Christer shuddered against her, trying to get a hold of himself. The stress compounded in the after shock of battle and then came the gradual realization that he could have very nearly gotten her killed. Yes he blamed himself, and he knew that bringing her into that camp was his doing, and having her guard with him was his as well.
"No-no, I didn't save you. You nearly got killed, and I was supposed to protect you. It almost happened again, and I'm sorry, Alison. This is exactly what happened with the last noble I was meant to serve," he hiccuped against her. Somehow the sorrow was compiling on even more now.
When his lungs ached for breath, only then did he pull away, slipping from the saddle of his horse and trying to calm himself, wiping uselessly at his eyes, which were now red and sore and his nose giving only swollen sniffs. "Fucking hell," he hissed, trying to get a hold of himself. "I'm sorry." Turning back to her he laid his head against the side of horse's neck, and he felt the pulse racing therein.
"Don't call me, Master, Alison. Please. It's too much to be borne," he sniffed, looking up at her with glossy eyes and a face burning with shame.