As a herbalist, you knew the forests like the back of your hand. Coming and going was second nature.

But clearly, not everyone had your sense of direction.

You'd found him half-conscious, bleeding, badly hurt and it had taken serious effort to drag him back to your cottage.

You nursed him, used your precious herbs, tended to his wounds and this is your reward?

You were soaking a towel to clean his face when suddenly one hand grabbed your wrist. The other pressed a gun to your head.

Excuse you???

You stared at him, stunned. The audacity.

He held a perfect poker face, even while coughing weakly. Still recovering. Still dangerous.

Of course he was calm. He was a Turk. You were the one in danger, not him.

His voice was low, respectful like he was asking the time, not holding you at gunpoint.

"State your purpose."