Altair writhed against his restraints, taking some perverse comfort in the rough abrasion of rope against his skin. If he could not see then at least he could feel, and the sting of his rough bonds was small payment for his failure.

He cursed the Templars beneath his breath, still reeling from the shock of his capture. He hadn't expected a woman; his eyes had been focused on the wrong man when the true threat had been her. Maria Thorpe. He wasn't likely to forget the name assuming he survived whatever tortures had been devised for him.

Altair shifted against the wood of the chair he was bound to once more, trying to find some way to sink lower and brush the blindfold from his eyes. The silence was deafening and it would do much for his peace of mind if he could at least make out his surroundings.

The sound of Maria's husky voice gave him pause; "Do not exhaust your strength in some vain attempt at escape, Altair." And damn him for reacting to the sound of his name on her lips.

"You are not my master that I should obey your orders without question, woman."

Maria's footsteps were light on the stone floor, but his sharp ears could hear the whisper of cloth against skin, the muffled sound of her breathing.

Her hot breath tickled the curve of his ear as she pressed her mouth there to whisper. "No, not your master. Only the woman who holds your life in her hands."

"For how long?" Altair murmured, "Were you wise you would release me and spare yourself my revenge."

"I have only just caught you; to release you now before I have learned the answer to my questions would be foolish indeed." He could hear the smirk in her voice and wished that his hands were free; she would have realized her error too late, then.

"Ask and have done, but do not expect an answer from me. I am no pet to perform on command."

A solitary finger traced idle patterns over his exposed back, "No. You are too feral a creature to keep."

Altair startled when she bent to press a kiss to his jaw, another at the joining of his shoulder and throat. Her hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms, pressing into all the tight knots in his muscles caused by his bindings.

He hissed softly, her palms gliding to his front and over his stomach, nails tracing the small scars there, thumb brushing over his hipbone.

"What are you doing?" He ground out, not truly expecting an answer; had their positions been reversed he would not have given one.

It seemed Maria Thorpe was more inclined to mercy than he, "It is very important to know one's enemy. Would you not agree?"

"I do not think this is quite what is meant by the phrase."

She nipped his shoulder roughly, "I like to be thorough."

Altair chuckled and tilted his face up to where he expected she stood, "If you want to use me like a whore then you might at least remove the blindfold."

He twitched at the feel of her fingers gripping his throat menacingly, tightening on his windpipe in warning, "You are crass."

The next moment her lips covered his, tongue tracing his lips until he opened to her expectantly. It was not a gentle kiss, more an extension of their struggle, made all the more difficult by their odd position. She pulled away, and he felt a bolt of satisfaction shoot through him at the sound of her muffled pants.

"I can appreciate your directness, at least."

"More than that, I think."

She laughed, a genuine peal of merriment; Altair remained silent and waited for her fit to subside.

"You've accomplished nothing thus far. Is there not a question you meant to ask?"

"In time; patience."

Patience had never been one of his virtues; he wasn't likely to cultivate it now.

"Have done with this, already."

She was moving again; he tilted his head, following the sound of her progress. This temporary blindness was beyond vexing; it magnified every sound, made every touch that much more intense, but he would give his best sword to see her reaction to his insolence. He was willing to wager her eyes were sparkling with mirth and sharp with vexation; he wished her joy of this- there would most certainly be a reckoning.

At that thought a smile curled Altair's lips and he heard her breath catch at the unexpected sight. She was before him then.

He recoiled at the feel of one inquisitive fingertip tracing the scar that split the corner of his lip. "Where did you get this?"

Not the question he had been expecting.

"Youthful arrogance."

"You still have that in great supply." She murmured wryly. He tensed at the feel of her hands gliding up his bare torso, thumbs circling his peaked nipples.

"What are you doing?"

"I should think that would be obvious." He could hear her licking her lips, kneeling on the ground before him.

"Maria-" His voice was hardly a whisper, a clear warning. She cheerfully disregarded him, hands following the outline of his ribs and muscles cautiously.

"Hm?"

"Stop."

"No." She was smiling again, he could hear it in her voice. He swallowed tightly at the feel of her tongue working a delicate tracery over his taut muscles.

He yanked at his bonds once more, felt the soft puff of laughter against the wetness. "You are so impatient."

Altair started to growl an affirmation, but swallowed his words when her warm hands dipped beneath his robes to follow the crease of his thigh.

"You-" He cut off while her thumb traced distractingly lower, making circles that drove him to distraction.

"I?"

"You should remember that whatever you choose to visit upon me will be returned three-fold."

"Intriguing."

Altair's head fell back, her rough palm wrapping about his length and stroking firmly. He gritted his teeth, muscles clenching as he strained against the bonds once more. Damn, if he could see her face… except that every touch was magnified, made more intimate by the darkness and the relative silence.

All he could see was the darkness, and all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing mingling with her shallow breaths.

Her free hand stole up his back when he arched again, pressing into the dip of his spine, nails digging into his skin until he could feel the sting. He was forced to admit that this would be a most effective form of interrogation, if she had actually asked him anything.

"I've a question for you." She leaned forward, nipped at his stomach, hardly able to take the skin in her teeth. He jumped anyway, arching into her ministrations.

"Ask."

"There's a change; I thought you were not inclined to answer?"

"Ask, damn you. I'll decide whether to answer."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still and then she spoke; "Do you love me?"

She moved swiftly, rising up to catch his mouth in a kiss, pressing her weight into him and forcing him back. One hand twined in his short hair, drawing him back to bear his throat for her nips and bites.

He gasped and bucked, trying desperately to summon the words to his lips, but he was far past sense. It was simply too much to bear any longer.

She stifled his cry with her lips as he came, rocking suggestively into him, taunting him until pleasure bordered on pain.

He broke away from her, panting softly, "Enough."

"No. Say it." She began to move again and Altair's head fell back, suddenly too heavy for his body.

"I love you." It took everything he had to say it, not only for the pleasurable agony coursing through him but also because the words had seemed to lodge in his throat, choking him. There had seldom been a need to say the words; she had to know it from the way he looked at her, the tiny gestures he offered as tokens of his affection. She should have felt it every time he laid a hand on her and heard it every time he said her name.

She whisked the blindfold away and Altair blinked at the sudden return of sight, colored dots dancing in his vision.

Maria grinned down at him mischievously; "You may go. I've learned all I expected."

She yelped as Altair caught her about the waist to pull her closer; "How did you…? When?"

"Threefold I said; you really should have heeded my warning."