Despite his best efforts, Malik couldn't believe Altair's words, forbidding him to speak ill of their mentor. But the other assassin was relentless in explaining all Robert told him before he died, trying to make him see reason.

"He had no reason to lie. We must speak with Al Mualim and demand an explanation"

"You're putting too much faith in Robert's words, Altair"

"I still want to look into it. If our mentor is innocent, then I'll gladly accept my punishment and extend my apologies!" Altair exclaimed, "But if he's not, the duty of stopping him falls on me"

The other assassin watched his brother shed the sweaty white tunic and untangle himself from the weapon belts with a deep frown etched on the younger man's almost sunburned face. There was a gash on his side, crusted blood had luckily avoided Altair to bleed out, but it would surely leave a scar.

"Robert was a surprisingly capable opponent. I can count on one hand the times someone almost bested me in a fight" the assassin grimaced, as Malik gave him a dripping and stinking rag.

Pressing it to the wound, he could feel the slight sting of whatever concoction Malik had used to fight a possible infection. Still, there was too much adrenaline in his body to find some solace in a temporary pause before going to Masyaf once again and facing Al Mualim.

"Speaking of capable opponents, the woman you kidnapped... she's driving me insane" Malik growled, "She attempted to sneak out multiple times, and once I managed to catch her just in time before she could split open the head as she fell from the roof of this hideout. Seriously, I had to blindfold her to bring her here and she attempted to bite me"

"It would have been better to leave her in that hut" Altair smirked.

"You can't leave a relative of the King in an abandoned and desolated hut"

"Just tell me where she is, so I can deal with her"

The assassin had promised to return her to Richard, but the fascination he felt for her was still present and her face had occupied his thoughts all the time they spent apart after Altair saved Margaret.

How could a stranger prevail in his mind so well, he didn't know.

Maybe it would have been better to ignore whatever attraction he felt for her dainty and soft looks, even if the thought of seeing her dead was haunting.

He was by no means a chaste man and had had his share of experiences with women, mostly to unwind the tension and to feel some kind of human warmth after being alone. It was the same for his brothers, there was no shame in it.

After all, with how short was the life expectancy for assassins, it wasn't surprising that so few of them decided to marry and have children. After seeing Margaret for the first time, so beautiful and unapproachable, Altair found himself in the arms of a courtesan, so similar to the woman he spent hours observing, but it wasn't exactly satisfying.

The hair wasn't the same shade of brilliant red he expected, lips too full and an unsettling large smile on the woman's face shattered the image he had in mind of Margaret, sprawled under him on the soft covers of the bed, only to return still and expressionless like a statue in her garden.

So wonderful it would be to know the exact texture of her lips, to see her chocolate eyes lit up in joy as he kissed her long neck, following the dust of freckles to her shoulder as they tightly entangled in each other.

The image was enough to spur him forward and race through the corridors of the hideout, eager to be in her presence after weeks on the road.

Altair reached the door of the bedroom Malik had pointed to him, only to find it locked. He wasn't exactly deterred by it, finding more annoying her stubbornness to avoid contact with him, the same man who saved her life.

Picking up the lock was even too easy for him, used to sneak in whatever place he wanted.

The assassin was almost disappointed when he saw the woman sleeping on the bed, a frown etched on her delicate features. Even in her dreams, she was annoyed with someone and it made him smile faintly.

He pulled a chair near the window, the sight in front of him much more interesting than the life unraveling outside. The man wondered if at least once Margaret had asked of him, his whereabouts, or the reason why she was kidnapped.

There was no doubt in his mind that Malik had kept his silence, but a part of him still hoped to see a reaction to his presence in there. He didn't particularly care if it was good or bad.

It was so funny to see a small woman, defenseless in the hands of an assassin, struggling and squirming in distress as he ignored her demands. Altair wondered if she even knew how little he cared about her family, title and how rich she would be after her upcoming wedding, the only thing that pushed Altair to rescue her was his strange attraction to her.

The looks that captured his attention were only a small part of her and he found himself intrigued by her strong character. According to Malik not even once she had cried, despite being a soft noblewoman, yet it was clear how much she missed the comfortable life of the palace.

So out of place in the assassin's hideout, but fiery enough to hold her head high despite being with strangers. The very demeanor of a woman destined to be queen, proud even in borrowed and plain clothes.

But even on the cheap cot she occupied, in the weak light of the candle, she was deeply alluring for him. The curls sprawled on the thin pillow invited him to weave his fingers in her hair as if the action alone could bind him to her indissolubly. Wishing for something that could stop the time and let him enjoy some more the woman's presence at his side, he sighed.

Even if she was a bit difficult to understand, the assassin wanted nothing more than Margaret, knowing he was preparing himself for heartbreak as soon as she married her betrothed.

But Altair had given his word to King Richard, so he had to let her go.

In the end, everything was going back to normal, even if he could feel regret already piercing his heart.