It made him angry, the way she was already divorcing herself from all of it. Defeated. Bouchart had been swiftly chosen almost before de Sable's body was cold in the earth, and already he was out to scrub away anything he thought might have led to his former knight brother's downfall. Women didn't rank particularly high in his regard, regardless of how much this woman had done for the Order.

She would have died for them all if Altaïr had been any less kind, and the same men she fought alongside were ready to cast her off like a leper.

"No." Desmond shook his head, vehement. "Bouchart is an ass," he said hotly, clipped, bitter for her.

Feeling impulsive, reckless he reached over to take the edge of her cloak, tugging firm. "I don't want to serve another steward, Maria."