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doesnotkneelShe was in the Auld Shillelagh, a tavern halfway between Hatherton and Bristol, which was a regular haunt of Edward's and like before, as it was the summer and Mother and Father toiled over the shearing at home, when Edward'd make more frequent trips into town, it was regular to the tune of several times a day.
He'd admit he hadn’t taken much notice of her at first, which was not unusual: though once he'd prided himself on knowing the exact location of any pretty woman nearabouts, Cosette was still a recent if fading notion in his memory. Regardless, the Shillelagh wasn’t the sort of place you expected to find a pretty woman. A woman, yes. A certain type of woman. But this girl wasn’t like that: she was young, about Edward's age, and she wore a white linen coif and a smock. Looked like a domestic.
But it wasn’t her clothes that drew his attention. It was the loudness of her voice, which you’d have to say was in complete contrast to the way she looked. She was sitting with three men, all of them older than her, who Edward recognized at once: Tom Cobleigh, his son Seth, and Julian somebody, who worked with them: three men with whom he had traded words if not blows before — the kind who looked down their noses at Edward because they thought he looked down his nose at them, who liked him no more than he liked them, which was not a lot. They were sat forward on their stools and watching this young girl with leering, wolfish eyes that betrayed a darker purpose even though they were all smiles, thumping on the table, encouraging her as she drank dry a flagon of ale.
No, she did not look like one of the women who usually frequented the tavern, but it seemed she was determined to act like one of them. The flagon was about as big as she was, and as she wiped her hand across her mouth and hammered it to the table, the men responded with cheers, shouting for another one and no doubt pleased to see her wobble slightly on her stool. Probably couldn’t believe their luck. Pretty little thing like that.
Edward watched as they let the girl drink yet more ale with the same tumult accompanying her success, then as she did the same as before, and wiped her hand across her mouth, but with an even more pronounced wobble this time, a look passed between them. A look that seemed to say, The Job Is Done.
Tom and Julian stood, and they began, in their words, to “escort” her to the door, because, “You’ve had too much to drink, my lovely, let’s get you home, shall we?”
“To bed,” smirked Seth, thinking he was saying it under his breath even though the whole tavern heard him. “Let’s be getting you to bed.”
Edward passed a look to the barman, who dropped his eyes and used his apron to blow his nose. A customer sat down the bar from him turned away. Bastards. Might as well have looked to the cat for help, Edward thought; then with a sigh he banged down his tankard, stepped off his stool and followed the Cobleighs into the road outside.
He blinked as he stepped from the darkness of the tavern into bright sunlight. His cart was there, roasting in the sun; beside it another one that he took to belong to the Cobleighs. On the other side of the road was a yard with a house set far back, but no sign of a farmer. They were alone on the highway: just Edward, the two Cobleighs, Julian and the girl, of course.
“Well, Tom Cobleigh,” Edward said, “the things you see on a fine afternoon. Things like you and your cronies getting drunk and getting a poor defenceless young woman even drunker.”
The girl sagged as Tom Cobleigh let go her arm and turned to address Edward, his finger already raised.
“Now just you stay out of this, Edward Kenway, you young good-for-nothing. You’re as drunk as I am and yer morals just as loose. I don’t need to be given a talking to by the likes of you.”
Seth and Julian had turned as well. The girl was glazed over, like her mind had gone to sleep even if her body was still awake.
“Well” — Edward smiled — “loose morals I might have, Tom Cobleigh, but I don’t need to pour ale down a girl’s throat before taking her to bed, and I certainly don’t need two others to help me at the task.”
Tom Cobleigh reddened. “Why, you cheeky little bastard, you. I’m going to put her on my cart is what I’m going to do, and take her home.”
“I have no doubt that you intend to put her on your cart and take her home. It’s what you plan to do between putting her on the cart and reaching home that concerns me.”
“That concerns you, does it? A broken nose and a couple of broken ribs will be concerning you unless you mind your own bloody business.”
Squinting, Edward glanced at the highway, where trees bordering the dirt track shone gold and green in the sun, and in the distance was a lone figure on a horse, shimmering and indistinct.
He took a step forward, and if there had been any warmth or humour in his manner, then it disappeared, almost of its own accord. There was a steeliness in Edward's voice when he next spoke.
“Now you just leave that girl alone, Tom Cobleigh, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
The three men looked at one another. In a way they’d done as he asked. They’d let go of the girl, and she seemed almost relieved to slide to her haunches, placing one hand on the ground and looking at them all with bleary eyes, evidently oblivious to all this being discussed on her behalf.
Meanwhile Edward looked at the Cobleighs and weighed up the odds. Had he ever fought three at once? Well, no. Because if you were fighting three at once, then you weren’t so much fighting as getting beaten up. But come on, Edward Kenway, he told himself. Yes, on the one hand it was three men, but one of them was Tom Cobleigh, who was no spring chicken, about his father’s age. Another one was Seth Cobleigh, who was Tom Cobleigh’s son. If you can imagine the kind of person who would help his father get a young girl drunk, well, then you can imagine that sort of person Seth Cobleigh was, which was to say a maggoty, underhand type, more likely to run away from a fight with wet breeches than stand his ground. And what’s more, they were drunk. And hadn't Edward faced much worse things at Fandom?
... Hid from them, also. But faced, none the less.
On the other hand Edward was drunk too. Plus they had Julian who, going on looks alone, could handle himself.
But he had another idea. That lone rider he could see in the distance. If he could just hold off the Cobleighs until he arrived, the odds were likely to shift back in his favour. After all, if he was of good character, the lone rider was bound to stop and help Edward out.
“Well, Tom,” Edward said, “you got the advantage over me, that’s obvious for anyone to see, but, you know, I just wouldn’t be able to look my mother in the eye knowing I’d let you and your cronies abduct this pretty young thing.”
He glanced up the road to where that lone rider was getting closer. Come on then, he thought. Don’t hang about.
“So,” he continued, “even if you end up leaving me in a bloody heap by the side of this here road, and carry that young lassie off anyway, I’m going to have to do all that I can to make it as difficult for you as possible. And perhaps see to it that you go on your way with a black eye and maybe a pair of throbbing bollocks for your troubles.”
Tom Cobleigh spat, then peered at Edward through wizened, slitty eyes. “That’s it then, is it? Well are you just going to stand there talking about it all day, or are you going to attend to your task? Because time waits for no man . . .” He grinned an evil grin. “I’ve got people to see, things to do.”
“Aye, that’s right, and the longer you leave it, the more chance that poor lassie has of sobering up, eh?”
“I don’t mind telling you, I’m getting tired of all this talk, Kenway.” He turned to Julian. “How about we teach this little bastard a lesson? Oh, and one more thing before we start, Master Kenway. You ain’t fit to shine your mother’s shoes, you understand?”
That hit Edward hard. Having someone like Tom Cobleigh, who had all the morals of a frothing dog and about half the intelligence, able to reach into his soul as if his guilt were an open wound, then stick his thumb in that open wound and cause even more pain, well, it certainly firmed up Edward's resolve, if nothing else.
Julian pushed his chest forward and with a snarl advanced. Two steps away from him he raised his fists, dipped his right shoulder and swung. His intentions were clear, and his form telling; no one clever had taught this one how to fight.
The dirt rose in clouds around Edward's feet as he dodged easily and brought his own right up sharply. Julian shouted in pain as Edward caught him under the jaw. If it had just been him, the battle would have been won, but Tom Cobleigh was already upon Edward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tom, but he was too late to react and next thing he was dazed by knuckles that slammed into his temple.
He staggered slightly as he swung to meet the attack, and his fists were swinging much more wildly than he’d have liked. He was hoping to land a lucky blow, needing to put at least one of the men down to even up the numbers. But none of his punches made contact as Tom retreated, plus Julian had recovered from his first strike with alarming speed and came at him again.
Julian's right came up and connected with his chin, spinning Edward about so that he almost lost his balance. His hat span off, his hair was in his eyes and he was in disarray. And guess who came in with his boots kicking? That worm Seth Cobleigh, shouting encouragement to his father and Julian at the same time. The little bastard was lucky. His boot caught Edward in the midriff and, already off balance, Edward lost his footing. And fell.
The worst thing you can do in a fight is fall. Once you fall it’s over.
Through their legs Edward saw the lone rider up the highway, who had become his only chance at salvation, possibly his only hope of getting out of this alive. But what he saw made his heart sink. Not a man on a horse, a tradesman who would dismount and come rushing to my aid. No, the lone rider was a woman. She was riding astride the horse, not side-saddle, but despite that you could see she was a lady. She wore a bonnet and a light-coloured summer dress, and the last thing he thought, before the Cobleigh boots obscured his view and the kicks came raining in, was that she was beautiful.
So what, though? Good looks weren’t going to save him at that moment. While Edward had known plenty of women fighters back at Fandom, the women of his own time were usually lacking in that department.
“Hey,” he heard. “You three men. Stop what you’re doing right now.”
They turned to look up at her and removed their hats, shuffling in line to hide the sight of Edward, who lay coughing on the ground.
“What is going on here?” she demanded to know. From the sound of her voice Edward could tell she was young and while not high-born, definitely well-bred — too well-bred, surely, to be riding unaccompanied?
“We were just teaching this young man here some manners,” rasped Tom Cobleigh, out of breath. Exhausting business, it was, kicking Edward half to death.
“Well it doesn’t take three of you to do that, does it?” she replied. Edward could see her then, twice as beautiful as he’d first thought, as she glowered at the Cobleighs and Julian, who for their part looked thoroughly mollified. All thoughts of Cosette fled from his mind, for which he would feel guilty later, but not at the moment.
She dismounted. “More to the point, what are you doing with this young lady here?” She indicated the girl, who still sat dazed and drunk on the ground.
“Oh, ma’am, begging your pardon, ma’am, but this is a young friend of ours who has had too much to drink,” Seth said.
The lady darkened. “She is most certainly not your young friend, she is a maidservant, and if I don’t get her back home before my mother discovers she’s absconded, then she will be an unemployed maidservant.”
She looked pointedly from one man to the next. “I know you men, and I think I understand exactly what has been going on here. Now, you will leave this young man alone and be on your way before I am of a mind to take this further.”
With much bowing and scraping, Julian and the Cobleighs clambered aboard their cart and were soon gone. Meanwhile the woman knelt to speak to Edward. Her voice had changed. She was softly spoken now and he heard concern. “My name is Caroline Scott, my family lives on Hawkins Lane in Bristol, let me take you back there and tend to your wounds.”
“I cannot, my lady,” he said, sitting up and trying to manage a grin. “I have work to do.”
She stood, frowning. “I see. Did I assess the situation correctly?”
Edward picked up his hat and began to brush the dirt from it. It was even more battered. “You did, my lady.”
“Then I owe you my thanks and so will Rose when she sobers up. She’s a wilful girl, not always the easiest of staff, but nevertheless, I don’t want to see her suffer for her impetuousness.”
She was an angel, Edward decided then, and as he helped them mount the horse, Caroline holding on to Rose, who lolled drunkenly over the neck of the horse, he had a sudden thought.
“Can I see you again, my lady? To thank you properly when I look a little more presentable, perhaps?”
She gave him a regretful look. “I fear my father would not approve,” she said, and with that shook the reins and left.
That night Edward sat beneath the thatch of the cottage, gazing out over the pastures that rolled away from the farm as the sun went down. Usually his thoughts would be of escaping his future. Going back to Fandom. Finishing his studies. That sort of thing.
That night he thought of Caroline. Caroline Scott of Hawkins Lane.
[[ and we're off into canon for real! taken and adapted from the novelization of Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, by Oliver Bowden. mentions of attempted (but unsuccessful) date rape under the cut. ]]
He'd admit he hadn’t taken much notice of her at first, which was not unusual: though once he'd prided himself on knowing the exact location of any pretty woman nearabouts, Cosette was still a recent if fading notion in his memory. Regardless, the Shillelagh wasn’t the sort of place you expected to find a pretty woman. A woman, yes. A certain type of woman. But this girl wasn’t like that: she was young, about Edward's age, and she wore a white linen coif and a smock. Looked like a domestic.
But it wasn’t her clothes that drew his attention. It was the loudness of her voice, which you’d have to say was in complete contrast to the way she looked. She was sitting with three men, all of them older than her, who Edward recognized at once: Tom Cobleigh, his son Seth, and Julian somebody, who worked with them: three men with whom he had traded words if not blows before — the kind who looked down their noses at Edward because they thought he looked down his nose at them, who liked him no more than he liked them, which was not a lot. They were sat forward on their stools and watching this young girl with leering, wolfish eyes that betrayed a darker purpose even though they were all smiles, thumping on the table, encouraging her as she drank dry a flagon of ale.
No, she did not look like one of the women who usually frequented the tavern, but it seemed she was determined to act like one of them. The flagon was about as big as she was, and as she wiped her hand across her mouth and hammered it to the table, the men responded with cheers, shouting for another one and no doubt pleased to see her wobble slightly on her stool. Probably couldn’t believe their luck. Pretty little thing like that.
Edward watched as they let the girl drink yet more ale with the same tumult accompanying her success, then as she did the same as before, and wiped her hand across her mouth, but with an even more pronounced wobble this time, a look passed between them. A look that seemed to say, The Job Is Done.
Tom and Julian stood, and they began, in their words, to “escort” her to the door, because, “You’ve had too much to drink, my lovely, let’s get you home, shall we?”
“To bed,” smirked Seth, thinking he was saying it under his breath even though the whole tavern heard him. “Let’s be getting you to bed.”
Edward passed a look to the barman, who dropped his eyes and used his apron to blow his nose. A customer sat down the bar from him turned away. Bastards. Might as well have looked to the cat for help, Edward thought; then with a sigh he banged down his tankard, stepped off his stool and followed the Cobleighs into the road outside.
He blinked as he stepped from the darkness of the tavern into bright sunlight. His cart was there, roasting in the sun; beside it another one that he took to belong to the Cobleighs. On the other side of the road was a yard with a house set far back, but no sign of a farmer. They were alone on the highway: just Edward, the two Cobleighs, Julian and the girl, of course.
“Well, Tom Cobleigh,” Edward said, “the things you see on a fine afternoon. Things like you and your cronies getting drunk and getting a poor defenceless young woman even drunker.”
The girl sagged as Tom Cobleigh let go her arm and turned to address Edward, his finger already raised.
“Now just you stay out of this, Edward Kenway, you young good-for-nothing. You’re as drunk as I am and yer morals just as loose. I don’t need to be given a talking to by the likes of you.”
Seth and Julian had turned as well. The girl was glazed over, like her mind had gone to sleep even if her body was still awake.
“Well” — Edward smiled — “loose morals I might have, Tom Cobleigh, but I don’t need to pour ale down a girl’s throat before taking her to bed, and I certainly don’t need two others to help me at the task.”
Tom Cobleigh reddened. “Why, you cheeky little bastard, you. I’m going to put her on my cart is what I’m going to do, and take her home.”
“I have no doubt that you intend to put her on your cart and take her home. It’s what you plan to do between putting her on the cart and reaching home that concerns me.”
“That concerns you, does it? A broken nose and a couple of broken ribs will be concerning you unless you mind your own bloody business.”
Squinting, Edward glanced at the highway, where trees bordering the dirt track shone gold and green in the sun, and in the distance was a lone figure on a horse, shimmering and indistinct.
He took a step forward, and if there had been any warmth or humour in his manner, then it disappeared, almost of its own accord. There was a steeliness in Edward's voice when he next spoke.
“Now you just leave that girl alone, Tom Cobleigh, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
The three men looked at one another. In a way they’d done as he asked. They’d let go of the girl, and she seemed almost relieved to slide to her haunches, placing one hand on the ground and looking at them all with bleary eyes, evidently oblivious to all this being discussed on her behalf.
Meanwhile Edward looked at the Cobleighs and weighed up the odds. Had he ever fought three at once? Well, no. Because if you were fighting three at once, then you weren’t so much fighting as getting beaten up. But come on, Edward Kenway, he told himself. Yes, on the one hand it was three men, but one of them was Tom Cobleigh, who was no spring chicken, about his father’s age. Another one was Seth Cobleigh, who was Tom Cobleigh’s son. If you can imagine the kind of person who would help his father get a young girl drunk, well, then you can imagine that sort of person Seth Cobleigh was, which was to say a maggoty, underhand type, more likely to run away from a fight with wet breeches than stand his ground. And what’s more, they were drunk. And hadn't Edward faced much worse things at Fandom?
... Hid from them, also. But faced, none the less.
On the other hand Edward was drunk too. Plus they had Julian who, going on looks alone, could handle himself.
But he had another idea. That lone rider he could see in the distance. If he could just hold off the Cobleighs until he arrived, the odds were likely to shift back in his favour. After all, if he was of good character, the lone rider was bound to stop and help Edward out.
“Well, Tom,” Edward said, “you got the advantage over me, that’s obvious for anyone to see, but, you know, I just wouldn’t be able to look my mother in the eye knowing I’d let you and your cronies abduct this pretty young thing.”
He glanced up the road to where that lone rider was getting closer. Come on then, he thought. Don’t hang about.
“So,” he continued, “even if you end up leaving me in a bloody heap by the side of this here road, and carry that young lassie off anyway, I’m going to have to do all that I can to make it as difficult for you as possible. And perhaps see to it that you go on your way with a black eye and maybe a pair of throbbing bollocks for your troubles.”
Tom Cobleigh spat, then peered at Edward through wizened, slitty eyes. “That’s it then, is it? Well are you just going to stand there talking about it all day, or are you going to attend to your task? Because time waits for no man . . .” He grinned an evil grin. “I’ve got people to see, things to do.”
“Aye, that’s right, and the longer you leave it, the more chance that poor lassie has of sobering up, eh?”
“I don’t mind telling you, I’m getting tired of all this talk, Kenway.” He turned to Julian. “How about we teach this little bastard a lesson? Oh, and one more thing before we start, Master Kenway. You ain’t fit to shine your mother’s shoes, you understand?”
That hit Edward hard. Having someone like Tom Cobleigh, who had all the morals of a frothing dog and about half the intelligence, able to reach into his soul as if his guilt were an open wound, then stick his thumb in that open wound and cause even more pain, well, it certainly firmed up Edward's resolve, if nothing else.
Julian pushed his chest forward and with a snarl advanced. Two steps away from him he raised his fists, dipped his right shoulder and swung. His intentions were clear, and his form telling; no one clever had taught this one how to fight.
The dirt rose in clouds around Edward's feet as he dodged easily and brought his own right up sharply. Julian shouted in pain as Edward caught him under the jaw. If it had just been him, the battle would have been won, but Tom Cobleigh was already upon Edward. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tom, but he was too late to react and next thing he was dazed by knuckles that slammed into his temple.
He staggered slightly as he swung to meet the attack, and his fists were swinging much more wildly than he’d have liked. He was hoping to land a lucky blow, needing to put at least one of the men down to even up the numbers. But none of his punches made contact as Tom retreated, plus Julian had recovered from his first strike with alarming speed and came at him again.
Julian's right came up and connected with his chin, spinning Edward about so that he almost lost his balance. His hat span off, his hair was in his eyes and he was in disarray. And guess who came in with his boots kicking? That worm Seth Cobleigh, shouting encouragement to his father and Julian at the same time. The little bastard was lucky. His boot caught Edward in the midriff and, already off balance, Edward lost his footing. And fell.
The worst thing you can do in a fight is fall. Once you fall it’s over.
Through their legs Edward saw the lone rider up the highway, who had become his only chance at salvation, possibly his only hope of getting out of this alive. But what he saw made his heart sink. Not a man on a horse, a tradesman who would dismount and come rushing to my aid. No, the lone rider was a woman. She was riding astride the horse, not side-saddle, but despite that you could see she was a lady. She wore a bonnet and a light-coloured summer dress, and the last thing he thought, before the Cobleigh boots obscured his view and the kicks came raining in, was that she was beautiful.
So what, though? Good looks weren’t going to save him at that moment. While Edward had known plenty of women fighters back at Fandom, the women of his own time were usually lacking in that department.
“Hey,” he heard. “You three men. Stop what you’re doing right now.”
They turned to look up at her and removed their hats, shuffling in line to hide the sight of Edward, who lay coughing on the ground.
“What is going on here?” she demanded to know. From the sound of her voice Edward could tell she was young and while not high-born, definitely well-bred — too well-bred, surely, to be riding unaccompanied?
“We were just teaching this young man here some manners,” rasped Tom Cobleigh, out of breath. Exhausting business, it was, kicking Edward half to death.
“Well it doesn’t take three of you to do that, does it?” she replied. Edward could see her then, twice as beautiful as he’d first thought, as she glowered at the Cobleighs and Julian, who for their part looked thoroughly mollified. All thoughts of Cosette fled from his mind, for which he would feel guilty later, but not at the moment.
She dismounted. “More to the point, what are you doing with this young lady here?” She indicated the girl, who still sat dazed and drunk on the ground.
“Oh, ma’am, begging your pardon, ma’am, but this is a young friend of ours who has had too much to drink,” Seth said.
The lady darkened. “She is most certainly not your young friend, she is a maidservant, and if I don’t get her back home before my mother discovers she’s absconded, then she will be an unemployed maidservant.”
She looked pointedly from one man to the next. “I know you men, and I think I understand exactly what has been going on here. Now, you will leave this young man alone and be on your way before I am of a mind to take this further.”
With much bowing and scraping, Julian and the Cobleighs clambered aboard their cart and were soon gone. Meanwhile the woman knelt to speak to Edward. Her voice had changed. She was softly spoken now and he heard concern. “My name is Caroline Scott, my family lives on Hawkins Lane in Bristol, let me take you back there and tend to your wounds.”
“I cannot, my lady,” he said, sitting up and trying to manage a grin. “I have work to do.”
She stood, frowning. “I see. Did I assess the situation correctly?”
Edward picked up his hat and began to brush the dirt from it. It was even more battered. “You did, my lady.”
“Then I owe you my thanks and so will Rose when she sobers up. She’s a wilful girl, not always the easiest of staff, but nevertheless, I don’t want to see her suffer for her impetuousness.”
She was an angel, Edward decided then, and as he helped them mount the horse, Caroline holding on to Rose, who lolled drunkenly over the neck of the horse, he had a sudden thought.
“Can I see you again, my lady? To thank you properly when I look a little more presentable, perhaps?”
She gave him a regretful look. “I fear my father would not approve,” she said, and with that shook the reins and left.
That night Edward sat beneath the thatch of the cottage, gazing out over the pastures that rolled away from the farm as the sun went down. Usually his thoughts would be of escaping his future. Going back to Fandom. Finishing his studies. That sort of thing.
That night he thought of Caroline. Caroline Scott of Hawkins Lane.
[[ and we're off into canon for real! taken and adapted from the novelization of Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag, by Oliver Bowden. mentions of attempted (but unsuccessful) date rape under the cut. ]]
