6/28/11: To respond to one of my reviewers, Selena, I will indeed continue this when Revelations comes out (I'll be gone for about a week just to play the game though XD). I'm not sure if anyone has read 'The Secret Crusade' by Oliver Bowden, but it tells us what happens to Altair, Maria, their sons, Malik, and Rauf. Now, I'm not going to say what happens in the book, but I WILL say this: I'm changing it up a bit. I've already looked ahead of my story months before we even heard hide or tail of Revelations, so I already have a sequel to 'Loving Hate' in my mind. I already decided on how many children Altair and Maria will have, their genders, their names, the plotlines, yatta yatta yatta. As we will see later on in 'Loving Hate', the Masyaf Assassin's will soon gain allies in at least 4 different countries. Now, for my sequel, I'm planning on bringing these allies together to face a threat that risks destroying the entire Assassin Order. Will I add some things from Revelations? Sure, as long as they don't disrupt my plotline altogether. But I'm not too happy about what Oliver Bowden wrote in his book and what Altair's and Maria's futures are (ohhh, I do NOT like it one bit). To me, the man can't write one sentence without it seeming juvenile.
AHA! I LIVE! Surprisingly. I'm actually 'bed-ridden', if you will. I've been giving my little cousins piggy-back-rides for how many days now? And how many times a day? You can imagine the condition my spine is in T.T
So, I meant to post this chapter up earlier, but I had several delays. The first was family, though I hardly call that a delay. The second was my computer. I suffered numerous computer viruses over the past two weeks, all thanks to DeviantArt. I wasn't a happy camper when all my files were deleted. Luckily, I had the chapter saved on a jump-drive, but only the beginning of it. So, I spent two weeks trying to think of everything I had in it before, and I probably forgot a thing or two. BUT OH WELL I'M SICK OF LOOKING AT THIS CHAPTER.
I sincerely apologize to Wolfsfussel for my awful German. Obviously, I never took the language as a class. Thank you for pointing out my mistakes, I will see to them as soon as possible.
Anyway. All original characters belong to Ubisoft, everyone else is mine.
The word 'uncomfortable' couldn't describe how Maria was feeling in the smallest degree, nor the words 'cranky, 'irritated', 'annoyed', or 'irked'. She didn't believe any word, in any language, in the entire world could title her mood. She sighed for what seemed to be the fiftieth time that morning and shifted in the saddle. Her back creaked with every movement she made, and her neck throbbed and burned without mercy. Altair's stunt the other day didn't help her back one bit; sure, he put it back into place, but each segment of her spine felt like it was on fire. At least her wound was healing nicely.
She hadn't gotten a decent amount of sleep the night before, either. Altair's proximity had something to do with it, but so did his snoring. At first, she thought a bear was sleeping in the same room as her until she came to realize that it was actually a person. She didn't find his snores to be irritating; she thought they were comforting in some obscure and strange way. His deep breathing and baritone sounds made her want to place a hand on his chest to feel its rumbles and bellows. But, she knew that she could never succumb to such a thing; it'd only satisfy him and make the stupid Assassin smug with himself.
And there was also the fact that their sleepy neighbors weren't actually sleeping. The moans and grunts coming from the room just opposite theirs spoke volumes of what the man and woman (presumably) were up to. It woke Maria up, and to her horror, it did the same to Altair. She knew he was awake when his snores came to a gentle stop, and she felt his eyes on her as she tried to will the sounds away from her ears. It kept her up the whole night, even when they stopped. Altair had ignored the lovers with ease and drifted off again into slumber, but she couldn't banish the lustful sounds from her head.
The gasps and mewls embarrassed her; had she made the same sounds while she was underneath him? Was that what he was thinking of when looking at her? Were his hands busy toying and tending to his anatomy while he imagined that she was the one enjoying him in such a way? She prayed to any deity that that was not the case.
Her eyes continued to droop closed, and she continued to shake herself awake with abrupt jerks of her head. Some part of her pitied the man behind her as her head would slam into his shoulder, but the other part felt as if he deserved it. After all, she had a not-so-wonderful, splitting headache thanks to his shoulder.
The only thing that was any form of encouragement and support was the fact that she only had two more days of this nonsense before returning to Masyaf. There were only two more days left of Maria Thorpe's endless torture by the arse behind her in the saddle. She was already making plans on what her agenda would be when she got back: wring Hildegard's neck, eat, bathe, sleep, choke Hildegard again, and then feed all of Malik's kibbeh to Bayo and Belle.
Her head lolled to the side, and she felt herself slipping out of the saddle. She knew that she would have fallen with little grace and dignity onto the cracked, dusty ground if a sudden arm didn't wrap itself around her waist and keep her steady. She grumbled something incoherent and blew out of her mouth.
"You should rest, Maria." She probably heard that phrase at least twenty times already. And once again, she shook her head and sighed. If she was feeling up to it, she would have swatted and lashed out at him for still having his arm around her. But damn, she was tired. Her thighs ached from the saddle. If she'd slept the proper amount of hours last night, she wouldn't have been in this agony. She shouldn't have been in this agony. She was accustomed to the motion of a horse and how rough a saddle could be—years in the Crusades trained her in that aspect.
Altair pursed his lips and frowned. He didn't understand why she wouldn't sleep for an hour or so. Was she trying to spite him by not listening, or was she just adamant about staying awake and surveying their surroundings? He doubted both; Maria wasn't the type of person that would hurt herself just to irritate someone else—was she?—and she, without a doubt, was not glancing about and admiring the view. No one could with eyes that heavy.
She rubbed her nose and sniffled. Though spring was ending, there were still pesky bits and pieces of pollen floating about. She cursed all the plant-life for giving off pollen so late in the season. In England, she never had to worry about allergies. It rained every other hour, and the rain did a marvelous job keeping pollen stuck to the ground and out of her nose. But no, in Syria, it rained once every two weeks and pollen was another civilization that was growing with no restraint.
And of course Altair wasn't affected at all. He breathed in and out without a care in the world, and she swore she heard a chuckle or two come from him when she had a fit of sneezes. He thought it all so amusing and funny how she was a fearless warrior that could, and would, pierce the flesh of any enemy, but yet she was defeated by simple pollen.
"Stop it already," she mumbled between two sneezes.
His mouth twitched as he said, "I didn't do or say anything, Maria."
"But you were," she sneezed, "thinking it. I know you were."
He knew that he shouldn't tease and prod at her when she was in such a foul mood, but the opportunity to attack was too great for him to pass up. "I never knew you were gifted in mind-reading, Maria."
She scowled and tried to turn around to glare at him, but his arm kept her from doing so. Instead, she glared at his arm. "You'd best watch yourself, Assassin," she hissed, "because I'll rip your head off, given the chance."
He raised an eyebrow at this and shrugged. "I look forward to restraining you from doing so."
She opened her mouth to insult him, but instead sneezed four times in a row. He smirked.
"Don't give me that look," she snarled after her sneezes past. Maria's eyes blazed as Hafa snorted and bobbed her head up and down. "And don't you find entertainment in this, horse!"
Out of sympathy, Altair pulled her closer and rested his chin atop her head when she groaned and whimpered in misery. Her hair was hot to the touch, and the sun wasn't even at its highest point yet. They'd have to buy another cloak for her, presumably one that wouldn't flap in his face.
She sighed and tugged his hood down so it offered her a little shade. "God must hate me for having me suffer like this," she thought aloud.
"Nature takes its own course, Maria, and is not guided by any form of supreme power. Pollen, if successful, will give bloom to more flowers, which will hopefully lead to new life."
"Oh, wonderful: more plants to give off more pollen that will, without a doubt, find its way into my nose. It's all a conspiracy, I swear it." She grunted and crossed her arms stubbornly, then paused. "You do not believe in a deity?" She knew her question was foolish. He believed in a faith—the Brotherhood—but she doubted he was a loyal, avid follower of the Koran.
"No," he answered simply, "I do not."
"You never believed, just for one moment, that there might be a God?"
She felt him shake his head above her. "In my opinion, Maria, religions are warped. Both the Bible and the Koran were, and are, written by man. Different interpretations are made by different readers. Christians believe Jesus was the messiah, while Muslims believe that Mohammed was. True, there are recordings of their existences and achievements, but I believe the Books are written as a form of enslavement." He knew the risk of what he said, even though it was an opinion. She was a former Crusader and pledged an oath to Christ.
"Enslavement?" Instead of fury, there was confusion and interest. She frowned as she blinked to keep her eyes open. "Christianity was created as an escape from Roman law and guidance, Altair. It was a method to free the people and give them hope."
"And has the hope that it brings led to something? Or is it just all in vain—an illusion, even?"
"It's led to principles that govern a Christian's life. I'd count that as something noteworthy."
"But there is still the fact that man wrote the Holy Books, Maria. I do not feel that being religious is corrupting. If the leader of each religious sect does not use the Book of God or Allah as a way to practice their own beliefs, then yes, they are helpful. But most times, I see priests and imams twisting the words of the Bible or Koran to gain control over the people. The Church collects tithes, does it not?"
"To keep Christianity functioning properly," Maria argued. "It's horrible to say, but religion requires money."
Altair tapped the reins against Hafa's neck as she made her way through a rocky slope. He was careful in slowing and urging her on until they reached the usual dried, grassy ground. "But how can you be certain that all of the donations go toward Christianity? I'm sure that the Pope has other uses for coin, as well. Would you be able to spend every bit of tax collections on what you promise the people, Maria?"
"Greed is one of our sins, Altair, and I highly doubt that the Pope would give in to it."
"Isn't the Pope man, though, and does the Bible say that men are flawed?"
She furrowed her brow and blinked. "Yes, it does, but it also says that our Lord is all forgiving."
"And wouldn't the Pope use this as an excuse to spend a little money here and there for his own luxuries? Not a substantial amount, perhaps only a little at a time so that people wouldn't notice, but over time, it'd accumulate and he'd be wealthy, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose you're going to say next, 'Nothing is true, everything is permitted', correct?"
"Yes, I was, but now I have little need to."
They were quiet for several moments; the only sounds were Hafa's hooves against the ground. Finally, Maria gave a small laugh and closed her eyes.
"You sound like my old tutor, Altair. He'd go on and on about how nature and man have nothing to do with religion and that God is all but a romantic belief of salvation."
"A philosopher?" He straightened in the saddle, his interest piqued.
"I suppose you could call him that, though Doctor Fuhrmannschmidt—Dr. Foo for short—never claimed he was. I didn't really know what to believe; my parents hammered the Bible into my head since I was old enough to understand them, and then there was Dr. Foo contradicting everything that I learned." She pressed her ear against his neck, delighted that there was a calm, pleasant rumble to it.
"Were you given a choice?" he quietly asked, noticing how her body relaxed against his. He felt satisfied that he was able to offer some form of comfort to her.
"A choice? Of what?"
"Of what to believe. Did your parents know that you were receiving lessons from a pagan?"
Maria smiled and shook her head 'no'. "My uncle and," she paused, "aunt paid for my private lessons with Dr. Foo. My tutor mainly focused on how life came to be, but he also taught literature and mathematics. I paid close attention to those two fields of study instead of his philosophical ravings." She felt a tad better from their conversation.
"Were your parents nervous about your receiving an education?"
"Nervous?" Maria chuckled. "They were petrified. Dr. Foo promised them that he wasn't teaching me how to be 'evil' or 'corrupted', but that he was in fact teaching me how to follow Christ's teachings with more faith. My parents, the fools they were, believed him. Besides actual studies, Dr. Foo taught me that just because I was a woman didn't mean that I had to rely on and bow to men my whole life, and that birthing babies wasn't all there was to my purpose." She swallowed. "I agree with you saying that religion can be a way to overpower someone else, but I don't agree completely. The Bible says that woman came from man's rib so that she would be his equal, but yet society demands women to have boring and lower lives compared to a man's. There's always the excuse 'Oh, women are warm and beautiful creatures that do not deserve the pain and suffering men must undergo. They deserve to be pampered by their husbands and loved by them in the most intimate of ways.'" Maria snorted and shook her head.
"If anything," she continued, "that reason translates to, 'Women are there for us. We'll just saddle them with our babies and be on our merry way.' At least, that's what it means to me. I don't think I'd be able to look at myself in any mirror or reflective surface if I was a cleaning, cooking, child rearing housewife. I always believed that discipline and patience builds character, and I very much like how I turned out, thanks to them."
Altair wanted to agree with her. He wanted to tell her that he absolutely admired and applauded the woman she grew to become, but he knew that words held little value to her ears. Her disgust for a life as an average woman stung him. He wouldn't want to take her freedoms and rights away, but was a family too much to ask for?
Did he, an infidel and taker of life, deserve a wife at his side and children of his own?
He sighed into her hair and nuzzled the top of her head. She took the gesture for its entire worth as she gave her eyes a little rest.
Hildegard turned in a slow, full circle in front of her mirror, admiring her new purchase. She loved how the fabric twirled around her legs and how the material hugged her curvaceous body without a bit of discomfort. She smiled and glanced at the man in the doorway.
"Well? What do you think?"
Malik stirred from his light doze and blinked his eyes. "I think it does an excellent job portraying your bold, irksome personality," he blandly said.
Hildegard rolled her eyes and waved a hand at him. "Oh, come now," she chortled, "was it so bad purchasing it for me?"
"I highly think buying dresses first thing in the morning is life threatening." And before I had my kibbeh, he thought sourly.
"Oh, you were already awake though, remember? Since you blatantly refused to start my bath, you had to prepare the tea. And you decided to sit through my conversation with the novices, don't you recall?"
He gave one tired bob of his head. "Yes, I remember how engrossed the four of you were to learn that the Master writes love letters to a fire-breathing dragon."
"Is that what she's called here?" Hildegard rubbed her chin and quirked an eyebrow. "Hm, it sounds fitting, I suppose, though I think it's rude to judge someone before getting to know them."
"My judgment of you has yet to be proven false."
Hildegard smirked and held back a giggle when Malik yawned. "Is that how it is, then? Alright, if you don't think blue suits me," she gestured to her dress, "then I'm sure they have other colors. I swore I saw a burgundy one at the stall," she drawled, narrowing her eyes in victory when Malik looked terrified of going on another Hildegard shopping spree.
"Blue is," he struggled to find the word that most suited how she looked. It brought out her hair color, but didn't do her eyes justice, and burgundy did look better on her. Her face lit up like a torch as she waited for his compliment. He cleared his throat and finished, "It's average." Her face fell and she crossed her arms.
"'Average'," she repeated. "That's it? Not 'beautifying', 'radiant', 'superb, 'sublime', or 'picturesque'? Nothing else? Just... average?"
He nodded without any fear of her pursed lips or jutted hip. He felt a strange pride from earning such a reaction from her; it felt good to ruffle her feathers. Maybe he was just too tired.
She tilted her chin and 'hmph'ed. "Well, I suppose my efforts have gone to waste."
"Your efforts of boring me to near death were quite successful."
Hildegard frowned at him and ignored his comment. "I was hoping to look especially radiant while confronting Aden today. I needed something... intimidating to prove to him that I hold no fault whatsoever for his heartbroken state of mind. After all," she turned back to her mirror, smoothing her dress out here and there, "if he didn't worry so much, then he wouldn't have gone through all the stress that thinking of me brought him."
Malik rolled and closed his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe. "You're going to blame him for your absence?"
"And why not?" she laughed. "I was perfectly fine—well, except the bits of having my coin and belongings stolen—so there was no need to get his head in a knot over me. He should have been more concerned with himself, I dare say!"
Malik shook his head and ignored the urge to walk away from her. "Is it such a crime for a man to worry about the woman they admire?"
Hildegard turned around and gave him a bewildered look. "Oh, is that your offensive strategy, Malik? That's a bit hypocritical, isn't it? You yourself berated Altair for mourning over Maria's absence."
"True," Malik agreed, "and I ended up counseling him. Perhaps you should listen to what Aden has to say before you let your mouth go rattling off, accusing him of even having a heart."
She seemed doubtful of his words. "You and Maria are exactly the same," she scoffed. "You're always telling me to come clean with everything and to apologize. Well, I don't see how I'm in the wrong! I left England to help Maria, and all I earn is scorn for my efforts."
"Perhaps you should tell Aden that instead of dumping all the blame onto him. A man's greatest gift is loving a woman who reciprocates his feelings."
"Oh? And what makes you think I reciprocate his feelings?"
Malik shrugged. "You'd be heartless if you didn't."
"Then I am heartless." Hildegard's voice, both low and cool, sent a shiver up Malik's spine as she strode past him.
Altair tugged on the reins as Hafa trotted toward a small spring. It'd been several hours since his and Maria's conversation, and the woman was sleeping soundly in his arm. Occasionally, she'd have a twitch in her leg or in her arm that would smack against him, but he ignored it for the most part. It was actually refreshing for him to see her in such a collective, calm state of mind—even though she was sleeping.
And then he discovered her mumbles. He never knew she talked in her sleep—or snored, for that matter. She'd mumble fragmented sentences and hiss out obscenities that sounded French. He had a very good feeling where she learned the words, though he'd rather not think about it.
There was one particular word tumbling out of her mouth that caught his attention. He didn't want to assume or get carried away with his thoughts, but he couldn't help but to feel hopeful at her mumbling what sounded like his name. Then the words 'idiot', 'daft', 'miserable heap of a mule', or 'fool' would follow immediately after. He smirked as he hopped down from the saddle and led Hafa over to the spring. The horse's first priority was to dunk her head in the water and drink as much as she could. Altair refilled their waterskins and sighed when he glanced at Maria.
She was slumped over Hafa's neck and still asleep. Her face was flushed and there was sweat coating her creased brow. He carried the waterskin, now plump and filled with water, to Maria and spilled a trickle of water over her face. She groaned and scrunched her nose up as she groggily peeled her eyes open.
"Are we there yet?" she yawned. Her eyes were almost closed as she tried to look up at him. He shook his head and tied the skin closed before packing it back into a saddlebag. He climbed onto Hafa, assured that the mare had a satisfying gallon of water.
Glancing at the sun, he tapped his heels against Hafa's sides. "If we make haste, we should make it to a village before nightfall."
Maria sighed and leaned into him. When she made herself comfortable and planned on closing her eyes for another nap, he jerked her awake. She clicked her tongue and grumbled. "I suppose you don't want to travel at night, do you?"
"No," he whispered as he slowed Hafa down. Maria looked about, confused as to why they stopped. They were beneath the shade of a healthy tree with broad, supple leaves, and the decrease in temperature was noticeable. Maria let off a contented puff of air, but yelped as she felt arms pulling her off the saddle. Altair carried her over to the tree and laid her down at the trunk. She stared at him for an excuse for his actions as he sat beside her with the waterskin in his hands.
"You need to drink, Maria." When she looked ready to protest and scold him for waking her up and for something so trivial and unimportant to her, his face hardened beneath his hood. "Your skin is as red as heated iron," he placed a hand on her cheek, "and will begin to peel if it gets any hotter." She gave him an ugly look as he forced the waterskin into her unwilling hands. She felt even more like a child when he didn't leave and chose to watch her until she drank.
She rolled her eyes, knowing that she'd never win this battle. No words could change his decision. She untied the skin and took a few sips from it. He turned his head away for a moment, convinced that she wouldn't argue with him.
As soon as the water hit her tongue, she realized just how thirsty she was. Through her tired haze of mind, she noticed how sticky and dry her mouth was. She gulped down more water without any shame, a few droplets sliding from the corners of her mouth and trailing down her chin and neck. She didn't even notice Altair watching those droplets with interest.
His eyes watched her neck roll with every gulp she took. He cursed himself for knowing how soft her neck was—how it felt against his lips and the stubble along his jaw. His ears listened to the small sounds she made as she quenched her thirst.
His hands dug into the dry earth as he gnashed his teeth together. Was she even aware of what she was doing to him? Or was she completely lost in her indulgence that she didn't even notice him trying to fend off lustful thoughts?
Oh, he wished the circumstances would let him give in to his desires. How much he wanted to take that skin away from her and lock his mouth with hers to taste what had engrossed her so. But, he knew better. And he also knew what she'd do to him if he acted like such a fool.
A hopeful fool, that was.
Maria cracked a contented smile when she finished her share. Her tongue ran over her lips, oblivious to the heated jolt her companion received. He could almost feel the muscle sliding against his own—could almost taste its distinct sweetness. That raspberry-red delight slid back into her mouth, leaving him staring and yearning to see it again.
Maria blinked at the waterskin, her cheeks reddening further upon her discovery that she had downed the entire bag. She was about to apologize for drinking all of the water, but he shook his head, snatched the skin from her hands, and made a quick escape. Her eyes narrowed at his back as she sat on the ground.
"Everything that bloody Assassin does leaves me beyond confused," she mused with a raised brow. She smirked and rolled her eyes as she hoisted herself back onto her feet. She wobbled for a moment and leaned against the tree before taking small, steady steps toward Hafa. She adjusted the horse's bridle as she watched Altair walk off in the direction of the spring. A corner of her mouth turned downward; she felt guilty for not sparing at least a sip or two of water for him.
She popped a few pieces of bread in her mouth. They were a bit stale, but it was still food. She shrugged away the thoughts of the Assassin as he returned. Maria pulled herself back onto the saddle and waited for him to finish taking a drink. She smiled when he pulled back his hood and poured water on his face. She held back a chuckle as he smoothed the water through his hair. His eyes met hers for a brief moment before she turned her head away and twisted her fingers in Hafa's mane.
Soon, he joined her in the saddle behind her. Grabbing the reins, he spurred Hafa into a calm gallop. His breath lodged in his throat when he felt Maria untangle one of his hands from the reins to wrap his arm around her before closing her eyes.
"Ah, confound it, Olivia!" Benjamin shouted as the German woman captured another one of his pieces yet again. "This is foul play, I swear it!"
Olivia's mouth curved into a mischievous grin as she eyed the chessboard. "I'm sure it is, Benjamin." She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head to the side as Benjamin struggled to find a place for his pawn. "You could always surrender and be done with it."
He snorted and shook his head. "The Mills never surrender, my dear. We are fearless, perceptive, brave—and prone to notice a certain blonde woman up to no good," he finished as he watched Hildegard try to tiptoe past them. His eyebrows came together and halted the woman in her tracks. Olivia looked over her shoulder and smiled in greeting. Benjamin took the opportunity to snatch one of Olivia's pieces from the chessboard. When Olivia turned back to him, he offered her one of his most innocent, endearing smiles in history.
She only gave him a suspicious look.
Hildegard nearly tripped over her own feet as she realized she was caught. "J-just who might you be referring to, dear Benjamin?" she nervously laughed.
Benjamin glared at her, but once he noticed her attire, his face lit up and he stood from his chair. He grinned and offered a hand to Hildegard, which she took in a most ladylike fashion. He twirled her around, chuckling as he grinned ear to ear. "Ahh, Hildegard, my dear, you look positively gorgeous in that dress, I must say!"
Hildegard blushed and glanced down at her dress. "You really think blue is complementary? Malik seems to think not. I always thought Maria looked better in neutral colors."
Benjamin glanced at Olivia and gave her a knowing smirk. "Oh? Malik commented you on the way you look?"
"Yes, but his words were very dull and vague," she huffed.
Benjamin chortled again and stared at her thoughtfully with his hands on his hips. "My, my, my," he breathed out. "You and Maria are blessings to this old man. I thank God every hour for letting me have two beautiful daughters." He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes.
"Oh, Benny," Hildegard sighed as she placed a hand on his cheek, "are you crying?"
"No," he deadpanned, "no, I'm not. I'm just... allergies. Yes, my allergies are quite terrible today."
Olivia groaned and rolled her eyes. "What he means is that he feels proud to be father to such a woman. But tell us: what's the occasion?"
"O-occasion?" Hildegard stammered. "I, err, n-no occasion whatsoever! Whatever made you think that?"
"Hildegard," Benjamin started as he motioned for her to sit down, "I fear that Aden's condition won't be soothed by your charms."
"And I don't think you'll be able to find him today," Olivia laughed. "He's watching over Zaina. She has a stomachache from breakfast—I believe she ate eggs with a so-called bulgur pilaf. I've never heard of it before, so I don't blame her."
"And you know how he is when it comes to his sister," Benjamin finished. "I'm afraid your looks have gone to waste today, Hildegard." She sighed and hung her head. "But if it helps, I hear that Nabil is looking for you. The boy probably has the latest gossip stretching from Jerusalem to Damascus."
Hildegard's spirits perked up from the news and there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Oh, really? Is that so?"
Benjamin nodded and waved her off. "You'd best be on your way. I'd hate to think what mayhem those boys are causing just to find you." Hildegard pecked a light kiss on Benjamin's cheek before scurrying off. Benjamin chuckled and closed his eyes.
"Well, aren't you the clever one today, Benjamin," Olivia drawled. Her blue eyes became two slits and she wore a catlike smile.
The veteran nodded in joyful agreement. "I always know how to cheer one of them up; Hildegard fancies pointless babbling and compliments, while Maria enjoys hearing of my battles and experiences as a soldier."
"I applaud you for that, Benjamin, but I think we both know what I'm talking about." When he smiled a toothy grin, Olivia hissed, "I'd like my piece back, you thief."
Benjamin flung his head back and laughed so loud that Olivia thought the walls would collapse. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, my dear."
"So, is it true? Did they really find someone in the Kingdom, or are our superiors just pulling our boots?" Rakin sat on a broken scaffold, swinging his legs to and fro while Mustafa and Nabil leaned against the stable walls.
Nabil nodded and crossed his arms. "I hear they've sent out a patrol to investigate. It's just several miles south of Masyaf."
"We could be compromised," Mustafa sighed. "It's the perfect time for a Templar trap, what with our Master away on a mission."
Rakin swallowed and looked between his friends. "You aren't saying that Masyaf will be under siege, are you?"
"The reports say that he was heavily injured. What could someone in such a state do to an entire fortress—an entire fortress of Assassin's, no less?"
Mustafa chuckled from Nabil's comment. "Maybe the Templar's are trying to give an example of their men's current conditions." Nabil snorted and shrugged. "But what's so important of just one person in the Kingdom, anyway?" Mustafa mused. "There are plenty of beggars, slaves, and whores wandering around. Why is this one worthy of our attention?"
Rakin glanced nervously at his feet and at Mustafa. "Our scouts said that he had on his person something that belongs to the Master. They didn't say what it was or how he got hold of it."
"A fellow Assassin, perhaps?" Mustafa thought aloud. "If that's the case, what was he doing in the Kingdom? Only the Master and Malik have the authority to send us away, and there hasn't been a reason to dispatch anyone. Well, there are the caravans, sure, but the Master himself is seeing to it!"
"The important question to ask ourselves is this: are we going to take the man in for questioning? If he is a Templar spy, it could weaken Masyaf from the inside, and it's difficult rooting out vermin from their burrows. I say, we don't even bother with the poor soul and just leave him to the birds," Nabil gruffly suggested.
"What if it was you out there in the hot sun without any form of protection?" Rakin whimpered from his scaffold. "Would you like it if you were forgotten and left to die?"
"No, but—"
"Hot desert sun, you say? Excommunication, do I hear? Oh, this sounds like a lovely drama to Hildegard's ears!"
All three novices swiveled their heads in the woman's direction. They nodded politely at her and Rakin blushed from her beauty.
Hildegard smirked and lifted her chin. "Well, one of you have better fill me in on the juicy bits, else I'll be forced to strangle it from you."
How Maria suddenly found herself pinned beneath the Assassin's weight, she'll never know. It was an incredibly rude awakening on her behalf, and she was having such a pleasant dream, too, even though it had much to do with said Assassin and the differences in their anatomical structures. She scowled and scrabbled at the man on top of her. He forced her back down when she tried to push him off.
The sun was setting, and in its wake were long shadows beneath the cliffs. They stretched in a black abyss, swallowing anything that they touched. The Assassin and former Templar were also bathed in the darkness.
Maria huffed and struggled beneath him. "You imbecile, what are you—"
"Quiet," he hissed in her ear. She snarled again, not liking how he was pressing into her and how the hilt of his sword was digging into her hip. And then she heard what had him on full alert. It was the unmistakable click-clack of hooves against rock.
She squirmed and sighed in irritation. "They're probably merchants on their way home, Altair."
"Why would merchants risk their lives by traveling so late in the evening?"
"Oh, so now you're taking precautions when it comes to bandit attacks? After we've been ambushed by them once already?"
He would have shrugged if it wouldn't discomfort her further. "It's better late than never, isn't it?"
Knowing he was right, she settled with grumbling, "You brainless prick," before settling down and waiting for the threat to pass. Even the horse had more sense than her, as Hafa was silent the entire time, and even had the wit to nip and nibble at Maria's hair, knowing that the woman wouldn't dare shout and curse at the horse, lest she brought unwanted attention to them.
Maria tried to burn a hole through the mare's face with her eyes. Hafa playfully smacked her lips against Maria's forehead. The woman uttered a deep gurgle of a growl and scrunched her face up. With Altair's face so close to hers, she could see the clear, amused smirk on his scarred lips.
There were shouts of yalla! as the men rode past them, not even noticing Altair, the irritating horse, or the woman being irritated by the irritating horse. Then, the sound of hooves faded. They waited a few more moments before Maria gave a quick, hard jab at Altair's shoulder.
"Get off of me," she seethed. He slowly complied, watching how she sprung up and swatted at Hafa's muzzle. The horse whinnied and bobbed her head up and down in mockery. Maria tossed her head to the side and fumed when Hafa trotted behind Altair for protection.
The Assassin pat her neck and was soon in the saddle. He motioned for her. "Come, Maria." His mirth was completely audible in his voice. "We should make haste before misfortune strikes again."
Maria snorted and shot the Assassin a scathing glare before returning to the saddle.
When Altair informed her that they were nearing the village, Maria's hopes shot straight toward the heavens. She eagerly looked forward to sleeping on warm rugs and cushions than in the saddle. She'd make sure that she wouldn't have any noisy, lustful neighbors, either. That, and she could also do with a bath. Her hair felt oily and greasy, and she knew that it was probably tangled and knotted around her clip. A quick whiff of her underarms confirmed her decision of a proper cleaning.
Maria hopped off of Hafa and didn't even spare a backward glance at Altair. She wanted nothing to do with the horse; she'd let him stable her. As for herself, Maria was quick to bound toward what she presumed to be the inn.
Her hopes plummeted like a Templar falling from a guard tower once she was inside the inn.
"What do you mean 'no rooms available'?" she barked at the owner. Her eyes were blazing in their sockets as the weight of his words fell upon her shoulders. Her body felt twice as exhausted from what he just said.
"I'm sorry, but we don't have many rooms to begin with, and those that we had available were given to the merchants." To Maria's ears, he didn't sound sorry one bit.
"What merchants?" she spat.
He sighed and cast worried glances at his other guests. This woman was making quite the scene, what with her face red and fist shaking like it meant to hit him. "The merchant Bashshar Ibn-Dhakir and his brother, Ahmed, have recently rented the palace in Damascus and have invited fellow merchants from the entire Mediterranean to their home. I can only imagine that they seek a unity of some sort between their home countries." He frowned when the woman dug out a coin pouch and placed a generous pile of the gold on the counter. His eyebrows arched from seeing the money, and he sized and studied the woman for any falsities.
She was one of the milk-skinned, he realized, beneath the grime on her face. He was insulted that a European—a woman, no less—had ventured into his property and viciously demanded for sanctuary. Though, he couldn't help liking—even admiring—her form. She was intimidating, to say the least, and he again felt his pride take a blow from the mere thought of a woman demanding respect. But beneath her ferocity and imposing stance was what she truly was: an inferior female. And he was delighted to find proof of her gender: pear-shaped hips, strong, lengthy legs, and a proportional bosom. He cursed himself for already being married, but knew that she'd most certainly make one man either very lucky or very cursed.
And then he was quick to notice her glower and the twitch in her brow. He glanced at the coins, and when he looked back at her, she scoffed and pocketed the money. His decision wasn't swayed by the substantial amount of coin.
Maria stormed out of the inn, her purse still in hand, and nearly collided with Altair. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off with a swift shake of her head.
"There aren't any more rooms available. Damn innkeeper wouldn't take a bribe, either."
He took her by the arm and began leading the way back to the stables. "How many people were in there?"
She yanked her arm free and followed closely at his side. If his tone wasn't so stern, she would have berated him for treating her like a child. "Around five or six, not counting the owner himself."
"Did they see your money?"
She quirked an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side. "Yes, but—damn," she bit out, realizing her mistake. "But they were all high-class," she tried to reason as Altair led Hafa from her stall. "Surely the rich wouldn't rob anyone?"
"We can't be certain of that." He mumbled soothing words to the horse as her ears flicked back in forth. She wasn't agreeing with the desperation the two were showing. No, she didn't like it one bit.
"Altair, this is ridiculous," Maria continued to no avail. The man waited for her to join him in the saddle. "I'm sure there's another place to stay around here—" The unconvinced look he gave her had her exhale. She wasn't sure if she could handle another disappointment.
The spot that Altair had picked for them to spend the night at was a long way's off from the small village. To Altair, it seemed a safe place for them to stay. Maria was positively speechless with all of its luxuries: spindly tree roots, chirping beetles, overgrown patches of moss, and a nearby frog that was determined to find a mate.
She'd rather share a room with an army of sweaty whores coupling with their clients.
There was a small glimmer of light in Maria Thorpe's world when she discovered a stream not too far away from their campsite. Leaving Altair to prepare their beds, she set off.
She stepped out of her boots and pulled her clothes off. She waded into the stream, mindful of her back's tender state, and grimaced from how freezing it was.
'Syrian nights are cold.'
"Bloody liar," she muttered. "They're miserable winter in England, that's what they are."
After wrestling, fighting, yanking, and pulling on her clip, it finally let go of her hair. She tried to run her fingers through it, but there was a huge knot that'd take the better part of an hour to untangle. She groaned and dunked her head beneath the water, holding her breath while she rubbed the dirt off of her body. Upon emerging, she was displeased to find that she was going to be a midnight snack for the insects that inhabited the stream.
She quickly dressed again and trudged her way back to Altair. She swatted and smacked the mosquitoes on her skin, cursing her stupidity. She didn't even feel that much better. If anything, she thought she smelled like wet dog. And she was very familiar how awful wet dog smelled like; it was a most horrid mixture of rotten potatoes and farts.
'At least my face is clean,' she internally sighed. She ignored Altair's look of bewilderment when she reached the camp. She probably looked like a wreck, and the angry glance she shot him did wonders to keep him from asking. She hurried into the blankets he set out and wrapped the fur and wool around her shivering body. God, even her bones felt like ice.
"No fire?" she groaned.
"The flames wouldn't go unnoticed by cutthroats," he shrugged.
Maria fidgeted as she rubbed her legs together and brought the blankets up to her nose. She flinched when she felt additional weight on her, but then realized that it was Altair dumping more blankets. She hoped that the softness in her eyes told him her appreciation.
There were only the beetles and Altair's soft footsteps as he tied Hafa's reins to the tree (the frog had given up his battle for reproducing). Maria turned her head and quietly watched as Altair whispered to the horse and didn't spit or curse when Hafa nuzzled his mouth. Through the darkness, she could just make out a smile on his lips as he tugged on her mane.
"Tosbeheena 'ala khair," he breathed into her ear. She nudged his chest and nickered before he padded away from her.
The Assassin's eyes locked with Maria's, and how he knew exactly where they were in the dark, she'd never know. She blinked and rolled onto her side so her back was facing him and curled up into a ball. She heard him unbuckle and unstrap his armor and lay the weaponry out here and there amongst the blankets—probably for a more convenient reach if they were to be assaulted. He exhaled, then lied down next to her and pulled his own blankets over himself.
He was well aware that though they were away from the village, there was still a potential threat of being robbed. He glanced at Maria. She obviously wasn't going to keep watch, but he didn't mind. He'd gone days without sleep before.
He listened to Maria's shallow breathing. There wasn't the slightest possibility that she was already asleep, and he sighed. A question that had been haunting him for over a year came to mind. He knew it wasn't the most convenient of times to ask her; she had a rough day and now a rough night. But he felt that with every chirp from the beetles, every one of Maria's breaths, and each beat of his own pulse, he was being taunted. Altair shook his head and cleared his throat.
"Maria?"
The woman grunted a 'hm' in response. When he didn't speak, she rolled over to face him. "Yes, Altair?" she whispered. The golden sheen in his hazel eyes captivated her steel-blue.
"Why did you leave?"
She frowned and opened her mouth, then closed it. She sighed and swallowed, noticing how dry her mouth was. He waited patiently for minutes as she struggled to come up with an answer. He thought she wouldn't even say anything, but she proved him wrong.
"When I volunteered to take Robert's place at Madj-Addin's funeral, I had to leave Benjamin and my squire, Damiel," she stiffened from the name, "behind. I knew that if I let them accompany me, I'd be risking their lives. I couldn't bring myself to do that. So, I brokered a deal with Robert: I would buy him precious time at the funeral, and in return, he'd allow Benjamin to leave the Crusades." Maria uttered a small chuckle and closed her eyes. "Since Damiel was under my wing and authority and not Robert's, I gave Damiel freedom; he was no longer part of the Crusades, same as Benjamin.
"I knew that Damiel would try to follow me into Jerusalem. So, I had Benjamin take him to England where they'd both be safe. I told Benjamin that once my business in Jerusalem was finished that I'd write to him to let him know that I was still alive. Well," she sighed, "I never had the chance to do that. After having my neck spared by you, Altair, several Templar officers grew suspicious of my actions. They had me under constant surveillance and forbade me from communicating with anyone outside of Acre's walls, those twits.
"About a month after the funeral, you know what happened. You held me hostage, brought me to Cyprus—you know the story from there and our voyage to India. You see," she paused, her voice wavering for a second, "after... the night in Acre, I received a letter from Benjamin. Somehow, he received word that I was still alive. You could only imagine how relieved he was; he and Damiel thought I was dead. He asked me to come back and visit him. I agreed."
Maria blew out of her mouth and chewed on her lip. "But it's in the past, now—"
"I searched that entire city for you," Altair quietly said. He inched closer to her so that his nose touched hers. "I spent months sending my Brothers to Acre to find out what happened to you."
"I didn't know I'd be leaving—"
"Do you know how many thoughts were swarming in my head, Maria? I thought you'd been captured by Templar's. I thought that you were hiding from me. I thought that you were dead."
"That's ridiculous—"
"I didn't know if something even happened to you, Maria. After tearing apart Acre, I didn't know what to do. I sent teams to Damascus, Jerusalem, and even Aleppo, but you were nowhere to be found. It was as if you didn't even exist. Finally, three months after your departure, I found something out. I overheard a young soldier rant about a woman—and by his description, I knew it was you—who had left Acre's ports to return to her home country."
Maria balled her hands into fists. "You did all that searching, yet you didn't find the letter I wrote you?"
"Malik had all the letters from you burned."
"I never sent it," she breathed. "I left it in my house in Acre. Don't tell me you didn't come across it?"
"I searched every drawer, every corner, every table, and every inch in that house, Maria. There was nothing of importance in it."
"Well perhaps someone saw it and discarded it. I wrote where I was going and that I'd contact you once the ship reached port."
She saw a spark flash in his eyes. His breath fanned her face as his nostrils flared in anger. She never tore her gaze from his as he searched her eyes for lies that weren't present. He knew Maria Thorpe to be a liar on occasion, but for her to speak anything except the truth in a matter as sensitive as the one they were discussing was below her.
Finally, Maria broke the silence by picking at his blankets. She compared hers to his and realized with a guilty conscience that he'd given her his as well. Snaking an arm underneath the cloth, she found that his sleeve was frozen and could only guess that so was his skin. She slid closer and threw her own blankets over him. Seeing his startled face, she explained, "There is no harm in sharing."
The familiarity of the words wasn't lost upon him. His expression softened and he reached out to cup her cheek. Their heads were only at best an inch apart, and he leaned in. Yet before his mouth could meet hers, she turned on her side so that her back was against his chest. Though they were pressed together, she could feel the distance her action created. She sighed and fished beneath the blankets until she found his arm. She pulled it over her waist and brought his hand to her lips. She placed a light kiss on the stub where his ring finger should have been, then laced her fingers with his. She felt him relax and wrap a leg around her, bringing her warm body nearer, before breathing into her hair.
Mustafa tried to peer over the crowd gathered at Masyaf's gates. He stood on the tips of his toes and huffed impatiently when he still couldn't see what the commotion was all about. A quick look at Rakin and Nabil confirmed that they had no luck, either. Mustafa grabbed their arms and motioned toward the fortress.
"Let's get ahead of this mob while we still can," he called over the shouts of the noisy spectators. The three novices pushed themselves from the knot of people and scrambled up Masyaf's slopes. They were out of breath by the time they reached the castle.
Mustafa placed a hand on Rakin's shoulder and instructed, "Go and inform Malik. Nabil and I will stay and help our Brothers."
Rakin pouted and whimpered, "But I want to help—"
"I doubt you'd be able to stomach the sight of it," Nabil said as he ushered Rakin in the fortress. Bowing his head, Rakin scurried away to fetch Malik. His friends were absolutely correct; his stomach was already doing flips and cartwheels.
"Is it a grape?"
"No."
"It's not some sort of berry, I know that."
"Correct."
"Is it an apple?"
"Close, but not quite."
"Is it a peach?"
"Close again, but no."
"A piece of melon?"
"No."
"A plum?"
"You were closer with apple and peach."
"Did you smash an apple and peach together just to fool me?"
"No."
Hildegard pouted and tugged the blindfold from her face. She stared at the bowl of fruit; she never saw anything like it.
"It's called loquat," Malik explained. She rolled her eyes. "It originally grew in China and India, but it's been cultivated to grow in Mediterranean climates."
She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. "It still tastes like an apple, though."
"It's a close relative of the apple, as is the peach. That's why you were close with those answers."
"Uh-huh," she grunted. "Sure, why not, I'll settle with that explanation." She took one of the loquats from the bowl and was about to pop it into her mouth, but was stopped as a sudden hand grabbed her wrist.
"The pit is poisonous," Malik stated as if it was common knowledge. "Several of my Brothers have even acquired fevers from the skin. This is why you use a knife—"
"To peel it like an apple," Hildegard finished. "If it's so similar to an apple, why give it a completely different name?" She accepted the knife he handed her and scraped away the skin.
Malik smirked and picked at his chair's armrest. "Just because it has similar attributes to an apple, it should be the same thing? That'd make categorizing very difficult."
She set the knife down, opened the fruit like an orange, and emptied the pit on the table. "Yes, well, not everyone is worried about sorting and placing titles here and there, Malik." She chewed the fruit, then stopped to look at Malik. He had a smug smile on his face. She swallowed, narrowed her eyes, then slowly asked, "Tell me, something, Malik. Do you enjoy making me uncomfortable, or are you like this to everyone you meet?"
He shrugged and blinked. "Consider this revenge for last night."
"Oh, I see, now," she drawled, finishing the fruit. "You're trying to bore me with your knowledge on fruit so that I'll be up until morning, bored out of my wits and tired beyond repair, correct?"
"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," he smirked. "I've merely noticed that you enjoy indulging in food, so I chose to introduce you to something new." His mouth twitched when he saw her lips tighten into an unamused line. "Is it such a crime for me to be considerate?"
"I hardly think damaging my brain by teaching me about fruit is considerate."
"But it brings up an interesting topic, does it not?"
She recoiled her head back and gave two shakes of her head. "I don't see how it does."
He pushed himself from the chair and began tidying up Altair's study. "Loquat are related to apples, yet they aren't the same. Their taste is very similar, but there's still another sweet flavor that makes it distinct." He nodded at Hildegard and continued, "Loquat are like people in a way. You are a woman, but I don't classify or think of you the same way I do with every other female I see."
Hildegard's mouth fell slack as she fought to find something to say. All that came out of her mouth were broken sounds and stutters. Thankfully, a winded Rakin decided to stumble into the study to save the day.
"Master Malik!" he screeched as he caught his breath. He didn't spare any formalities or even acknowledge Hildegard. "Master Malik, they're bringing in the body!"
Malik frowned, nodded, then rushed out of the study, leaving Hildegard to wipe her sweaty palms on her dress.
"What body?" she asked when Rakin wasn't as red in the face. "Is it the one they found in the Kingdom?"
He bobbed his head up and down and sat down in a chair. "Yes," he panted, "our scouts are bringing it in."
Hildegard placed a hand on his cheek before hurrying after Malik. She took the steps two at a time and ran into the Assassin's back. She blinked and stumbled backward, but a pair of arms kept her from falling. Looking over her shoulder, she gawked as all color drained of her face.
Aden's arms steadied her and helped her regain balance. He rested his hands on her shoulders as the scouting team entered the foyer, carrying a limp and bruised body. Hildegard pitied them for having to lug such a stench back to Masyaf. The entire foyer smelled like feces, hot metal, and death. She covered her nose with one hand as Aden leaned her head against his shoulder.
"Master Malik," one of the scouts bowed his head, "we've done as ordered and returned with our find. But as you can see, I fear we may not be able to gather anything of importance from it." They lowered the body on the floor with care, and, after they were done with that task, took several steps away from it. Hildegard couldn't blame them.
Malik approached the foul-smelling heap and knelt beside it. His gaze swept to his side when Benjamin sat on the floor as well. Malik seemed unimpressed as Benjamin searched the body.
"He has a pulse," the veteran confirmed, "but it's severely weak. He probably won't last much longer than another day." The Assassin's in the room lowered their heads and mumbled out of respect. Some left to find Asiya. Hildegard untangled herself from Aden's arms and joined Malik and Benjamin. She could feel the torn man's eyes on her back the entire time.
She brushed away bits of matted and dirty hair from his forehead. Her face twisted in sympathy and also in disgust. "No one deserves this," she murmured. "Not even a devil's man deserves this... this..." Her voice trailed off as she peeled back an eyelid. Brown. No, not brown. A rich, caramel sweet swirled in tender, melted chocolate.
A brown that would never betray his friends or loved ones, a brown that would fight until the ends of the Earth for justice to prevail, a brown that would comfort and embrace a wounded comrade.
"Damiel brown."
Malik and Benjamin both turned to her. She stared at Benjamin, feeling the loquat she ate rise to her throat. "Damiel brown..."
Benjamin's face became as white as a sheet. His entire frame shook as his eye bore into that of the body's. He slumped forward, the only thing keeping him from falling was his hands. He didn't know that the entire Rose present was surrounding him—didn't know that Hildegard was holding his hand in a death grip, or rather, couldn't feel it.
If Maria had not left for the caravans, the Rose would have been fully reunited.
Translations:
bulgur: a type of Middle Eastern grain. I eat it at least 3 times every week (thank you, father)
Tosbeheena 'ala khair: Arabic for 'good night'
Loquat: just as I described it to be.
And here's my FF, Fun Fact, to go with the 'loquat'. A few days ago, my dad brought me a strange fruit that I'd never seen before. I tried it since both of my sisters said it was delicious. The second it touched my lips, I had an allergic reaction. I'm allergic to apples. Loquat are related to apples. Hence, I despise the fruit.