The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(132)

“That's where you're wrong, you puny little codpiece,” Reuben grinned. “We can't have our defensive mechanisms damaged, can we? You there! Find me a good, stout rope! Any of you who know the mechanism of the portcullis, go start repair work! The rest of you…well, let's just say there's plenty of other work to be done. We have a mess to clean up!”

When somebody from the keep joined him half an hour or so later, Reuben was proudly surveying his troops while they scoured the outer courtyard with brooms and wet cloth. About half of the bloody mess was already gone.

That was when he heard the footsteps behind him. He knew at once that it wasn't Ayla. They sounded much too heavy. Besides, if Ayla were to grunt and grumble like that, he might reconsider the plans for their joined future.

Burchard entered Reuben’s field of vision. A thick bandage was wrapped around his shoulder.

“I heard shouts out here from the keep,” he grunted. “Sounded like a raging bull.”

“That was me,” Reuben told him.

“I see.” Burchard studied the slaving soldiers. “I also see you have them firmly in hand.”

Reuben nodded smugly. “It's nice to have some respect.”

The steward gave a derisive snort. “They don't respect you. They're just scared to hell of you.”

“Where's the difference?”

The steward gave a non-committal grunt, then he fell silent and just stood behind Reuben, his jaw working. Reuben ignored him. He figured the steward would start talking soon enough about why he was really here. Reuben had an idea what that might be.

Finally, Burchard cleared his throat. “You're…interested in Lady Ayla.”

Ah. He had been right.

He raised an eyebrow. “How quick of you to notice.”

“Don't be flippant with me, boy!” Gripping Reuben by the arm, Burchard tried to pull him around to face him. Reuben remained standing, as if he were a stone statue, his muscles not even having to bunch to resist the older man. Slowly, he turned of his own volition and fixed a fiery gray glare on the steward.

“And you,” he said in a low voice, “do not call me boy. You will find that it is really very inappropriate. Now, let go of my arm.”

Burchard let go of him as if he held a poisonous adder.

“Very well then,” he started again, clearly having to force his voice to remain calm. “Listen to me, Sir Reuben. It is evident that you intend to court my Lord's daughter. It is evident that she cares for you deeply, the devil knows why! From what I've seen, I believe you care for her too. But with you, I'm not going to settle for belief. Ayla is a brave mistress, and as clever a young lady as ever I have seen, but she is still a young girl. She does not see through your pretenses as I do.”

Oh, trust me, Reuben thought to himself, tempted to smirk, that's where you're wrong.

“What are you trying to say, steward?” he asked out loud. “Are you trying to give me fair warning?”

“Indeed I am. As Lady Ayla's vassal, it is my duty to protect her, no matter whether or not I am a warrior. You will not encourage and then betray her. You will not harm her in any other way. If you do, if you hurt her…” Burchard's massive eyebrows bunched together. Even Reuben had to admit, it was an impressive sight. There was a pause as the steward thought furiously.

“I just realized something,” he finally admitted, muttering a low curse and glancing over at Reuben's muscled form and the huge sword at his belt. “There's nothing I can threaten you with, is there?”

“You could threaten to come into my room in the middle of the night and cut my throat,” Reuben suggested. “But if you try, I should warn you. I always keep my door bolted from the inside, no matter where I sleep, and I have various…surprises for people trying to pay my room a nocturnal visit.”

Burchard glared at him. “You're no knight of honor!”

“No,” Reuben admitted rather cheerfully. “But I'm willing to pretend to be one sometimes, for Ayla's sake.”

“Who are you, Sir Reuben Rachwild?” Burchard whispered. “Where do you come from? What is it you are hiding?”

Meeting the older man's gaze steadily, Reuben remained silent. He had no intention of telling this old walrus a single syllable.

“Sir Isenbard knew, didn't he?” Burchard demanded. “And that Italian commander! They knew what you are.”

Again, Reuben remained silence. But this time, his silence served only to confirm what Burchard already knew.

“He called you something…” Burchard muttered. “The Commander. He called you something in Italian before he died. If only I could remember.”

Reuben tried not to let the relief show on his face. He wasn't very good at concealing emotions. Rather, he usually chose to air them, preferably with the help of a human punching ball. But this was one time when he had to keep a tight hold on his emotions. Burchard didn't remember—thank all the demons of hell!

Burchard raised a finger till it was under Reuben's nose.

“You just wait. I'll find out what it is you're hiding. And if it is anything that can hurt my Lord's little girl—may God have mercy on you!”

“He? Mercy on me?” One corner of Reuben's mouth twisted up in the semblance of a smile. “Now that is very unlikely.”