the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Maria. Altaïr savoured her name even as he admired the set of her
jaw, the eyes that shone with life and fire. Again he noticed that quality
about her – as though she kept most of her true self back.
‘How do you propose to get the rest of us to Cyprus?’ she was saying.
Now, why would the Templars be relocating to Cyprus?
‘Begging your pardon, but it might be better if you stayed in Acre,’
said the soldier.
Suddenly she was watchful. ‘What is that? A threat?’ she asked.
‘It’s fair warning,’ replied the knight. ‘Armand Bouchart is Grand
Master now and he doesn’t hold you in high regard.’
Armand Bouchart, noted Altair. So it was he who had stepped into de
Sable’s shoes.
At the centre of the balcony, Maria was bridling. ‘Why, you insolent
…’ She stopped herself. ‘Very well. I’ll find my own way to Limassol.’
‘Yes, milady,’ said the soldier, bowing.
They moved away, leaving Maria alone on the balcony where, Altaïr
was amused to hear, she began talking to herself. ‘Damn … I was a
single heartbeat from knighthood. Now I’m little more than a
mercenary.’
He moved towards her. Whatever he felt about her – and he felt
something, of that much he was certain – he needed to speak to her.
Hearing him approach, she spun round and recognized him instantly.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it’s the man who spared my neck, but stole my life.’
Altaïr had no time to wonder what she meant because with a flash of
steel, as swift as a lightning bolt, she’d drawn her sword and was coming
at him, attacking him with a speed, skill and courage that impressed him
anew. She swapped sword hands, spun to attack him on his weak side,