He tensed at her words. He didn't like this quiet anger, this coldness. Usually he ran from it, found a willing body that was warm to him and didn't look at him the way she could. He was all too aware he was the blame for everything.
He was her husband though, and he wanted to tell her that. That he had a right to make sure she was safe, that' she'd be okay. He had a right to be worried, and make sure of her health in the only way he knew how, through forcing his way on her. He believed in pulling the arrow out of the wound, no matter how deep it had gone, so the wound could heal.
He endured her words, that cold anger that had been directed at him for too long and crossed his arms. She'd keep this up, he knew he wasn't the patient and caring man she might want, but he'd made his mind up. And on this, he didn't change it.
He didn't respond to her words, kept his temper. It wasn't something he did often. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the door. He could say nothing, so he didn't.