This was wrong, this was beyond wrong. She was his ancestor, his superior officer, his compagnon d'armes, the knight he'd fought alongside for months now... But as Desmond slid a hand forward, caressed the proud line of her jaw and shivered against her mouth, he willed himself to push all of that aside. Right then she was just Maria, a woman he fiercely admired, and she was kissing him in return.

He sighed, a brief pause while he slipped his hand back into her hair, cradling her head, and kissed her again.