He held her, close and tight as he pressed his lips against the top of her head. There was a brief silence, though, at her question as his eyes turned cold and dark. He looked at his men, tending to the wounded man and shackling the other.

"No," he said, "I think not." Though he suspected that come sun rise, the man would very likely wish he had died at Zoe's hands. He had to remind himself that he was holding on to his wife, truthfully, to keep his hands from curling into her shoulders like a vise.

"Pasha, see that their...injuries are tended. I'm going to take my wife home." It would give him time to temper his own reactions, before he allowed himself to do something rash. In a softer tone, he spoke to Zoe, "lets go. You can give your report later."

Not that it matter, he thought, he knew enough to see what had happened. At least enough for himself.