The Sins of the Father

Chapter 16

The excessive drinking and the raucous yells filling the tavern force Adira to lean forward and whisper her request into the bar-keep's ear as he screws a stained towel into the bottom of a tankard to dry it.

'Oh aye, not a problem. We've a quiet table round the back out of this lot's way if you'd like?'

'If it's not too much trouble. I have had quite enough excitement for one day,' Adira reflects before she slips her fingers into the leather pouch strapped to her breeches and places several coins into the thin gentleman's work-worn palm.

Accepting it gratefully, the gaunt gentleman throws his stained rag over his shoulder and collects a clean tumbler from beneath the bar. Uncorking a fresh bottle of whiskey, he sloshes the amber liquid into the glass and sets the bottle down in front of Adira before disappearing to organise food.

Nursing the liquid in the glass pensively, Adira draws in her bottom lip and smiles to herself. Knocking back the searing nectar, she releases a satisfied hiss through her teeth. She rolls her shoulders with the intent of returning to Haytham and William to inform them of the arrangements for dinner but she finds her gaze snagging on the sour countenance of a rather disgruntled Charles, who stands against one of the beams near the tavern door. He snaps his head back curtly, indicating for the brawler to join him.

Of course - Charles still wanted to talk to Adira about their disagreement. Sighing heavily, she wraps her hand around the neck of the bottle and hooks her finger into her tumbler before brushing past the throng of men and women blocking her path. With an intimate understanding of half the patrons' bodies and preferred liquors now firmly clouding her thoughts, Adira finally emerges into the distinctly unwelcoming and cramped company of Charles.

'Eh up! It's the Hurri-Kane! Doc and figh'er extraordinaire!' Thomas cheers, waving a tankard of ale around and sloshing its contents onto the wooden floorboards. Slumping into a chair, he throws his feet onto the nearest table and begins to glug the contents of his tankard without breaking for a single breath.

A thoroughly unamused Charles shoots Thomas a scolding look and swipes his muddied boots from the table.

The jovial man's worn tricorn slips a little from the top of his head as he slams his empty tankard down and chuckles. 'You know 'aytham knows his stuff, Charlie - she must be somethin' truly special if he's training 'er.'

Charles scoffs and folds his arms. 'Special? This - this siren is nothing more than another one of his fleeting fancies,' he spits and grips the back of a chair in a twisting motion.

'Do I detect animosity, Charles?' Adira quizzes sarcastically, feigning mild offence as she rests her tumbler on the table. A small, wry smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. His words deflect off of her, causing him to bristle bitterly and attack with renewed ire and venom.

'You're no different than the Mohawk woman he went gallivanting off into the woods with,' Charles announces, glaring intensely at the young woman. A sadistic smirk curls his lips. He straightens and circles around Adira slowly like a skulking vulture, eyeing her up and smirking before he leans in.

His hot, rancid breath pours over the curve of her ear as he whispers his next words to her.

'Oh yes. Kenway was infatuated with that savage. I assume he hasn't told you about her - about their passionate tryst...' he trails off purposefully, awaiting for Adira's explosive and revealing response.

Adira steels her thoughts against Charles' antagonising onslaught and his disgusting attitude towards the indigenous people. Releasing a steady breath, she rolls her shoulders and inclines her face towards him.

Her even gaze reveals nothing.

'If you wish to wound me with words, you should reconsider the ammunition you are using, Charles,' Adira states, sounding persuasively undeterred as she pours herself another drink and rests the bottle on the table.

'Let me offer you a free lesson in their effective use…' she announces as she turns her attention back to Thomas, who huffs amusedly at the way Charles' snide comments seemed to slide from the young woman like water off a duck's back.

Reaching for her glass, Adira nurses the liquid thoughtfully with a few deft rotations of her wrist.

'You can teach me nothing,' Charles remarks with unmitigated snark and contempt as he steps away from her and leans heavily against the beam again.

'I can teach you about the unfavourable effects of jealousy,' Adira assesses evenly.

Charles scoffs again and his eyes bulge. 'I am not jealous.'

'I apologise. I miss-spoke…' Adira offers, raising her tumbler to her lips again before briefly glancing at the bristling form of Charles whose eyebrow arches quizzically at her apology.

Inclining the glass a little, she tilts her head and shoots him a mocking smile. 'Covetous of the Grand Master as though he were a possession is a far more accurate assessment,' she states dryly before knocking the glass back and draining it of its contents.

Thomas slaps his thigh and guffaws loudly. 'She got you good, Charlie.'

Charles fumes. He clenches his fists at his sides as he throws his weight from the beam and shoots Thomas a scolding glare. Pulling himself to his full height, he hisses his next words through clenched teeth.

'I want a word. Outside.'

'If you insist,' Adira retorts calmly, satisfied that she had wounded Charles' over-inflated ego enough for one night.

'I can see why the big man likes you, Kane,' Thomas says quietly as he raises another bottle and nods approvingly having recovered from his fit of raucous laughter at Charles' expense. 'Your tongue's about as deadly as those fists o' yours,' he chuckles before he drains the remnants of his drink and stuffs his face with another large helping of salted pork.

'That's kind of you to say, Thomas,' Adira smiles, before turning her attention to Charles who throws open the tavern door and storms out, expecting her to follow him like a mongrel pup. Sighing, she eventually meanders through the collection of soldiers and locals, following the decidedly disgruntled man out into the damp night air of the frontier.

Charles rips his heavy coat from his body in a fit of frustration and throws it to the ground. Pushing his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, he readies his fighting stance and shoots Adira a hateful glare. 'It's time I put you in your place,' he snarls, his eyes glinting menacingly.

Sighing heavily at his theatrics and folding her arms across her chest in defiance of his intentions, Adira dips her head and scuffs her boot against a tuft of sodden grass. Closing her eyes for a moment and sensing her skin prickle against the haze of rain, she settles her thoughts and offers him a firm and steady reply.

'I will not fight you, Charles.'

'Then this will be over quickly,' he retorts with a satisfied smirk as he barrels forward and prepares to launch his fist hard into her ribs.

Making use of his heavy gait and his wild rage, Adira slips her arms from her chest and parries his blow, forcing his weight from her and sending him sprawling into the ground using his own momentum.

'With poor form like that, it certainly will be,' she breathes, aware her instinct to retaliate was flaring wildly. Adira refused to engage in a cathartic brawl to satisfy Charles' bruised ego.

No - she would throw no punches. But she would defend herself from a beating.

Charles staggers back up from his prone position. The creases folding his face are filled with furious determination as he pushes his muddied sleeves up to the elbow and wipes his mouth.

'I sincerely hope, for your sake, that you have thought this through,' Adira breathes steadily, strengthening her stance. A recent memory causes her lips to curl into a smile as she raises her guard and moves her forearms apart to improve her field of vision. The low and warm sound of Haytham's voice fills her head as she recalls their sparring session:

When defending, you must see past the punches and focus on your opponent.

Do not allow yourself to become distracted, Miss Kane.

A frustrated yell heralds the imminent arrival of Charles' flurry of jabs to her abdomen. Closing her forearms tightly and hunching to lock the muscles in her sides, she takes each punch with a sharp intake of breath - his knuckles colliding and glancing off her already bruised ribs.

Sensing a break in his barrage, Adira knocks Charles off balance with a forceful shoulder barge which thrusts him back enough for her to take a few shallow breaths.

With the vein in his forehead threatening to burst, Charles propels himself forward again and drives his fist down to deliver a haymaker hard into Adira's jaw.

Dropping down, Adira swings her leg out in a powerful sweep. With a surprised yell, Charles slams into the wet earth with a heavy thud. Groaning and gasping for breath, he finally rolls onto his side and stares furiously at the young woman now standing over him.

'If that's everything, I think I'll return to the Grand Master and Mister Johnson now.'

Adira turns her back on the seething Templar and paces back to the tavern, grateful to escape the drizzle saturating her garments and chilling her flesh and bones.

The warmth radiating from the mingle of bodies and alcohol causes Adira's skin to prickle as she steps over the threshold once more. Her attention is drawn to Thomas, who is now standing on a table and appears to be singing a tuneless version of William Taylor to a completely enthralled group of drunkards who cheer and attempt to join in.

Shaking her head with a breathy chuckle, Adira pulls the length of black ribbon holding her hair roughly in place and releases the tension held in her temples. It would be good to finally sit and enj-

'Parry this, bitch.'

A heavy hand grips Adira's shoulder and wrenches her around forcibly.

Charles' malicious grin glints before his heavy-handed blow hits her squarely in the face.

The force of the impact causes Adira's blood to spray in an arc as her head is sent whirling, leaving her immediate surroundings a blur of movement and cacophonous noise. Feeling her boots slip, she reaches to stabilise herself. Her palms slam into the top of a table as she leans heavily into it and attempts to shake her vision clear.

Her temples throb painfully as she screws her furiously watering eyes shut and shakes her head again. Warm, thick blood trickles from her nose, eventually dripping onto the tabletop amidst the continued buzz of the oblivious crowds gathered in the tavern - the hour is late and the alcohol is running thick and fast through everyone's veins. Wiping the worst of the blood away with the back of her hand, she curses and abandons self-restraint for absolute, apoplectic rage as Charles' cruel, triumphant laugh fills her head.

His sadistic laugh is suddenly stifled as Adira turns and slams her fist into his throat, sending him careering back into a wooden beam with a heavy thud.

Coughing and clutching his neck, Charles attempts to cry out but only saliva sprays from his spluttering lips as his cheeks inflate and redden.

Adira forces a harsh puff of air through her cheeks as she slams her open hand into his throat again and pins him against the beam. Despite his squirming, she begins to squeeze his jugular vein shut. Charles' grubby hands scrabble for purchase - his dirty fingernails embed deeply into her skin. Snarling, the brawler tightens her grip enough to make Charles' eyes bulge.

'I told you Miss Kane was not-to-be-trifled-with, Charles… I suggest you apologise before she brings about your rather permanent end.'

The familiar warmth of Haytham's low baritone and his disconcertingly steady but sarcastic delivery thinly veil his anger at Charles and his pride in Adira for proving his point about her entirely. Haytham stands just behind Adira's shoulder to demonstrate his solidarity with her. Deviating her focus for a brief moment, her intense gaze catches a glimpse of him in her periphery - he is still only dressed in his breeches, boots and bloodied shirt.

Haytham's steel gaze rapidly rakes over Adira as she holds Charles firmly against the beam - only ever diverting her intense gaze from her prey once to acknowledge the Grand Master's presence. Her blood smattered shirt hugs her form, nipping in at the waist as it disappears into her breeches. The blood-stained cuffs of her shirt have been rolled back a little ways up her forearm, causing the fabric to tighten around her bicep as she flexes her fingers around Charles' throat.

Her thick locks of hair cascade down her back and over her shoulders, drawing Haytham's gaze to the ridges in her spine and the softly twitching muscles in her shoulders.

In this moment, the young brawler before Haytham was more than just beautiful - the fire which burned wildly behind her earthen gaze made her utterly captivating.

And Haytham had been well and truly caught.

A steady breath only marginally calms his wild pulse at the thought.

Charles' frantic eyes dart to Adira who peels her lips back from her teeth in a snarl. Her bloodied nose wrinkles in contempt. Feeling her warm blood continue to trickle down from her nose, she wipes her mouth and the underside of her nose with the back of her hand again, only adding to the dark smear of blood now running up her wrist.

A pathetic whimper emanates from Charles. Adira slowly releases her iron grip on the man's quickly bruising throat. Apologies, pleas for forgiveness and a desperate beseechment for clemency explode from the pinned man's quivering lips.

Haytham's gaze falls onto Adira as she slips her blood-smeared hand into the pocket of her breeches and pulls out her mother's handkerchief. Shaking it out before pressing it to her nose to stem the flow of blood, she finally looks at the defeated form of Charles still pinned to the beam by her right hand.

Adira considers how easy it would be to starve his brain of oxygen with just a few more pounds of pressure on his jugular vein. The sudden warmth of Haytham's palm pressing just beneath her shoulder blade banishes the thought from her mind. With one swift movement, she releases the man's throat and watches him slide down the beam.

Coughing and wheezing, Charles splutters violently into the floorboards.

Haytham steps forward, trailing his fingers along the width of Adira's back as he pulls his hand away from her and shields her from any further harm Charles intended to inflict.

'You saved my life once, Charles. Consider my debt to you repaid. I shall not protect you from the consequences of your foolish actions again.'

Charles' eyes widen as they lock with Haytham's. The younger Templar straightens, still wheezing and catching his developing coughs before they irritate his bruised throat.

Adira's eyes drift up for a moment, intrigued by the exchange. Even injured and exhausted, Haytham's authority is ever present and powerfully apparent - as is the anger held in the clench of his strong jaw and his thin, pale lips.

Charles simply nods frantically, risking a fleeting glance beyond Haytham's bandaged arm at the young woman who had pinned him so effortlessly and was a moment away from choking the life out of him completely. Haytham dips his head a little and pushes forward in warning, obscuring Adira from Charles' hateful glare entirely.

This simple movement holds an unspoken threat which causes Charles to shrivel and vacate the tavern rapidly - his metaphorical tail firmly between his legs.

Straightening a little, Haytham rolls his shoulders and cradles his injured arm which twinges and throbs as he begins to turn. The ache in his arm is numbed and replaced by the sickening clench of his heart as he finally sees the full extent of Adira's injury: her blood trickles down her forearms from her bloody nose just visible beneath the sanguine folds of her handkerchief and her earthen eyes are glossy with moisture - the sheer force of Charles' blow causing her eyes to weep protectively.

'Charles has quite the haymaker,' she says in an attempt to ease the tension tightening Haytham's shoulders and the deep lines wrinkling his brow. Her voice is a little muffled as she continues to pinch just beneath the bridge of her nose. A sardonic smile tugs at her lips as she pulls the handkerchief away and assesses the current flow of blood escaping from her body - the sheer amount Charles had drawn was impressive to say the least. A brief wince extinguishes her amusement, and she presses the handkerchief back to her nose again, finally able to meet Haytham's gaze.

'I was foolish to think he could be trusted to behave after his outburst,' Haytham admonishes. 'I swear that bastard will pay for striking you,' he states, his anger barely restrained as he softly brushes the thick cascades of hair from Adira's pale face.

'This isn't your fault. I antagonised him,' she rebukes, desperately wishing she could rest her palm on the planes of his chest to douse the anger brimming in his heart. Haytham's tired eyes rake over her countenance - assessing for any further damage besides the obvious bloodied nose. He feathers the length of her jaw and softly tilts her head with his fingers towards the light of the oil lamps.

'I accused him of coveting you like a possession,' she begins, pausing to wet her lips which are stained with blood. Her gaze drifts to Haytham's face as he inspects the first signs of bruising erupting beneath her eye socket.

'You belong to no one but yourself,' she murmurs.

Haytham's fingers relax, allowing Adira's head to dip enough to watch the shadow of a smile begin to form on his lips.

'I've yet to make the acquaintance of anyone who can weaponise words as eloquently as you do,' he says quietly, his smile only widening when he sees the crimson hue dusting Adira's cheeks at his compliment.

His fingers continue to graze lazily down her slender neck, following a streak of dried blood which disappears beneath the collar of her shirt. His fingertips dance lightly across her exposed collarbone and each digit lingers pleasantly on her skin.

Dipping her head a little, Adira pulls the handkerchief away having finally stemmed the bleeding. Her pulse hammers wildly as she draws in her lip and inches closer to Haytham, encouraging his fingers to explore the sensitive skin at the crook of her neck where he had pressed a heated and hungered kiss only moments ago.

Closing her eyes to savour the feel of him, she releases a tense breath and meets his dark and intense gaze, her own desire radiating and heating the slither of air between them.

'We should join William before you render me incapable of coherent and intelligent conversation,' Adira mutters, her soft gaze lingers on Haytham's warm smile before flitting up to his wandering gaze.

'Of course,' he agrees in a low voice before finally pulling each digit away from her body with a purposeful lack of haste. Offering the young and entirely distracted brawler a teasing and devilishly handsome smile, he politely gestures for her to move ahead of him towards the bar.

'Forgive me. I was quite enjoying the thought of reducing you to a beautiful, quivering, unintelligible mess with just a few very carefully chosen words…' he murmurs quietly into her ear as they meander through the crowds.

'Funny - I was just enjoying a similar thought about you…' Adira teases, before noticing the bar-keep who gestures to the secluded table laden with food and drink and at which sits a pensive William who is leafing through sheaves of scrawled parchment.


'So, Miss Kane. Haytham has informed me that you are the reason he has travelled from the comforts of Boston to see me,' William ventures, briefly looking at the young woman from over the top of his tankard.

Adira swallows hard as she forces down a lump of partially masticated bread and cheese. Loosely hiding her mouth behind her hand, she pauses before answering as she combats the developing cough scratching at her throat.

'You say that as if it is a miraculous achievement,' she manages, her eyebrow raising quizzically as her gaze briefly flicks to Haytham, who is sitting in the chair across the table from her and is in the process of draining the whiskey in his tumbler to numb the brief sparks of pain shooting through the stitched laceration beneath his bandage.

'It is. I'm afraid the Grand Master spends most of his days in the library at Fort Arsenal, knee deep in his tomes and his tea leaves,' William jibes good-naturedly, pulling a tired huff of amusement from the man at his side.

Haytham lowers his tumbler, catching Adira's intrigued and widened gaze - the very mention of tomes and books lighting up her features.

An almost imperceptible smile tugs at his lips which he quells swiftly with a mouthful of food.

Leaning forward, William deposits his tankard on the table and steeples his fingers. His voice is low and serious now - his gaze is intense and focused.

'Now, Miss Kane, tell me about these symbols…'