Kieran slammed the skinny man against the building, his forearm pushing into the his neck. "I'm only going to ask you one more time," he warned, his voice even and cold, "where is Connor Walsh?"
The man choked and coughed in response and Kieran let up the pressure, letting the man slump to the ground.
"I don't know," the man slurred, "probably at his house!"
"Which is where?"
Instead of answering the question, the man on the ground pointed at the fuming assassin. "Hey, you're not one of those Northern Guards who was looking for him, are you?"
"Do I look like a Northern Guard?" Kieran fumed, his knuckles gripping his dagger so tightly it hurt. This is the last time I question a drunk, he swore to himself as the man toppled over and passed out.
Groaning in disgust, the assassin walked over to the drunkard, lifted the man's hand against the wall and stabbed it with his dagger.
The drunk woke up instantly with a scream as the dagger effectively pinned his impaled hand to the tavern's outer wall, letting blood drip down his arm.
"One last time," Kieran threatened, holding his other dagger across the man's throat. "Where is Connor Walsh?"
Kieran pulled his hood down lower, trying to ward off the rain that was threatening to soak him. The drunk had been oddly specific about the log cabin house, describing even the silver door handle that stood out against the dark wood of the door. Hesitating for a moment to prepare himself for his revenge, the assassin tried the handle.
It was unlocked, much to his surprise, and he carefully opened it.
"Hello?" A female voice came from down the hallway, footsteps approaching fast. A woman stepped in view, dressed in a long skirt. She spotted the assassin before he could even take a step inside. "Who are you?" she questioned cautiously.
Kieran cleared his throat, taken aback. He had not expected a woman to be here. "I must have the wrong house," he fumbled, eyeing the woman up and down as she blocked his entrance with an outstretched arm.
She was undeniably attractive, with long flowing hair and soft features. Her full lips curled into a polite smile. "What house are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for Connor Walsh," the assassin explained.
The woman perked up instantly. "Oh, then you are in the right place," she admitted, extending her hand to the assassin. "He's not home, but I'm his wife, Irene."
Kieran forced a fake smile through the growing disgust and accepted the handshake. "The woodcutter's daughter?"
Her eyes widened. "You knew my father?"
"I remember him," Kieran admitted, stomach churning in revulsion and anger as he thought about his father's best friend. "He let me try his beer."
Irene's eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down, and Kieran was thankful he had adjusted his cloak for the rain, as it hid his weapons from view. "Funny," she said. "I've lived here all my life, but I don't remember you."
"You were young when I left," Kieran explained. "Where is Connor?"
Something in the man's stance and the way he spoke unnerved Irene. "He's out of town," she admitted, "but if you give me an address for where you're staying, I can send word when he returns."
Kieran frowned. "Answer the question."
Irene's heart was pounding so fast it almost hurt. "I'm going to have to ask that you leave," she insisted, moving towards him to try to usher him out the door.
Kieran clicked his tongue and stayed put, moving his cloak aside just enough so the young woman could see the weapons belted on his hip. "Where is Connor?" he asked again, drawing out each word as a threat.
Irene swallowed hard as she realized the dangerous position she was in, but despite her racing heart she refused to back down. "Get out," she commanded him, "or I'll call the guards."
The man chuckled coldly. "Please, I dare you."
He pushed inside, and Irene backed away from him. Her mind was racing and she could barely hear over her heart pounding in her ears.
"Nice house," the man said as he followed her inside, drawing his dagger as he casually glanced around. There was a glass cabinet beside the doorway where some wooden carvings - some of them very familiar to the assassin - sat guarding the door. A blue glass vase sat on top of the cabinet. There were some hooks with hats and jackets hanging on the back of the front door. The whole place looked very welcoming and homely.
"Wh-" she tried to say something, but it was hard to force the words past the sudden lump in her throat. She coughed to hide her nerves, and focused on saying the words on her mind. "When my husband comes home, he'll-"
Kieran chuckled. "I'm counting on it."
"You're his brother, aren't you?" she asked as she inched towards the kitchen, praying the back door was unlocked. "Kieran?"
The grey-eyed man smiled mirthlessly. "You remember me?"
"He told me what you did," Irene confirmed, beginning to calm down as she realized the intruder didn't seem to be paying her much attention. "He told me you killed your parents."
Kieran shrugged, still looking around at the house. The kitchen was in front of him, and a long hallway was to his right. A large room was to his left, and he could see a couch in it. "But he never told you what he did."
The assassin stopped surveying the house and drew his attention back to his captive, who was still backing away from him slowly through the kitchen doorway.
"Now, now," he chided, flipping the dagger over in his hand, "don't try running out on me."
Irene stopped moving, reaching behind her for anything in reach she could defend herself with. She wasn't close enough to the counter, however, and was still several feet away from the closed door.
Kieran stepped towards her deliberately, his voice low and threatening. Having very little options, Irene forced herself to stay still as he circled around behind her, brandishing his wickedly sharp dagger. "I'm not here for you. Behave yourself, and I might let you live," he said, twisting the lock on the back door as he spoke.
She spotted that the front door was still unlocked. If she could make it there, she might have a chance.
Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing herself for the ordeal, Irene bolted for the front door.
Kieran sighed in annoyance and threw his dagger at the young woman's fleeing form. It embedded itself in her back, just below her right shoulder blade. She fell forward and crashed into the glass cabinet, which shuddered with the impact so hard the vase fell off the top, shattering across the floor.
The pain was unbearable, and Irene whimpered and tried to crawl through the broken glass as the assassin slowly walked towards her. "If you behaved, I wouldn't have done that," he said, stepping around her.
He locked the front door as Irene cried, her hopes of escaping dashed. She yelled and kicked as Kieran grabbed her by her long hair, dragging her around the corner into the living room.
"Just tell me where he went" he said.
He yanked out his dagger from her back once inside the living room, letting the blood flow out from the wound and stain the floor. Irene screamed and scrambled away from him awkwardly, afraid to move her shoulder too much.
"Scream once more and you will regret it," he warned her.
Irene nodded in understanding and scampered off into the corner of the room, trying desperately to get away from the man who'd hurt her.
Kieran let her huddle in fear for a moment and surveyed the room. It was rather large, with a comfortable-looking couch and armchair positioned welcomingly. A huge bookshelf loomed against one wall, nearly touching the crossbeam of the vaulted ceiling. A small writing desk was nestled in one corner, with a side table nearby for the lantern. An oil painting of a young fawn hung over the couch, the sight of which filled Kieran with anger.
Walking up to it, he slashed the painting with his dagger, slicing the fawn's throat. He attacked the painting a few more times, the catharsis of the action making him smile.
Having the intruder ignore her allowed Irene to calm down a little bit an assess her situation. The pain in her back was manageable as long as she was careful with her shoulder, and she doubted the wound would be fatal if treated properly.
If she thought he would have left content, she might have considered admitting her husband's whereabouts and his role in the manhunt for Kieran. But nothing about this man showed signs of mercy or kindness in him, especially if he was the same boy who had murdered his parents.
Preparing for a fight, she watched her assailant's movements and took note of his three weapons, especially that dangerously sharp dagger he had thrown at her before. He did seem to be favouring one leg a little bit, as if it hurt to put too much pressure on it, but the swaying cloak obscured her vision of that side of his body.
With her back to the wall, Irene forced herself to stand. Her legs felt like rubber and she was unsteady, but her survival instincts kicked in. Spotting a hefty painted bear that her father had given her and Connor as a wedding present, she inched towards it without taking her eyes off the dangerous man.
Kieran moved over to the writing desk and leafed through papers on it. Most of them were drawings and measurements, nothing of use to him. Frustrated, he swiped all the papers off the desk and wheeled around to threaten the woman again.
His quick reactions saved him, however, as a large chunk of glass went flying towards him. He ducked and it slammed into the wall behind him, shattering and sending shards everywhere.
In the distraction Irene plowed into him, kneeing him in the leg and trying to grab the dagger he held in his hand.
Kieran stumbled back into the bookshelf, hitting his spine painfully against a shelf. Gritting his teeth and trying to keep his dagger away from the clawing female, he grabbed a hardcover book from the shelf behind him and swung it at her head.
The first hit elicited a groan from her, and she instinctively put up her hand to block his second hit. That was all the opening he needed to sweep her leg out from under her and push her over to the floor.
Irene cried out as she fell backwards, but she grabbed the assassin's cloak as she fell and pulled the off-balance man down with her.
She hit the floor hard, her shoulder blade slamming down into the shards of broken glass and aggravating her wound even more. She yelled out in pain, and threw up her arms to protect herself from the assassin's fall.
Kieran opened his hands and his dagger clattered to the floor as he fell on top of her. The broken glass cut into his hands as he stopped his fall like it was an insult. Kieran was pissed. His wounded hip ached from the sudden movements and this woman was proving more difficult to handle than he had anticipated.
Irene rolled over and tried to scramble for the dagger that had fallen to the floor, but Kieran was quicker. He grabbed her long hair with his bloodied hands and yanked it back, causing her to squeal in pain and arch her back. Drawing his other dagger, he straddled her lower back and pressed the blade up against her throat.
"I warned you," he reminded her.
"I didn't scream," Irene retorted, breathing heavily through the pain the position put her in.
Kieran chuckled wickedly. "No," he admitted, "but you did misbehave."
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