The Robber Knight's Love

  That got their attention. Two or three hurried off towards the keep.

  One side of Reuben's mouth quirked up. “More threats of violence?”

  Ayla scowled at him. She wasn't in the mood to joke right now. “You stupid fool! You have a codpiece[11] for brains, do you know that? Why on earth did you go after that monster alone? You could have been seriously hurt, or killed even!”

  His eyes lit up. “Concerned for me, were you?” he asked in so self-satisfied a purr that it only made her scowl deepen.

  “In your dreams!”

  His insolent grin widened, and he leaned forward, whispering into her ear, “I doubt that. In my dreams, you wear a lot less clothing.”

  She gasped, and the blood rushed to her face. How dare he?

  He was Reuben, the robber knight. That's how.

  “Here, Milady.” The bowl of water had arrived. One of the guards had returned and held it out to her. She felt that her face, red hot as it was, was just as much in need of the water as Reuben's hand, but in spite of that fact, she gestured to Reuben.

  “He needs it, not me.”

  “Err…yes, Milady, but…”

  Ayla saw the man's eyes flicker fearfully towards Reuben's smoking hand. Oh Lord. They were afraid of him.

  “Give that here,” she said, rolling her eyes. Taking the bowl from the man, who was sweating relief out of every pore, she took two steps towards Reuben and held the bowl out to him. The smile vanished from his handsome features as he held up his hand, gauntlet and all, and slowly lowered it into the water.

  Steam exploded upwards into the night in a great, swirling column. The guards staggered back several steps, and even Ayla had to muster all her bravery to remain standing where she was. The steam was gripped by the wind and blown towards them. It seemed as though the bowl of simple water had been turned into a witch’s cauldron, and the clouds of steam rising from it were, in fact, the mists of Avalon.

  Of course, it wasn't. It was just steam from a bowl—or at least, that was what Ayla tried to tell her wildly beating heart.

  During the entire time Reuben's hand was in the bowl, his face was totally impassive, his gray raptor eyes boring into hers. He didn't show one single sign of pain, but rather seemed busy looking for something in her expression. What it might be he was searching for, she had no idea. Fear? Disgust?

  Whatever it was, he wouldn’t find it.

  When the steam from the bowl finally began to abate, Reuben nodded and removed his hand. “That was long enough, I think.”

  He didn't say any more. Nor did the guards utter a single word. Ayla realized that they were waiting for her to say something. Right—she was the lady of the castle. She was supposed to be in charge. Recent events had pretty much driven that fact from her mind. You didn't feel very much in charge with a knife at your throat.

  “Captain Linhart?”

  The Captain stepped forward and executed a very correct bow that in no way betrayed the fact that, less than a quarter of an hour ago, she had landed on top of him. Ayla was very grateful for his quiet efficiency.

  “The mercenaries must have entered the castle somehow,” she said, speaking to Linhart but watching Reuben out of the corner of her eyes. “But not through the main gates, I think.”

  “I agree, Milady,” the Captain replied promptly. “Had they been able to force open the gates without our knowledge, they would have swarmed in here in hundreds, and we would have been overrun.”

  “That's what I thought. There must be a hole somewhere through which those rats are coming in. I want it found and sealed. Understood?”

  “It shall be as you command, Milady.” Again, Linhart bowed. Then, motioning three other soldiers to follow him, he began to move towards the wall, but then halted, as if he had just thought of something.

  “The rest of you—stay here and guard Lady Ayla,” he ordered.

  Ayla shook her head. “That will not be necessary, Captain.”

  “Forgive me, Milady, but you don't know that. We have no proof that that fat monster was the last of the intruders. There could be more of them lurking about. Even if they see that it is impossible to abduct you now, with the entire castle in an uproar, they might want to…” He hesitated.

  Ayla smiled at him, though she went cold all over as she did. She knew what he was speaking of. “Speak the words, Captain. I'm not afraid to hear them.”

  “Milady, they might try to assassinate you.”

  Ayla nodded. “I was perfectly well aware of that, Captain.” Her eyes flickered to Reuben. “Still, it is not necessary for the guards to remain. I am perfectly safe.”

  Linhart's eyes followed hers, and he seemed to understand. Chewing nervously on his lip, he stood there for a moment, then, determinately not looking Reuben's way, said, “Nevertheless, I would like for the guards to remain, if you don't mind, Milady.”

  She smiled again, this time with real amusement and warmth. “If it sets your mind at rest, by all means, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Milady.” He gestured to the three waiting guards, obviously in a hurry to get out of there and out of sight of Reuben. “Come on, you three. Let's go!”

  As the four men at arms hurried away, Reuben stepped closer to Ayla and, smirking, whispered into her ear, “He doesn’t want you to be alone with me. He probably thinks I’m dangerous.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. You have a smart Captain of guards.”

  Ayla laughed softly. “I think so, too.”

  “You do, do you? Are you sure it's safe enough for you to be alone with me, even with a dozen guards at your beck and call? I might do anything. Turn into a firebreathing demon, for all you know.”

  She laugh again, and then, she didn't know exactly how, sobs began to mix with the laughter. Suddenly, tears were running down her face, and she was shivering all over.

  Through the haze of tears, she saw Reuben peering down at her, puzzled.

  “Err…I was only trying to make a joke. I can't really turn into a fire breathing demon, you know.”

  “I…I know,” she choked out, though a small part of her was actually relieved to hear it. “It's not that. It's just everything…tonight…the knife…and…oh, Reuben!”

  She simply threw herself against his chest and let the tears flow. It was all crashing down on her, everything that had happened during this wildest of nights, and it was too much to bear alone.

  Reuben put one arm around her, and with the other hand, which still smelled slightly roasted, patted her hair awkwardly.

  “Err…there, there,” he muttered. “It's not that bad, really. I've had plenty of knives to my throat in my lifetime. You get used to it.”

  She slapped his chest. “I don't intend to get used to it! I'm not a robber or cutthroat like some people I know!”

  That made him grin again.

  “Well, if you don't want to get used to it, there's only one way.”

  “What?”

  “You have to be quicker than the cutthroats. There are various methods you can use to avoid a knife to your throat. I would advocate a kick in the balls. Most effective.”

  “Reuben!”

  “What?”

  “I'm a lady! You shouldn't use such words in front of me!”

  “What word?” he asked, innocently. “'Kick'?”

  “No! The…other one.”

  “Which other one would that be?”

  Ayla blushed to the roots of her hair. The scoundrel! He wanted to make her say it. But she wouldn't!

  “I see we're going to have to work on your vocabulary, Milady,” he said with a devilish grin that knocked the breath out of her.

  “And you,” she said, sounding a bit out of air, “need to learn some manners.”

  “Why ever should I?” he demanded. “My insolence seems to have its benefits. After all, I managed to stop your tears.”

  Ayla realized he was right. Her sobs had ceased. Of her tears, only wet streaks on her cheeks remained. Reuben touched
one of them gently and whispered, “Your eyes are as blue as sapphires. When you cry, it looks like a spring of crystal-clear water suddenly opening up. It makes you look even more beautiful than usual.”

  Ayla's heartbeat increased, as if in fear. Strange—she wasn't threatened anymore. Her enemies were gone. The knife was gone. Why was her body acting like this?

  Dimly, she noticed that the guards had unobtrusively moved some distance away from her and Reuben. Now, as Reuben leaned closer, whispering to her, a few of them turned or stuck fingers in their ears.

  “By the way…” Reuben began, and there was suddenly uncertainty in his scorching gray eyes.

  Ayla sucked in a quick breath. “Yes?”

  The uncertainty in Reuben's eyes grew as he stared down at her with…what? Adoration? Maybe even love?

  “There is something,” he said, “which I have been meaning to ask you.”

  The Question of How

  Suddenly, the uncertainty in Reuben’s eyes was replaced with resolution. Ayla’s heart nearly stopped from the look on his face.

  He wanted to ask her a question? Her? What question?

  Could it possibly be that he wanted to…?

  Taking a deep breath, Reuben leaned forward until their faces were almost touching and asked in a rough voice, “Are you going to have me executed?”

  Ayla blinked at him, uncomprehending. “What?”

  “Are you going to have me executed?” he repeated. “When you came to see me in my room the other day, you said you were wondering if you should execute me, and you hadn't made up your mind yet. Have you decided, now?”

  “Oh, that! That completely slipped my mind.”

  Reuben grinned with a touch of sarcasm. “Well, I must admit, it has been weighing rather heavily on mine.”

  Ayla slapped his chest again, not very pleased that he was making fun of her again, and more than a little disappointed at the contents of his question—though she never in a million years would have told him that!

  “Of course not, you pea brain!”

  Reuben's grin lost all the sarcasm and widened to a glorious smile. “Well, that's a relief, I must admit. I rather like being alive. Particularly recently—things have been rather interesting.”

  Ayla gestured around at the blood-spattered cobblestones and the dozen corpses lying strewn over the courtyard. “You call this interesting?”

  “What?” Reuben seemed to notice the corpses for the first time, and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh that. No, I get that every day. I,” he continued, sliding his hand around Ayla and up her side, his fingers caressing her through the thin nightgown in a way that was surely forbidden by a dozen decrees of the Holy Church, “was talking of something else.”

  She slapped his hand away. “Behave yourself!”

  “Why?”

  “Um…because…because…”

  She didn't immediately know an answer, and that aggravated her to no end. Especially since his grin got more insolent by the second.

  “Because it's improper,” she finally snapped.

  “Oh, it's improper.” Reuben nodded gravely. “Of course, if it's improper, I should really not be doing it. I really shouldn't. Only, there's one thing…”

  “Yes?”

  He bent forward, and whispered in her ear, “I like to be improper. Especially with you.”

  “Sir Knight! Go to your room, or…or…”

  “Or you'll get improper with me out here? Well, I wouldn't want that.” Before she could say another word, he had let go of her. With a last lascivious smile, he turned and strode off, whistling.

  Ayla’s mouth opened in shock. Never in a thousand years would she have thought that he’d actually do what she ordered and go. Suddenly, she felt cold without his arms around her, and she had already taken the first step to follow when she realized what she was doing. By the apostles! What did she think she was doing? Running after a man, to have him hold her where all could see? Maybe not just hold her, but ki—

  She cut that thought off right then and there. She was a virtuous maiden! She would never, ever…

  She couldn’t even think about things like that.

  Reuben didn’t stop. He was almost at the gate of the inner wall now. The shadows of the gatehouse fell over his muscular figure, turning his crimson surcoat a sinister maroon.

  “If you want to get improper in private, you know where to find me,” he called back without turning. Then he vanished into the night, leaving Ayla behind with a face as red as a beetroot and a dozen castle guards who were trying to pretend that they were deaf and dumb.

  *~*~**~*~*

  When Sir Isenbard and Burchard were awakened next morning and told that they had slept through an attack on the castle, they were noticeably displeased. Ayla had taken care to not inform them personally of the facts, but instead had sent a servant to do it and then hurried off to the other end of the castle, so they would have to march a goodly distance to reach her. That would hopefully give their anger some time to cool. When the pair of them exited the tower and marched along the allure towards where she was standing on the castle wall, both their faces set in impressive scowls, she knew it hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped it would.

  “Ayla,” growled Burchard, his massive mustache quivering, “what is that I hear about an attack on the castle?”

  “That is what I would like to know, too, Milady,” said Sir Isenbard.

  “It was nothing to worry about, really,” she assured them hastily.

  “Oh? So there wasn't an attack on the castle?”

  “Well, yes, there was…”

  Isenbard stepped forward, his usually calm face resembling a thunderstorm. “Ah. Perhaps you can explain to me, Milady, how this is 'nothing to be worried about.'”

  “There were only about a dozen of them, Uncle Ironbeard. We managed to get rid of them fairly easily.”

  She managed to keep from blushing. Probably because only the second part was a lie.

  “A dozen?” Burchard frowned. He didn't have a lot of military experience, but even he could tell that this was a paltry force to storm a castle. He looked puzzled, whereas Isenbard looked like a grouchy incarnation of suspicion.

  “A dozen?” he demanded. “What could they have hoped to accomplish with so few men? What did they try to do?”

  This time, Ayla did blush.

  He took another step forward. Now he was so close that she couldn’t escape his hard gaze. “Milady? What did they do?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “What. Did. They. Do?”

  “Well…they may have tried to kidnap me a little.”

  Both of them paled as if they had seen a ghost.

  “What, pray,” asked Isenbard, his voice gruff, “do you mean by 'a little'?”

  “They put a knife to my throat and tried to drag me out of the castle.”

  Burchard swore. Ayla gave him a reproachful look. “Burchard! You know I do not like people befouling God's clean air!”

  He looked contrite. “Yes, Milady, but by all things holy…kidnap you…”

  His words were interrupted by Sir Isenbard, who closed the rest of the distance between him and Ayla and fell to his knees in front of her.

  “I am sorry, Milady,” he said, his voice breathless. “I have failed you. I have broken my oath of fealty and protection. If you wish, you may have me hanged from the highest tower of Luntberg castle for the crows to feast on, as an example to all who falter in your service.”

  Ayla felt her knees shake. She had known Isenbard since she was a little girl, and thus she knew this was no false promise. He meant what he said. The magnitude of his offer took her breath away. Not so much the fact that he thought he deserved to die—Isenbard was a knight as brave as any and had faced death many a time.

  No, it was the thought that he believed he deserved to be hanged that shook her innermost core. Only common criminals were hanged—the nobility, even if they had betrayed their duty to their liege lord, were given t
he honor of the executioner's ax.

  Quickly, Ayla fell to her knees and grabbed the old knight by his shoulders. There were tears in her eyes. “Uncle Ironbeard, get up! Why on earth would I want to execute you? You of all people?”

  “Because I have failed you,” he repeated, keeping his eyes cast down, his stony, hard face impassive. Ayla swallowed. He really believed this! But she couldn't have him despair—she needed him too much. Her people needed him too much.

  “Sir Isenbard,” she said in a more official tone. Being emotional wouldn't serve her now. He thought he had failed his liege lady, so she had to act the liege lady. “You were still recuperating from your injuries. You were asleep, as I ordered, and not on guard duty.”

  He remained silent.

  “Would you punish a soldier for not noticing an enemy infiltration if he was not on guard duty, but asleep with his comrades?”

  Sir Isenbard hesitated, then reluctantly replied, “No, Milady.”

  “So you have just admitted that the punishment you demand of me is unjust, have you not?”

  He sighed. “Yes, Milady.”

  “Then can you tell me why I should punish you?”

  “Because I may not have been on duty—but it is my duty to always help you, and I did not.” But she could not feel force behind his words anymore. She had won him back.

  “You do,” she said, softening her voice. “You always do. Now rise, Sir Isenbard.”

  Slowly, he did as she asked.

  “Others helped you last night,” he insisted stubbornly. Then he frowned. “By the way…who did wrest you from the clutches of the intruders?”

  If she hadn't been strictly opposed to bad language, Ayla would have cursed herself right then and there. Why did he have to ask that question out of all possible questions?

  “Err…the castle guards,” she murmured hurriedly. “Yes, the castle guards did.”

  “Really?” Burchard looked impressed. “I must admit, I wouldn't have thought they had it in them.”

  Isenbard looked suspicious again. “The castle guards?”

  “Yes.” She flushed. “Captain Linhart got me away from the intruders.”

  It was true, in a sense. He had gotten her away, after she had landed on top of him.