though not
common among their social circle, it was legal for a girl as young as twelve to
be wed. They would nevertheless have to wait until she was older to have
children. He would not risk her life by having her give birth so young. He
closed his pocket watch and raked a hand through his hair. He had not been
careful with his seeds that night so there was a possibility she was already
with child. He had to find her! If he had to turn the whole of England and all
of its colonies upside down he would! There was suddenly a tentative knock at
his office door.
“Come in.” He gazed as one of his subordinates approached him, this one
unwilling to meet his eyes. “What news are you bringing?”
“Milord… we had found her but there were unexpected circumstances.”
“You had found her?” he asked softly, the man visibly unwilling to say anything
more. “SPEAK!”
“Assassins, milord! They had her but then she escaped to the docks in
Southwark.” So the assassins had thought to take his Temperance away but smart
that she was, she had escaped them. Crawford wished he had been there to take
her in his arm so scared she must have been to be kidnapped by those violent
thugs. “We searched the docks but… that is to say… there were witnesses… there
was an accident… she drowned…”
His pistol was in his hand before the man could blink, a bullet piercing this
one’s head cleanly. His Temperance was dead! He started to scream while
punching the top of his desk until his knuckles were bloodied. His beloved was
dead, nevermore to smile at him. His screams became sobs, his heart dying.
Crawford sat at his desk crying the loss of the love of his life.
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