The Grand Master stood, resting his elbows on the side of the Morrigan. He watched the waves breaking on the waterfront, ignoring the bustle of a crew, which, using the occasion, was replenishing food supplies for the onward journey. The rays of the afternoon sun were gleaming at the rooftops of a small, port town, illuminating it with a warm, reddish yellow glow. Flocks of seabirds were circling above the moored ship. The wind carried a soft, cool breeze.
Haytham tried to collect his thoughts, which, truth be told, wasn't easy at all. He felt distracted like never before and the reason for this distraction was none other than Shay Patrick Cormac.
Haytham almost unconsciously clenched his fists. He was desperate to find out the reason why he treats Shay differently than the others. No doubt he was a well-trained killer - he had always been taught to get the job done with no questions asked. Moreover, unlike Charles, Shay wasn't doing anything to pay court to someone, nor for his own be