He watched her cut her own arm, his eyes flat and devoid of emotion. As long as she wasn't attacking him, he'd let her do whatever the hell she wanted. "Big words, comin' from a woman who's never kept a promise in her life," he said, running a thumb over the fabric he'd used to bind the wound on his arm. The initial shock of the attack was fading, leaving only the familiar dull throb that he was long-accustomed to. He flexed his hand once or twice, toying with his knife with his other hand. Tilting his head to one side, he asked, "Do you really want tae die today, love?"

There was little emotion in the question, aside from curiosity. It wasn't a threat. He could kill her, and he was well aware of the fact that he could kill her - although, admittedly, likely not without some harm to himself - but she kept taunting him, kept trying to incite him to attack. He wanted to know why. Why here, why now.