A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for not updating for a while. College started, and the work's been piling up. Anyway, this chapter will be mainly about Connor outside of America. He actually won't think of anything apart from his mission, so I apologize in advance for those who were looking for some romance…haha. If you squint, you can find foreshadowing of a future meeting! Guess this is where the 'adventure' part comes in? I'm actually looking more forward to writing the next chapter, which will focus more on relationships and junk…Haha.

Thank you again, dear readers, for reading. A special thanks to:

xVentressx, who keeps on reviewing! And yes, the last chapter did have a dramatic farewell. :P

Britt, the first person to review this story :D

Hari-chan15 (who I already PMed back :))

Please feel free to correct my Spanish, grammatical errors and instances of non sequitur logic. Without a farther ado, I present the third chapter.

Chapter 3: Fort James

It had been a good ten minutes since Connor had been waiting inside an office at the newly found Bank of New York. He'd met Sam Adams a few days beforehand, who informed him that a friend of his needed his help and it would be the last favor he asked of him. Adams had moved from his position in the Continental Congress into the president of the Massachusetts senate, so Connor could only guess why he would send him for a personal favor for a friend. He was not even sure at this point if these men used these terms genuinely with each other. One man was a Federalist, while the other was claimed to be 'The Anti-Federalist.' The nation was young and each one of these men dreamt their own visions to create the foundation of a perfect republic. And at this point, Connor did not want a part behind the politics, knowing fully well how pretty they dressed their words in order to appease the masses. However, Connor had agreed to this because this 'favor' was related to a cause which he could not escape. He couldn't retire like George Washington to his Bocce greens at Mount Vernon.

"Ah, you must be Connor."

Connor turned to see man attired in a fashionable black coat by the entrance of the office. Despite the man's smaller stature and height, he approached Connor with ease, giving him a firm handshake.

"Alexander Hamilton, a pleasure meeting you. My apologies for keeping you waiting. Those meetings are ill-timed, I'm afraid- they're always going over the time limit." Hamilton said before walking to his finely carved desk. He motioned Connor to take a seat.

"Tea? Coffee?" He asked.

"No, thank you. Samuel Adams instructed me to see you." Connor replied.

"Straight to business then. I have a favor to ask," Hamilton said, and then paused, looking Connor in the eye, who nodded him to go on.

"I request your assistance in freeing our merchants in the West Indies. Particularly in the port of Antigua. There are twenty-five men."

"Who has seized them?" Connor asked, an idea of his task beginning to form.

"The British navy."

"On what charges?"

"For smuggling. For not honoring the Navigation Acts. As you know, the colonies can't trade freely. The British want Congress to make the bail, but that is beyond our monetary means, you see. Congress itself neither has the money, nor a sufficient navy. The Articles of Confederation have given more power to the states, who themselves are in debt. Now if the Federal government..." Hamilton stopped his words when he noticed Connor's suddenly stiff posture and downturned mouth.

"Anyway, these merchants have no money to begin with, so the only way to alleviate this mess is by helping them escape," he finished, looking at Connor directly in the eyes.

"So I will be abetting them in smuggling goods. Against the British Empire."

"Their merchandise was seized, so I only ask you to help them leave the island and back to the states. Although I do not condone Britain's mercantilist policies, I wish to have proper trade agreements with our former mother country in the near future."

"They will know that the States were behind this."

"Of course. But they won't have sufficient evidence. Especially against you. But the point is that a case can be built against the British for illegal seizure. However, we need the men to be free in order to commit to the task."

Connor lifted his chin and regarded the man with a probing gaze.

"With all due respect, Mr. Hamilton, I do not wish to participate in politics. Especially those that do not concern me."

Hamilton looked unfazed, as if expecting this. He was still confident, setting his elbows on the desk and forming a steeple with his fingertips as he spoke the next words.

"There is something in it for you too, Connor."

Connor raised his eyebrows a bit as if to inquire further.

"Sir Robert Eden. He is currently visiting Sir Richard Hughes in Fort James in Antigua."

Connor remained unmoved from his position.

"I am aware."

"Well, that's that, then. A man named Francis Bronwell will meet you at the port of San Juan in Puerto Rico after a month to take the merchants back to America. And I'm sure you'll know how to go on from there. Here is all the documentation, if necessary."

Connor took the envelope wearily, looking over the manila color before looking back at Hamilton who was taking out a parchment with the insignia of the Bank of New York.

"How much will you take, Connor?"

"I am not a mercenary. I do not need the money." His services weren't something to call upon by wealthy politicians. He just needed to eliminate Robert Eden.

Hamilton leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. Connor didn't miss the slow smirk on the man's face.

"Nonsense. Times are changing now and everything has a price. I shall arrange for this in gold, since the paper bills are worthless. This shall be delivered to your homestead after your job is done.

"I wish you a good journey, Connor. And I appreciate your help."

Connor warily looked at Hamilton's hand before shaking it. This would indeed be a long journey. Before he left the office, he stopped to ask something.

"How long will the Mercantile System last? The colonies have been fighting against it for a long time," Connor said. After all, it was one of the underlying reasons for the colonies to oppose the British. They were not allowed to trade with other colonies.

"I take it you haven't read 'The Wealth of Nations."

"I do not have the time to read up on economics." Connor answered. He'd heard of Adam Smith, but never devoted serious time to the man's works.

"To put it simply, it will come to an end soon."

The Aquila had made its way to the Caribbean once again. Or better known as the West Indies, since most of them were British colonies. The Ghost of the North Seas had brought them to the island Antigua. Fort James could be distinguished from the evening fog from the distance.

Connor decided to brief his fellow assassins in the mission again.

"Our first objective is to infiltrate Fort James. It is surrounded by water on all three sides, so the Aquila will have to stay away at a certain distance. We will approach from land, then exit through a blind spot where our smaller boats will be anchored to take us to the Aquila." Connor pointed to an ink-rendered outline of the fort and the surrounding naval ships.

"Why not just climb there and throw the guards off the ledge?" Clipper asked. The rest of the assassins side-eyed him. Why was he asking questions at this point in time?

"I would have done the same in other situations. However, since the prisoners are involved, there is a definite chance that this will be seen as a political attack from the States. If any of the guards are killed, it will cause greater alarm. Our job is to be discrete. That is why we have another objective: we cannot kill any of the guards." Connor responded. He always explained his reasoning before the mission.

"This'll be a real difficult one, Captain." Duncan commented. "There're always one or two guards that have to go."

"I am aware, but I also know that each one of you is very competent. That is why I assign each of you to your own personal objectives. Deborah, Jacob, Stephane, Jamie and Duncan, you will each take five merchants with you back to the Aquila without any casualties. Clipper, you will cover whoever you can and leave after everyone. I will find Robert Eden and I will return to the Aquila last. We must keep this under half an hour. Although we have these objectives, I trust everyone to use their own discretion in this mission. Any questions?"

The six assassins either stayed silent or shook their head.

"We move out now. Take the smaller boats to approach the fort. Then, use any of the entrances, provided you do not attract attention to yourselves." Pretty self-explanatory at this state.

After setting their boats at the coast of the small island, each assassin immediately split to find their own way inside. Connor used a supplies carriage to enter through one of the four gates of the fort. He hid in one of the bushes afterward. A conversation caught his ears.

"You've heard about Nelson being the new Commander?" A private asked nearby.

"Yeah. Ton of bullocks if you ask me. Man gets sea sick every other day," the other guard answered.

"So that's why he was passed out yesterday in the Boreas?"

"I'd reckon that was the reason. The Admiral's an interesting man. Prolly recruited him 'cause of family connections."

"Speaking of family connections, wasn't the Baronet with him today?"

"Yeah, but now he's with him on the Boreas. Knowing Nelson, he's showin' off his promotion right now," the second redcoat commented with a scoff.

So Eden wasn't here, but aboard the naval vessel. This meant that he'd have to get out of the fort. Connor made his way towards the walls of the fort. When the stationed soldier had his back to him, he climbed on top of one of the walls. He could see the flag of the Boreas. It was only a matter of getting to it. Without another thought, he took the leap of faith into the dark water.

He swam towards the naval vessel's cable and climbed it. He stopped at gunwall of the ship, examining his surrounding for guards. There were plenty, but inconsequential if he didn't have to look for a particular man. He used his Eagle Vision to find out where the man could be. He only saw the ethereal reds of the men, but not his golden target. He must be either below decks or in the captain's quarters. He decided that the captain's quarters would be a better bet since the guards mentioned that Eden was accompanying Commander Nelson.

By the time that he made it to the captain's room, he noticed that he door was partially open. Inspecting the interior, he noticed a man attired in a more elegant red coat was looking over what appeared to be documents on his desk. He had his back to the door and he was alone. Connor moved inside.

The man, upon hearing him, spoke.

"Private, how many times do I have to tell you that you can't enter without knocking first."

"My apologies, sir."

Before the British man could comment on how he's never heard this man on the ship before, his neck felt something cold against it. He stiffened.

"Make one sound, and you are dead." Connor said behind him.

"An assassin, huh? I must say that I was flattered for a second," the British man responded, his eyes scanning the cabin for a potential exit.

"Who are you?" Connor asked. If this man wasn't Robert Eden, then he was wasting time. He was sure that his self-imposed time limit was almost up.

"Horatio Nelson, commander of the HMS Boreas."

Wrong man.

"Well, commander, where is Robert Eden?"

"Like I'll tell you, assassin."

"I do not have time to play games." The blade around the man's neck came to the point where it could draw blood on the slightest movement of his head. The man, however, still didn't seem to be afraid. Either he wasn't, or he was very good at hiding it.

"He's below deck, but he was supposed to meet me here in a minute. What're you doing? I've told you everything you need to know," the man said when he noted that Connor's was removing a flintlock pistol after pulling back his blade.

Connor struck the commander in the area between the sternum and windpipe with the back of the gun, which had enough force to make the captive keel over. He would be unconscious for a while, and it wouldn't be long if the soldiers would communicate with their superior. Without a moment to spare, Connor moved Nelson's limp body behind his desk. He decided to wait for Eden to come. It was a risk, but he didn't have time to move through the guards without being noticed. He slid behind the door when he heard a set of footsteps approaching the cabin. The steps didn't have the sound of a soldier's march. They were much more authoritative.

An older man with a more regal red coat and powdered wig entered the room. Connor recognized him as the man he was looking for: Robert Eden. He stopped in the middle of the room, in thought. His gloved hand touched the carved silver hilt of his sword.

Connor closed the door behind himself, letting his presence be known.

"Did you really think that it would escape my notice that you were on this ship?" Eden asked, noting Nelson's body, which didn't seem so discretely hidden behind the desk.

"You were expecting me."

"For a while now. Time is expendable for you, it seems. How should we settle this? A duel? No...You utilize the hidden blades, do you not? Blades are more befitting for this occasion." Eden turned around, pointing his sword at Connor. Judging from his stance and wealthy upbringing, this man was probably well versed in the art of swordsmanship.

Connor unsheathed his right hidden blade.

"I must warn you. You will not win," he replied calmly.

"Quite a humble fellow, you are...Mr. Kenway."

Connor barely blocked his chest with his dagger as the Admiral's sword swiped at him, a thin line tearing his coat. The comment had nearly caught him off-guard. Eden also knew about his father?

"How do you know that name?"

The man answered by pushing his blade with greater force into the assassin's in an attempt to break his defense. "Oh, hard to forget such a man."

Connor overpowered the weight against him by kicking him in the stomach, forcing Eden back. Connor lashed at him with his dagger, and the sharp sound of his blade reached his ears as he was pushed back from the Baronet's strength. When Eden swung his sword at him, Connor blocked it with his dagger and the opening left by the man didn't escape his notice. In one swift moment, Connor's hidden blade tore into the Admiral's chest. The man didn't move for a few seconds before the gravity of the situation reached him. He had lost.

Eden's' sword fell from his hand, and a sanguine hue began to eat through his red coat. Connor retreated his blade, causing the Baronet to fall backwards.

"It won't end here. Not for the Templars, in the least." Connor said nothing as he watched the man struggle to enunciate his words despite the blood spilling from his mouth.

"You're a fool, just like Haytham."

"You should save your breath for prayers for the afterlife," Connor said, adjusting his bracer.

"I guess I'll meet you both there. If there is one," Eden replied before his expression went slack. Connor bent down to close the Baronet's eyes. ("May you find peace.")

He left the room from the window, closing it after him before spotting the Aquila from a distance. The swim wouldn't be too bad.

As he climbed aboard the gunwall of the Aquila, he was helped by his First Mate to the main deck

"Welcome aboard, captain. On time as usual," Faulkner said, giving Connor a pat on the back.

"You waited longer than necessary." Connor replied, walking along with Faulkner across the main deck.

"You think she'd leave without her captain? Anyway, the crew's waiting for ya. Twenty-six merchants below deck now."

Connor stopped in this tracks.

"No, there should be twenty-five of them."

"No, captain. Counted twenty-six of them myself. Wait, so there's a stowaway?"

"Possibly," Connor replied. Please keep an eye here, Mister Faulkner. I am going below deck."

"Aye-aye, captain. Be careful," Connor heard Faulkner say before heading down.

Commotion greeted Connor when he went below. He expected the merchants to be silent, but they were chatting lively with each other, excited to be free.

"Connor, there you are," Deborah waved. "These guys can't wait to return. How'd it go for you?"

"It was fine. There is something else. Mister Faulkner said that there were twenty-six merchants aboard," he said.

She shook her head.

"No, I'm pretty sure that there're twenty-five, like in the mission briefing. Each of us was to take five of them."

By that time, Jamie spotted him and walked towards the two.

"Connor, you made it back."

"Jamie, how many merchants did you take with you?" Dobby asked. Connor was staring at him too.

"Five, like the plan. I saw Jacob take five too." He raised his hands defensively. "What's going on?"

Connor looked towards the passengers and mentally counted each of them. The count was up to twenty-five.

"Nothing. I thought that something was amiss for a second." Connor said, rubbing his brow and scanning the crowd again. He saw Clipper passing out some blankets to the merchants. "Where are Jacob and Duncan?" They were probably on the main deck.

"I saw them-"

Jamie's words stopped when the sound of a pistol firing pierced the otherwise excited atmosphere. Everyone fell into silence.

Without a word, Connor ran upstairs only to be confronted by Stephane, who ran a hand through his uncovered hair before looking at Connor uneasily.

"Uh...mon ami, we've got une situation."

"What happened?" He quickly asked, looking around for the source of the tumult. Stephane didn't need to answer, since Connor saw it himself at the quarterdeck.

"I'll say it again: drop your weapons, or he will see his god."

A man dressed in a long green coat and a white collar had Duncan in a headlock, with a pistol pointing to his head. Blood was already apparent around Duncan's midsection, spilling from his dark coat and pooling around the wooden deck. Faulkner was planked on floor, next to the wheel. Jacob was clutching his leg, his gloved hands making an unsuccessful effort to stop the bleeding. Whoever the man was, he desperately wanted to escape.

"He already shot Duncan once as a warning." Stephane said in a quiet voice.

"Everyone, drop your weapons!" Connor yelled. The man in green watched him. True to his words, Connor dropped his flintlock pistols, his sword and unbuckled his cross belt, removing the bow in the process too. The crew followed.

"Your hidden blade too, heathen."

Without breaking eye contact, Connor removed his bracer, throwing it on the ground. He still had his other blade, but the strange man didn't seem to know about it. It still wasn't safe to assume that the man would let Duncan go, but risking the lives of the brotherhood wasn't worth it.

Satisfied, the man shoved his hostage to the ground before hopping on the reeling and jumping into the water. Connor would have seen where the man went, but since he jumped into the ocean in the middle of the night, the better cause would be to help his fellow assassin.

He ran up to Duncan, who had become dangerously limp. He turned the man around gently as he could. Blood was pouring from a hole in the side of his abdomen. Connor removed his coat and wrapped it tightly around the wound hopes to stop the bleeding. Jamie had run up behind him to assess the damage. Some of the sailors brought in cots.

Stephane tended to Jacob while Dobby went to Faulkner. To her relief, Faulkner was breathing evenly.

"Take them to the captain's quarters," Connor ordered.

"Everyone, back to their positions. Full sail! Set course for San Juan!" Even if the ship reached fifty knots, it would get to the island soon.

Inside the cabin, Duncan's complexion had paled considerably and his breathing was shallow.

"He's going into shock. Elevate his legs, Jamie said.

Dobby complied, putting a bundle of rolled blankets under Duncan's legs. She'd seen the red, angry wound and that didn't faze her as much as the prospect of losing the ex-priest. After what seemed like an eternity of applying pressure and clean bandages, the bleeding seemed to recede.

By that time, Faulkner had regained consciousness.

"What the hell happened?" The man asked, sitting up. He groaned as he clutched his head.

"You tell me," Deborah said in a quiet voice to not disturb Duncan.

"Right. Now I remember. Duncan and Jacob were running after this priest. I tried to grab 'im, but he hit my head."

"He took some papers from the inventory. When Duncan asked him, he ran. We ran after him and asked him to stop. His walking stick was concealing a blade and he stabbed my leg. When the crew came after him, he took my gun and shot Duncan without a warning." Jacob added somberly on the other side of the room.

"Poor lad," Faulkner said, giving the man an empathetic look. And to think that I was worried if the extra men would eat all our food, he thought.

"I'll make sure that we reach San Juan as fast as we can." he said before exiting the room.

It was already sunrise when they reached the Spanish port of San Juan. Sure enough, a vessel with the States flag was present. Captain Bronwell greeted them and relieved the Aquila of the citizens. The merchants seemed much happier to be in the custody of their home country. Connor would have felt elated if he didn't remember the price. Hopefully Hamilton would keep his word about helping them receive their ships back from the British. The surgeon from the States had recommended to keep Duncan on the island because his chance of survival would be better there than on a vessel for a month.

Thus, the Aquila and its crew had to stay on the island. When the officials had seen that the Aquila had no intention of trade, they allowed the vessel to anchor at the harbor.

Duncan and Jacob were admitted to a room in the hospital. Even after a week, Connor didn't feel better about the situation. Although Jacob had claimed to be able to walk with his leg, Connor knew that it would be hard for him to walk completely by himself. He watched over the ex-priest as much as he could until Dobby forced him outside for fresh air. There wasn't too much to do in the island, since he didn't plan on staying.

He mainly walked around, observing the marketplace, the streets and the weather. Although it was more temperate than in the Northeastern part of America, it suffocated him a bit. The winds was warm, and although the sun felt initially warm on his skin, it was beginning to sting his skin in the same way as sitting in front of a fireplace for too long. If it wasn't for his tricorne hat, he would've been more aggravated than he felt.

He began to make his way towards a bench when a running child caught his eye. The child's clothing was ragged and his skin was covered in days worth of grime. He ran past Connor, with his tiny hands holding what appeared to be a large green oval fruit. A man was yelling behind the kid, calling him a name in Spanish that Connor failed to grasp.

This sight wasn't an unusual occurrence. He'd seen this in the colonies plenty of times. There were times where he would distract some merchants to buy enough time for the street children to take something to eat. Perhaps one more time here wouldn't hurt.

He walked in the opposite direction of the apron-clad man who was chasing the kid. Connor tripped him and quickly walked away before the man could notice. He spotted a bench in the shade of a larger building, and sat at one corner of it. He looked back at his work. The man he tripped had indeed failed to notice who did that to him. He seemed to curse something at no one in particular before walking back to his stall on the other side of the street.

Connor smiled to himself and settled on watching the seagulls peck at the crumbs on the cobbled streets.

A man sat next to him. Connor could see from the corner of his eye that the man appeared to be in his middle ages. His complexion was darker than the colonists in America, but then again, the populace of the Spanish colony was a bit darker than the average European. The man's brown robes also indicated that he was a Catholic monk. Connor was grateful that his own clothes were lighter in color as opposed to more pious people.

"Hola, Señor. Enjoying the view of the beautiful shore?" He man asked.

"You could say that," Connor answered, not up for conversation at the moment.

"Ah, si. It is particularly beautiful before el tifón."

"Hm."

"Everyone loves this island. First, it was Juan Ponce de León, then Francis Drake. After that, Captain Balduino Enrico - they've all tried to take it over. Of course it was the Taíno who suffered most through this. When too many of them died from slave labor and disease, African slaves were bought to replace them. And now, only a little of the native people remain."

"Why are you telling me this?" Connor asked, with a hint of annoyance in his voice. At this point, he was certain that this man wanted something from him. Was he a Templar?

"Because I saw what you did there, and I commend it." The monk answered simply.

"Is that the reason you were following me for the past five minutes," Connor asked, facing him. "This was before I did that."

The robed man chuckled.

"Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Fray Íñigo Abbad y Lasierra, but you may call me Abbad."

"And who exactly are you?" Connor asked while looking at a seagull pecking at a pebble. It probably mistook it for food.

"I am a monk, historian, and the personal secretary of the bishop of the diocese of Puerto Rico, Manuel Jiménez Pérez. I am currently residing in that inn over there. Any other information you wish to know?"

"No."

"I need your help. A man here is making a slave convoy from here to Puerto Rico. I want to stop it, but there's not much time. See that store? A man I was following went in there." He looked towards the store on the right. "I need to see what he's doing.

"You look so dejected about this, amigo. But you'll help out a lot of Taíno along the way. Maybe for not all of them. But even if it makes a difference even in one of their lives, it'll be worth it."

Connor gave a small shrug before shaking his head and standing up. Why was he doing this? Sure, he believed that it would help some of the natives. But for how long? Nevertheless, the small, nagging feeling in his chest wouldn't abate after the inception of freedom for a few than none.

It turned out that the store was actually a small bookstore. Connor pretended to be interested in a section of books, although most of his focus was on watching the man talk with the owner in a low voice. He couldn't understand too much of Spanish. He could read titles and understand, but the fluency of the language was not too easy to grasp.

He moved to another bookshelf while Abbad engrossed himself in a different section. Connor could see the men exchanging a paper. The owner of the store seemed to notice Connor's glance since when he was done with the man, he asked if he could help him. The man they were tailing had exited by then.

"Si, señor. Mi amigo y yo quería comprar algunos libros." Abbad answered, taking out a large volume from the shelf.

"¿Cuáles?"

"Les Mille et une nuits, contes arabes traduits en français."

"Opción interesante.." The owner muttered as the monk placed the large book on the counter.

"There's your chance," Abbad whispered when the store owner was writing the book's name on a paper.

Connor nodded and exited out. He used his Eagle Vision and spotted the golden target walking in another alley on the left side of the store. Connor quickly started heading in an alley that was parallel to the man's. Just as planned, Connor took out a pocket watch, looking at it as if he was invested in time. He bumped into the man.

"Perdón," he said, backing up a bit.

The man frowned and shoved Connor away from him, muttering "Patoso" as he walked away. Connor watched him before seeing Abbad approach him with the book.

"What does 'patoso' mean?" Connor asked.

"It means 'clumsy oaf, amigo." Abbas answered with a slight grin. "And that is what you looked like there."

"Good," Connor replied. He handed Abbas a folded paper. Sometimes, it was too easy to fool people based on looks.

Abbas' eyes widened for a second before opening the paper. After reading it and rereading it, he shook his head.

"Amigo, this tells exactly where the convoy's going to meet today. You have a natural talent."

"You can take it from there," Connor said. "I would help more, but I am needed elsewhere."

"No es un problema. Oh, and here's the book," he said, handing Connor the large book.

"How much was it?" Connor asked. It must've been expensive, judging by the golden embellishments of the rich, leather bound cover.

"Not a concern. Keep it- the least I could do. It's in French though," Abbad said, looking in thought. Connor wanted to refuse, since he wouldn't have time to read. Especially French. However, it would've been rude to reject a gift.

"Thank you. But there is a favor that I must ask of you." Connor said.

"Anything."

"I met a preacher near one of the islands here. He had a Spanish accent, from what I know. He was in dressed in green robes and he claimed to be from the colony in Florida. He also seemed well-trained in battle."

Abbad seemed to be in thought.

"I've heard of this man before. I am not sure, but from your description, it sounds like Federico Perez. I only know this name because I've heard it from the bishop. Apparently, he was sent to Florida for his violent behavior against members who didn't share his belief."

"Thank you, Abbad."

"It was my pleasure, uh... " Connor remembered that he hadn't shared his name. Perhaps he could now.

"Connor." He said.

"Connor. Take care in your passage back, amigo. The calm's been telling me that there will be a tifón soon. Well, that, and because I've been living here for the past three years. If you ever need anything in these islands, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

When Connor came back, things seemed to be getting better. Duncan had woken up, and he requested to see Connor. When Connor visited him in the hospital cot, he could see that the man was still in pain.

"How are you feeling, Duncan?" He asked, pulling up a chair next to the cot.

"I'm all right. Been better."

"You will recover. The doctor said that you were lucky that the .55 caliber missed your vital organs."

"Right. There's something I needed to tell you."

Connor didn't fail to notice the hesitance in the man's features.

"Go on," He said.

"I took the extra man on the ship. I was the one who put everyone in danger." When Connor didn't respond, he continued.

"He was in a separate prison cell back at the fort. He thought me as a priest and told me that he was a preacher from Florida.

"I was an idiot. I opened his cell and told him that he could come back with us if he wanted to return to America. I don't know, but at that time, I thought that it was better to help him escape. I wish I'd known. When I caught him ripping a page in our inventory, I asked him what he was doing. He ran away, and so I followed him. I'm sorry, Connor. I know that it's not enough for endangering the brotherhood, but I truly am."

"Everything is always much clearer in retrospect. You thought what you were doing was right, and you believed in it. That alone means more than a mistake." Connor said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Just focus on getting better. You should rest now."

Duncan nodded after a thought, but fell asleep when he leaned back in his pillows. He was still very weak.

They would have to move out the next morning. Duncan would have a hard time, along with Jacob, but Connor knew that they would make it. However, a bigger problem began overshadowing him. Why did Perez rip the page from the book that recorded the supply inventory? There was one reason that was standing out above everything: Perez was a Templar. Where did he go, and to whom? What were the consequences?

With these thoughts in mind, Connor set a course to Boston to meet back with Sam Adams. He knew that things were going to become more complicated from this point.