The sun shone brightly through the open widows of the captain's cabin on the warship. Its destination; the Holy Land. It was morning, and the warmth of the sun stirred the two lovers lying peacefully in the bunk on the corner of the room across from the open windows. Naked and underneath thin white sheets of linen, the woman yawned before smiling and kissing her lover on his cheek. He blinked a couple times, seeming a bit confused, before he laid eyes on the woman next to him. He kissed her lips tenderly and wrapped his muscular arms around her lithe form, holding her in a loving embrace.
"Good morning, my love," Abigail said as she ran her fingers through her man's thick, blonde hair. "How much time do you have before you must tend to your men?"
Sibrand propped himself up on his elbow, the same hand twirling a lock of Abigail's dark, chestnut hair in his fingers while his other hand caressed her cream-colored skin up and down her naked body. "I am unsure," he replied. "But I do hope that we have a little time before I have to throw some clothes on and leave you."
Abigail giggled and gently pushed his shoulder. "Then why don't you check the time!"
He gave a playful "hey!" and caught her arm before she could withdraw it. Pulling her close, he ran his lips along her jaw and neck, making her sigh into him. Her fingernails dragged along his bare back as he shoved her back onto the bed and climbed on top of her. Shouts and orders could be heard over the spray of the sea from out the open window but the two ignored them, lost in each other.
"I think we have a little time," he told her with a smirk. She smiled in return before their lips met and they both disappeared under the linen sheets.
Abigail woke with a start. She sat bolt upright in her feather bed, her dark hair messy and unkempt. She had not had a dream like that in many weeks, and a morning like that in even longer. She and Sibrand still shared the same bed, but mornings like that, or even nights of the same caliber, were few and far between. Ever since they had arrived in the Holy Land, Sibrand seemed to have…changed. He was harsher, to his men as well as to her. There was the occasional night when he would come in to their cabin, exhausted and fatigued, and take her in his arms and to his bed. He was gentle then, and sometimes even kind, but he was no longer sweet.
She glanced out the widow, it was still dark. The city of Acre was a desolate place, gray as the stone that lined the walls of the buildings, and as dreary as the fog that spread through the port in the early mornings. The sun was still hours away from rising, given that no glow of orange light could be seen on the silhouetting the city buildings.
Taking her eyes away from the dark window, she glanced down to the sleeping man next to her. Sibrand had come to bed late the night before, weary and angry. He had not kissed her goodnight, had not spoken to her at all before he had removed his clothes and crawled under the sheets next to her. She knew he had met with some of his fellow Templars that night, but was that what had angered him? She could not know and she would not ask. His business was his and she respected that.
Sighing deeply, she kissed his cheek gently before laying her head back on the pillow, her arm around Sibrand, and falling back to sleep.
During the day, Abigail helped work the sails with the rest of the sailors. She wore her long hair back in a ribbon and on her body draped a sailor's shirt and trousers. Mostly she went barefoot. Even with them still being in a port city with the ocean breeze constantly rolling in from the open sea, they were still in a desert city and the air was hot and muggy. Her feet could do without the heavy leather boots. Sibrand treated her exactly the same as every other deckhand on the ship while she did this. He had to, she understood, otherwise the sailors would begin to grow angry at their Captain for treating the woman better just because he was sleeping with her. They all still discriminated against her while she worked, but it was better than sitting in the cabin all day, every day, doing absolutely nothing.
She and Sibrand had had a long and heated argument about her working on the ship just before they had left port in London. He had asked her to come along, but she had refused to remain stuck in his cabin or out on the decks and in the way with nothing to do while they sailed. He has insisted it was not a woman's place to be out working on the deck with the men. Her stubbornness had won though, however, and Sibrand had begrudgingly retrieved for her the sailor's shirt and trousers she currently wore.
Abigail now stood up in the Crow's Nest, keeping her eyes on the waters and people in the port, on the lookout for anything suspicious or problematic. She had just begun her shift up top when she noticed another sailor climbing the rigging up to join her. It was James, a fellow deckhand like herself, and another sailor who had a problem with a woman serving aboard the ship.
"What is it, James?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the crowd below her.
"Cap'n's asked ter see ya," he replied, his uneducated accent clearly showing. "I'm ter relieve ya."
"Did he say why?" she asked.
James shook his head. "No mam. He jus' said ya shud come with all haste."
Abigail sighed. "Very well, James. I shall see what the captain wants." She moved aside so her fellow deckhand could climb in to the Crow's Nest, ignoring his obvious glance at her chest and legs, before she climbed down the rigging to the deck. She passed many of the sailors on her way to the captain's cabin, keeping her head high and ignoring their blatant comments on her sex and relationship to the Captain. Knocking three times, she entered Sibrand's cabin at the stern of the ship and glanced around the dark room. The lamps were out, leaving only the fading sun light filtering in from the windows to give the room what little light it had.
"Sibrand?" she called, unsure of where he was.
"Here, Abby," he replied. His voice was quiet, barely audible over the sounds of the port filtering in from outside.
Walking around a messy chart table and tipped over chair to the back of the cabin, she found the outline of Sibrand sitting on the edge of his, their, bed. From what she could tell in the dim lighting, his elbows rested on his knees and he held his head in his hands. What was bothering this man?
She stopped right in front of him, standing over him and unsure of what to do. She settled to break the silence with the formal speech any sailor would say if summoned by a superior. "You asked to see me?" She deliberately left out the "Sir", attempting to remind Sibrand of who she was to him.
There was silence for a moment before Sibrand lifted his head from his hands to look up at her, his expression blank. "Do you believe in Heaven, Abigail?" he asked.
Abigail was taken completely off guard with this question. She had expected something completely different and along the lines of new orders or a spontaneous love making, but this was just out of the blue. "Um…." she stuttered, knowing her answer but not sure how to phrase it. "Yes, I guess I do. I believe there is a place we go when we die that can be called 'Paradise'. It does not necessarily have to be 'Heaven'."
There was silence once again. Sibrand dipped his head, showing Abigail his sleek, blond head. When he spoke again, he did not look up at her. "Do you think there is a God?"
She raised her eyebrows at this question. "I was raised under the Catholic church-"
"I did not asked if you were raised Christian or not!" He burst out in a sudden rage, head shooting up and hands flying in the air. Abigail jumped from his outburst, silently grateful that he did not strike her. "I asked if you believed if there was a God!"
Abigail was hesitant to reply, not sure if her answer would procure another fit of rage. Was that why the chart table looked like it had been ransacked and the chair was tipped over? Was that why the lamps were out? Did he smash them? She stared at her lover, sitting on the edge of the feather bed, his fingers digging into the mattress and eyes glaring daggers up at her. She swallowed. "I believe in the possibility of there being a God," she replied, taking care to phrase her words carefully. "I think there is something, some divine being, out there that watches over us. Whether this being is benevolent or not, I do not know."
At her words, Sibrand's features softened and his lip began to quiver. He lowered his head and his shoulders sagged and soon began to shake with sobs. His reaction surprised her, but she was glad to see him showing some emotion other than rage. Her heart ached to see him in such a state and with a gentle hand, reached out and touched her palm to his cheek. At her soft touch, Sibrand's hand flew to hers and held her hand in place, making her jump. His sobs were uncontrollable and his shaking did not cease. Whatever ailed him, whatever it was that was poisoning his heart, she did not know, and she did not ask. He needed her comfort right at that moment. He did not need her to know what it was that sickened his mind. He just needed her.
Abigail wandered the streets of Acre, taking care to avoid as many beggars and thugs as she could. Soldiers did not bother her, but instead protected her whenever they could. They knew who she was and who would hang them for treason lest she come to any harm. Being the lover of the Master of the Port had its perks, but it also had its drawbacks.
Sibrand's madness had steadily grown worse over the past few weeks. News of the Assassin having killed seven of his fellow Templar's had spread to the Acre port, making Sibrand fear for his life. She understood where he was coming from, she would be afraid too, but something else had driven him over the edge and into madness. He had grown worse with his men, constantly shouting at them, claiming that they were out to sabotage him, accused them of plotting against him and even went so far as to accuse a few of being assassins themselves. It was only a matter of time before he turned on her as well, she knew. This knowledge frightened her but she kept it to herself. It would not bode well to the men to know that their Captain's woman had lost faith in him as well.
Today Sibrand was busy gathering boats together to defend the port. He had told her that the Sarisans were planning an attack by sea and they would need every boat available to defend Acre from the invasion. She had led on that she believed him, but in her heart, she doubted that was what was really going on. But still, she would not ask what the true story was.
Earlier, she had finished her chores aboard the ship and, since Sibrand was busy, she decided to take a walk on solid ground for the first time in many months and see the city. A few sailors offered to come with her for protection, but she turned them down. They all had work to do and it would not look good to an already terrified Sibrand that his sailors were ignoring his orders to see the city with his woman. Besides, Abigail wished to be alone for a while instead of constantly surrounded by men who felt the need to protect her, or feel her up. But to keep them satisfied, she brought along a good sized knife just in case; a knife with which she knew very well how to use.
Stares were sent her way as she walked the streets of Acre. For a moment, she wondered why so many people, both men and women, stared at her either with disapproval or curiosity. But she soon remembered what she was wearing, the sailor's shirt and trousers. The boots she had dawned to protect her feet from anything sharp that may be littering the streets. Her shirt was worn open to her waist and her chest was covered by linen wrappings from her armpits to just below her bellybutton. It certainly wasn't normal wear for women, especially here in Israel. The only reason she wasn't thrown into jail for improper apparel was the protection Sibrand gave her for being his lover. Her hair worn down was the only proper lady appearance she had.
Walking through the market, she glanced at each of the kiosks and stalls in search of a good souvenir to take back home with her. Acre may be a gray and dreary city, but how many women can say they've been to the Holy Land and prove it? This would be something to brag about when she returned home. She passed several street venders before she came across a jeweler. Pausing to browse through his merchandise, she fingered a few pairs of earrings and bracelets before laying eyes on a very beautiful and wonderfully made necklace. It was made simply, in the style of the Middle East, but the bright colored stones strung along the leather cord made her smile. The oranges and blues reminded her of the ocean hitting the sandy beach at sunset, something she always admired about the Holy Land. It was always more beautiful than sunsets at home.
Unable to resist, she pulled out a few coins Sibrand had given her from the purse that hung from her side and handed them to the vender in exchange for the necklace. She thanked the man in Israeli, the only words she knew in the language, and left the market, fastening the necklace around her bare neck. Having found her souvenir, she wandered the streets for a while longer, eventually stopping at the cathedral that towered over every other building in the city. Pausing for a moment outside the front doors, she pondered what to do before finally pulling open the heavy wooden doors and entering the chapel.
The inside was massive and beautifully painted, but she ignored a lot of the artwork of the cathedral and went immediately to a private prayer bench. Lighting a single candle, she knelt down on a padded bench and bowed her head in prayer. She remained in silent prayer for several minutes, not pausing or speaking to anyone. It was not long until a priest came up to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, breaking her from her concentration.
"For what purpose do you pray so strongly, my child?" asked the priest.
Abigail glanced up from the one candle she had lit separate from all the others to the kind-faced priest that stood above her. She did not answer right away, not wanting to explain to the priest why she had a lover. That sort of thing was distained by the Catholic Church so she instead decided on a different approach.
"For the Master of the Port, Father," she replied. "I pray that he soon find peace from his fear of death."
The priest smiled at her warmly but did not make her stand up. "That is a kind thing to pray for, my child. But why do you pray with such fervor?"
She glanced away from the priest to stare at the single candle she had lit for Sibrand. Her eyes glazed over when she recalled many of the sweet and passionate nights she and the Port Master used to share before his work as a Templar slowly began to poison him.
"Because he is dear to me," she replied. "Like a little sister cares for her older brother." This was more or less true. She cared for Sibrand deeply, maybe not like an elder brother, but like a husband, a lover, a soul mate; if there was such a thing.
The priest patted her shoulder before blessing her and kissing her forehead. "I pray the Almighty Father find favor with you and grant your request. Peace be with you, my child."
"And also with you, Father," she replied as the priest walked away. She watched him leave to speak to another follower of the church and then disappear into a confessional. Once he was gone, she glanced once more at the candle she had lit for Sibrand. Staring at it for a few minutes, she blew it out and left the church. It would take more than a candle to heal Sibrand of his wounds.
Making her way back to the port, Abigail fingered the necklace she had bought earlier and wondered if Sibrand would like it, but then scoffed at the idea knowing full well he would not even noticed the change in her appearance. She received more stares on her way back but once she made it back on board Sibrand's ship, they ceased. His men had long since learned not to stare at her for too long lest they receive lashes. Sibrand did not take kindly to anyone looking at his woman the wrong way.
The sun was setting by now and Sibrand was sure to have retreated to his cabin. Passing deckhands who were busy scrubbing the deck, she crossed the deck to the door of the Captain's cabin and knocked three times before entering. The lamps were lit this time, but the chart table was still a mess. Did he throw a fit again?
"Sib?" she called when she did not find him on the bed or at the chart table attempting to clean up the mess he had made.
"Where have you been?" asked his harsh voice from behind her. Abigail jumped and spun around to come face to face with a very angry and very tired Sibrand. "You were gone for far too long."
She frowned at him. Now what was wrong? "I was out in the market," she replied bluntly. "I then stopped at the cathedral for a short prayer and spoke with the priest. Why? Is there a problem with that? I thought you knew I went out."
Sibrand was clearly enraged, and drunk too. His cheeks were flushed and eyes bloodshot and the strong stench of poorly made ale lingered on his breath. He clenched his fists in fury. "And no doubt that priest was in truth an Assassin seeking information about me! What did you tell him? Out with it, woman!"
Abigail took a step back from him. Never before had she seen him this infuriated and never had he ever spoken to her that way. She was appalled that he would treat her so but she kept that anger in and answered his question with honesty.
"I merely told him what I was praying for, which is what he asked. Nothing more, nothing less."
Sibrand raised one of his clenched fists as if to strike her, but he held back and asked another question. "And what were you praying for!" he demanded. "For an Assassin to come and kill me? No doubt you would love that, wouldn't you!" He took a drunken step towards her.
She backed away from the threatening fist Sibrand held up and closer to the wall of the cabin. "I wish no such thing!" she countered. "I prayed for God to bring you peace from your madness! My only wish is for you to be happy again!"
Her lover's raised fist shook with the realization of her words and soon dropped to his side with the other, but he did not loosen them. He was silent for a moment as he walked forward and backed Abigail up against the wall. He dipped his head and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wall between her shoulder and her head. Unsure of what to do, she just stood there, her hands at her sides and staring at Sibrand's blond hair with a confused expression. Drunken people were really unpredictable, and it wasn't long before he began babbling strings of odd words.
"I can't…" he said. "Not anymore….no more. I'm finished…..I can't anymore."
Confused, Abigail placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him away from her, standing him up straight and making sure he did not fall over. The stench of alcohol on his breath was incredibly strong.
"Tell me," she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. "What is it that you can't do anymore?"
He stared at her, fear evident in his eyes. "The Templars," he stated. She raised an eyebrow. "It's too much. I can't….not anymore. I'm not cut out for this." He then shoved away from her and stumbled over to his chart table, so drunk that he kicked his chair out of the way and leaned against the table so he wouldn't fall over. "I need to…so much work…so much pressure…"
Sibrand was not being completely clear with her but he did not need to. She had an idea of what was happening with him, his babbling told her that much. "Then leave them!" she demanded. "You were a fine captain before you joined their ranks. All they're bringing is stress and pain. If you leave them you won't have to fear anymore. You don't need them to run this port or defend Acre from the Sarisans-"
"You don't get it!" he suddenly screamed, cutting her off as he slammed a heavy fist on the table. "It's not the Sarisans Acre has to fear! That I have to fear!" He paused, glancing at his charts and then to the floor. "It never was…" His voice trailed off and he just stood there, next to his messy chart table staring at the floor.
"Sibrand," Abigail started. "What is it that is bothering you?"
Grabbing one of his many navigation devices from his chart table, his face contorted with rage. "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" he screamed as he threw the navigation device and slumped back down onto the side of his chair, his anger suddenly dissolving into sobs. The device smashed into one of the lamps, eliminating some of the light in the room and spilling hot wax onto the floor.
Slowly and cautiously, Abigail crossed the room and circled around the chair to stand behind Sibrand. Gently, she placed her hands on his shaking shoulders and pressed her warm chest to his back. She didn't know what to say, couldn't think of any words to say that would comfort him. She had tried all she could but now she knew this was all that would work for him. She had to let the alcohol run its course in his body and in the meantime let him cry out what he had been holding in these past many weeks.
Abigail groaned when the morning sunlight trickled through the windows of the cabin to wake her. She had come in late the night before from her turn at watch and in turn received very little sleep. She did not want to get up so early but she knew she had to. Sibrand would have another fit if she didn't get to her work in time.
Suddenly, now on the thought of her lover, she realized that he was not in the bed next to her. Startled, she sat up and looked around the room and was relieved to find him awake and sitting in his chair by his chart table. Smiling, she swung her legs out of the bed and placed her bare feet on the wood floor. She was not wearing her sailor's shirt but she still had on her trousers. The linen wrappings she always wore were still wrapped tightly around her torso.
"Good morning, love," she said, standing up and walking over to him. His face was emotionless but she did not let that bother her as she crossed the cabin to stand behind him and wrap her bare arms around his armored chest. She wished he was shirtless so she could feel his strong muscles than ran along his back, abdomen, and arms. She loved his muscles. They were part of what first attracted her to him. But lately he hadn't been showing them off to her as often as he used to. In fact, it was a rare sight to see him without his armor, even when he slept. His paranoia ran deep, deep enough to wear his chainmail to bed for protection when he was not awake. He feared death that much.
"Are you working on the ship today?" he asked her, betraying no emotion even in his voice.
Surprised, she raised her head from his shoulder and stared at the side of his face. He hadn't shaved in a while. Blond fuzz was sprouting from his chin and up his cheeks. His eyes were red and swollen with heavy black bags underneath. Had he even slept the night before?
"Not in the afternoon, why?" she replied.
He shook his head. "No reason. Go about your duties." Frowning in confusion, she released Sibrand from her hold and went back to the bed, picking up her shirt and pulling it over her head. She brushed out her hair and pulled it back in a ribbon before heading for the door to the cabin. She was just about to leave when Sibrand stopped her.
"Abigail, wait."
She paused, her hand on the door latch. Glancing back, she saw him stand from his chair and cross the cabin to stand in front of her. She didn't say anything to him, merely stared up into his pale blue eyes searching for any sign of emotion. But they were blank and betrayed nothing. However, his words did.
"Abby, I just need to tell you…" be trailed off, as if what he was about to say was extremely difficult to get out. "I just need you to know that… whatever I've done, whatever I do or will do, I need you to know that I love you, that I will always love you."
She didn't smile, she didn't frown, nor raise an eyebrow. This was something she knew and had always known. He did not need to tell her. She nodded anyway, reaching for his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
He glanced at his hand she squeezed and then back at her for a moment before suddenly bending down and pressing his lips onto hers. They held the kiss for several seconds before Sibrand withdrew and pushed her out the door, almost too quickly.
Abigail went about her duties aboard the warship just as she would have any other day. She checked and rechecked the sails to make sure they were still sturdy, that nothing was wearing down and the ropes were secure. She scrubbed the decks and pried barnacles off the hull. When lunch time rolled around, she dined with the rest of the crew but ate in silence. She would not join in with the rest of the crew in their drunken bantering and lively story telling. Even though she had long since gained the respect of the crew and even made friends with a few of them, her mind was elsewhere. She constantly worried about Sibrand.
The sea captain in question was currently out in the town, checking on his men and searching for more ships for his blockade, or city defense, whatever it was. Abigail had no idea why he was gathering ships anymore, but she still did not bother to ask. Whatever he was struggling with, it had something to do with this gathering of ships, and the Templars. It was not her business so she would not ask.
After lunch, she left the ship on her own, her knife neatly tucked away in the folds of her shirt, and once again wandered the market. After two hours of browsing and finding nothing of interest, she decided to head back to the port area and find something to drink. Alcohol may not be a very good idea, but it sounded good to her at the moment. One drink would be just fine.
Finding a relatively decent tavern where she could get a good drink and still be surrounded by sailors who knew her, she walked in, sat down and ordered a pint of ale. She only sipped at it, not really drinking too much or paying attention to anyone else in the room. She didn't even really notice when a man sat down right next to her and didn't even order anything.
"So this is what you do on your time off, Abby?" asked a very familiar voice.
Startled, Abigail looked up to see Sibrand staring at her and frowning. Raising her eyebrows, she turned back to her drink and took another sip of ale. When she set the mug down, it was obvious that there was barely anything missing from the top. It was still quite full.
"Not all the time," she replied. "I'm usually at the market browsing but I didn't find anything of interest so I came here."
"You shouldn't be here," he told her, leaning on the bar counter. "It isn't proper for a woman to be drinking ale in a place like this."
"Sibrand, I don't think it's proper for a sea captain to be get drunk off his ass in the middle of the afternoon while he still has work to do, but that didn't stop you now did it?" she retorted, taking another sip of her ale.
Sibrand scowled at her, but she ignored him.
"Why are you here, Sib?" she asked.
There was a pause before Sibrand answered her. "Several of my men were found dead today," he replied, sounding frustrated. "It was master work."
Abigail set her mug down on the counter and stared at her lover. "And this means?"
"The Assassin is here," he growled. "What else would it mean?"
She shrugged, clearly showing that she did not know and did not care to think about it too much. This was apparently the wrong thing to do for Sibrand suddenly burst into another fit of rage.
"What was that shrug supposed to mean!" he yelled, startling Abigail and almost making her drop her mug of ale. "You think you can just shrug this off as if it doesn't mean anything to you! Do you even care!"
Abigail stared dumbstruck at her man, unsure of how to react. He was worse than before, worse than yesterday. What had gotten him so worked up? Was it the fact that he knew the Assassin had finally come for him? But this news was nothing new. Maybe it was the fact that the Assassin was actually in town now instead of somewhere else.
"Sibrand, I think you're over reacting a little-"
"I'm overreacting!" he screamed, interrupting her. "You're not the one some assassin has come to Acre to kill! You're not the one who has a port to run while assassins are after you and your own men are plotting against you! So how can you say I'm over reacting!"
Abigail was speechless. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water but no words came to her lips. Sibrand ignored her and kept yelling.
"You know, I can now see why you think I'm over reacting," he continued, a cruel smile playing along his lips. "It's because you're one of them, isn't it?" Abigail gapped at this accusation. Why on earth would he think such a thing? His smile soon disappeared. "It all makes sense now! That is how they know where my men were! That is how they know where to find me! It's perfect. The one person I thought I trusted, the one person closest to me, is plotting to have me killed!"
Abigail stood up now, her eyebrows knitted together in such a frown that would put Sibrand's to shame. "How DARE you accuse ME of such a monstrous thing!" she screamed. "I who stayed with you through everything you've been going through, who stayed by your side even when you yelled at me in a drunken rage, who cared for you even though you stopped caring for me! How DARE you even SPEAK of such things!" She drew her hand back and flung it forward to strike him across the cheek but Sibrand was quicker and caught her wrist just before her hand came in contact with his face.
He stood up, her wrist in a painfully tight grip, and glared down at her. "That's another strike against you, love," he said. There was no sarcasm in his tone, not even for a joke.
Abigail was appalled. "What was my first!" she screamed back.
Sibrand did not answer her. Instead, he dragged her out of the tavern by her wrist and tossed her onto the stone street for all to see. Pointing at her and looking around at the people in the street, he raised his voice as if he were giving an announcement.
"This woman is a traitor! She plotted against me with the Assassins and now seeks to have me killed!" Abigail glanced at the faces of those who watched, searching for any sign of pity or indication that someone would help her. Her heart sank when she saw that everyone who was watching wore blank or frightened faces as if they were afraid that they would receive the same fate as her.
"He is lying!" she yelled back. "He is sick! Afraid of his own coming death! I only sought to help him! You must understand!"
Sibrand looked back down at her, his icy blue eyes full of hatred and betrayal. He walked over to her when he heard her speaking and she shied away from him, afraid for her life. Afraid that the man she loved would become the end of her. He stopped in front of her and she cowered at his feet. What was he going to do to her?
Without saying anything, without even showing one ounce of remorse, he raised his foot and kicked her. He kicked her hard in the ribs, once, twice, three times; leaving her coughing and groaning on the stone ground while clutching her ribs. Tears came to her eyes, warm salty tears. She could not believe this was happening. When they had first left for the Holy Land, something like this had never occurred to her. The hard truth now hit her making her realize that everything he had said to her, everything she had hoped for, was a lie.
"Do not believe her!" Sibrand yelled back at the people. "She is wickedness in disguise! She is an evil woman who plots and deviates behind even the most cleverest of men's backs! She cannot be trusted!" That said, he picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it in her face. Abigail coughed and sputtered, blinking sand out of her eyes and spitting it out of her mouth. "Get out of here, you vixen! Do not show your face here again!" When she did not move, he raised his foot as if to kick her again. Seeing this, she scrambled to her feet and bolted out of the crowd, one arm still clutching her injured ribs and tears gushing down her dirtied cheeks.
Altair leaped across rooftops, taking out any roofguards who happened to be in his way. His information gathering was done and the Bureau Leader of Acre had given him permission to take out the one called Sibrand, his eighth target. After that, he was ready to take Robert de Sable. But for now, Robert could wait. He had another Templar to take care of, and by the sounds of things, a very paranoid Templar.
Jumping across wooden beams through the gate to the ports, the master assassin jumped to the ground and walked along the streets to where he knew Sibrand to be. When he spotted a group of guards just ahead of him, he cut through an alley way to bypass them. The inside of the alley was dank and dark. He was lucky no one was here to bother him. He hated running into people in alleyways.
But where he thought he was alone, he soon discovered he had been wrong. Slowing down to reduce the amount of sound he made, he listened hard. From behind him, he could here soft footsteps slapping the stone ground. They were small feet by the sound of them, but booted. Was it a child who followed him? Or a small, but grown man? Not taking any chances, Altair silently drew his hidden blade before spinning around with such speed as to put a cat to shame.
He had meant to slice at the person behind him, but his blade was blocked, surprisingly, by a young woman with a large knife. She looked startled, and slightly scared. Her eyes were wide and her face dirtied and her free hand clutched at her side as if she were in severe pain. But it wasn't her face and bearing that surprised him, but her clothes. She did not wear the standard visage of a woman from across the sea, but she wore the trousers and shirt of a man. Surprised, he withdrew his blade and took a step back, but keeping his hands ready just in case.
"Who are you?" he asked in english. Given what this woman looked like with her pale skin and eyes, it was probably the only language she knew. "Why are you following me?"
The woman put her blade away, seemingly satisfied that he was not going to attack her again and joined her hands together at holding her side. Were her ribs broken? How? Altair was not so sure that he wouldn't attack her, but he would hear her out first.
"You are the Assassin everyone is talking about, correct?" she asked.
Not sure where this was going, Altair merely nodded. He was surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes when he did so. Her shoulders sagged and she moved towards him, gripping his arms with her apparently weak hands.
"Please, sir!" she begged. "You must help Sibrand!" The tears were gushing from her eyes when she looked up into his hooded face. Altair took comfort in the fact that she probably could not see his eyes under his hood. "He is sick with paranoia. I have done everything I can for him, but it is not enough." She let go of him with one hand only to wipe the tears from her eyes before returning her fingers to his sleeves. Altair was so stunned by this he could not move. "I fear you are the only one to help him. Please, I can do no more for him. I beg of you, free his soul and give him peace. His paranoia and rage consumes him. There is nothing for him anymore but to move on from this world. You are the only one who can help him, I beg of you!"
She practically threw herself at him in her desperation. Altair had no idea what to make of the situation other than she was someone close to his target and he was her last resort. Shaking her off, he took another step back.
"I can tell you how to find him and how easiest to reach him," she said, sounding almost desperate. She must have taken his recoil as a denial. But he did not need her information. He had all he needed.
"Who are you to Sibrand?" he asked her.
She swallowed, obviously not sure how to respond. Why, Altair did not know, but he was sure he would find out. She grabbed her side again before she spoke.
"I'm…I WAS…his…" the words were hard for her to say.
"Wife?" the assassin offered.
The woman shook her head. "No, not that, but close."
"Betrothed?" he asked again. This woman was being a little difficult.
She shook her head again. "No, not that either. I was his lo…" She trailed off again.
"Lover," Altair finished. This was something he could understand. Adha had been his lover before she disappeared. But now that she was gone, he had no one and could sympathize with this woman.
She nodded, unable to say anything.
"What's your name?" he asked her.
"Abigail," she replied. "But please do not tell him I came to you, it would make his anger at me even worse."
Nodding, Altair turned and waved her off. "I will see to it Sibrand finds the peace he has been missing." That said, he dashed out of the alley and to the commotion that was happening in the streets by the docks. Most likely, that was where Sibrand could be found.
Abigail watched everything from a dingy a few meters from Sibrand's ship. Just after she watched her man assault a poor scholar for no reason, she hopped into a boat and rowed out into the bay to where she knew Sibrand would retreat. Staying far enough away so she would not be suspicious but close enough so she could watch everything, she watched as the assassin she spoke to earlier hopped gracefully from one boat to the next and from one tie post to the next tie post until he jumped onto the side of the ship she had come to know so well and waited for Sibrand to come waltzing up to the stern, bow out and helmet on while he shouted at his men. She pitied those who received the brunt of Sibrand's paranoia and silently thanked God or whatever divine being was out there that she was not among them.
When the assassin finally jumped onto the deck and plunged his hidden blade into her lover's gut, she cringed. She hated to see something like that happen to the man she loved, but she knew it was the only option she had left so save him. She could not stand to see him eat himself away anymore. As soon as she watched the assassin kill her love, she grabbed up her oars and rowed over to the ship. Climbing up a rope ladder, she hoisted herself up on the deck of the warship and bolted up to the stern. She arrived just in time to see the assassin flee over the side of the ship and hop across boats and back to land before anyone could catch him.
Turning from the sight, she looked down at the bloody heap of a man on the deck of the ship and wept. Kneeling down, she picked up his head in her arms and cradled him in her lap, crying silently for her loss. She was so engrossed in her sadness that she almost failed to notice a weak hand reach up and attempt to touch her face. Confused, she looked up to see Sibrand's eyes slightly open and a shaking hand reaching for her.
"Abig…gail…" he managed to choke out.
"Sibrand!" she cried. She could not believe he was still alive. Was she imagining things? Or had the Assassin done this on purpose to give the two time together before Sibrand died?
"I…I'm so-sorry..." His voice was shaky and weak, but he still managed to get out what he wanted to. "So…so sorry…"
She shook her head. "No, it's okay. I should have been more understanding."
Sibrand let out a small cough that almost seemed as if he were trying to laugh but it cost him too much. Blood leaked out of the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his cheeks. "You…you were the-there for…" He coughed again. "For me when…when no one else…else was." Another cough and a choke. "For that…I-I thank…y-you…" He tried to breathe deeply, but he just ended up coughing again and having more blood spurt out of his mouth. "And…I am s-sorry for-" Another cough. "For cast-ting…you o-out like…like I did."
Abigail tried to get him stop talking. It cost him too much to talk and if she could get help right away, she might be able to save him. "Please, you don't need to tell me, I know." She lifted her head and looked around. "Doctor! I need a doctor!" She practically screamed the order, but Sibrand placed a weak hand on her arm.
"No, Abby…" he said, a small gurgle coming out at the end of her name. "It is…is too late…"
She shook her head, unable to believe him. He would not, could not go. "No! It's not! You're not leaving me, Sibrand! You hear me? You are not leaving me! I'm going to get you a doctor, just hang on."
As if he was comforted by the words, he smiled. It was weak, but it was still a smile. He ran his hand up her arm and over her shoulder before he stopped it at the necklace she had bought from the market. A cough came out before he spoke again. "There…there is no n-need," he told her. "I'm al…ready slipping…." Abigail stared at him, not sure what he meant until he closed his eyes. "Good..bye…my Abigail…"
His body then became limp and his fingers slipped from the necklace before his arm dropped to his side on the deck. Her eyes widened in disbelief; disbelief at the blood on his face, at the blood pool underneath him, and at his closed, lifeless eyes. He was gone and there was nothing she could do to bring him back.
Nothing.
Grabbing a hold of his heavy, chainmailed and lifeless torso, she bent her head over his chest and wailed into his dead body. Rocking him back and forth as if comforting a small child, she cried loud and long. Long after the bells stopped ringing and louder than the shouts of soldiers chasing after the assassin who had killed him. She silently thanked the mysterious assassin but also cursed him for taking her love from her. The Assassin gave Sibrand peace, but at the cost of his life. What saddened her the most was the fact that it was the only thing that could have saved him. The only thing….
A/N: I seriously think poor Sibrand needs more fucking love! He's overshadowed by that fucking, foppish Frenchman, Robert and Sibrand doesn't even have a place on the character list! D: THE HORROR!
Anyway, hope you enjoyed. He is the only Templar I actually like so I hope I did okay :)
Review please.