Miguel Aiza was slightly taller than her husband. He had short, black hair and intensely dark eyes. He was dressed sharply in a three-piece Armani sui..., a crisp white shirt and plain, black tie. When Jenna reached out to shake his hand, Dr. Aiza turned her hand slowly, palm down, and then lifted it to his lips. ‘How we greet a lovely, young lady in my home country,’ he said, staring intently into Jenna’s eyes. His rich, spanish accent was thick, baritone and rumbling. It stirred something deep. She wanted the man she married to have a body covered with countless deep and terrible scars, the result of many a hard and brutal battle, in all of which he had triumphed, fighting for her honour and approbation.Then came the recurring stab of pain. "Why can I not prove myself in combat like my valiant and doughty ancestors? Why am I doomed to be a feeble woman all my life?" She recalled that day when her darling friend Martha had felled her with a single fearsome blow to the jaw,. More

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