The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(134)

Ayla couldn’t help smiling a little at that. “True.”

“So, what about the two of you? Are you two…?”

“I…I think so,” Ayla mumbled. What was she doing? Why was she suddenly opening up about her innermost feelings, fears, and doubts to this man, whom she'd known all her life simply as a friendly face under an iron cap? “Yes, I think so.”

“Is he a good man?”

Ayla gave this question due consideration.

“Well…I'm not too sure about that. I rather think he isn’t. But I think he's the man who could make me happy.”

The old soldier chuckled. “That's often the way it is. Well, Milady, I wish you a happily ever after. You've certainly gotten the right fellow to make sure no harm ever comes to you.”

Ayla looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled again, but this time, it ended in a coughing fit. Ayla held him and tried to soothe him until it had subsided. When finally he could breathe again, the soldier smiled. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his mouth.

“I saw the look in his eyes when that Italian bastard had you. Milady—I've been a soldier all my life. I've seen my share of wroth and hatred. But never in my life did I see a look like that. If you want the advice of an old soldier—take him. He'll go through hell for you.”

Ayla's fingers shook. The words of the old soldier had struck a chord in her, reawakened her deepest fears and darkest questions. For a moment, in front of her inner eye, she saw a hand burning in flames. Reuben’s hand.

“I know,” she whispered. “I'm only afraid he's already been there.”

A frown appeared on the old man's face.

“What do you mea—” Suddenly, he broke off. A violent coughing fit seized him. Ayla tried to soothe him or give him some water, anything, but it would not do.

“Fetch the priest!” she yelled at a passing maid. “Tell him to bring everything for the last rites! Quick!”

The old soldier died within the hour. She never even got a chance to ask his name. Later, another guard told her it was Wigand. Ayla knew she would not forget Wigand for the rest of her life.

There were many others she tried to save that day, some she could help, many others she couldn't. Lunch was no particularly appetizing prospect when she was finally finished looking after all her patients. Yet Ayla went anyway, knowing that it would be her first real meal in a long time. Knowing the castle was besieged, she had reduced her rations and skipped meals for a very long time. Even though her faithful watchdog, Burchard, had done his best to stuff her like a goose at regular intervals, Ayla had more than once given her rations to children or the sick.

She entered the great hall—and suddenly, the buzz of voices around her ceased. Everyone was there: the villagers, the off-duty guards, the servants, maids, cooks, and kitchen boys. Suddenly, they sprang to their feet and started cheering.

“Milady!”

Dilli came running towards Ayla and hugged her without bothering to curtsey. “Milady, where have you been? The enemy is gone! Destroyed! We are safe! You saved us, Milady! We have to celebrate! Where have you been? Oh, thank you for saving us, Milady! Thank you!”

The call was taken up by others. Ayla was grabbed by dozens of hands and lifted on the shoulders of the crowd that streamed towards her. Cheering and throwing their hats into the air, they passed her from hand to hand like a victory trophy.

“Please…let me down! It wasn’t I who saved you! The plan wasn’t my idea! Let me down! We still have a lot of work to do!”

They didn’t hear a word she said.

Finally, she just stopped her useless protests, put on a brave smile, and let them carry her around. Apparently, they didn't seem to think it was enough to carry her to the Lord's table. They carried her three times around the room in an improvised victory parade, calling out her name and blessings on her house.

Shaking her head, Ayla lovingly looked down at the motley mix of faces: bearded wood-cutters and farmers, the old crone of a cook that had been here since her grandfather's days, young boys and girls of every size and shape. She felt a warmth blossom in her heart.

They have a right to celebrate, a thought shot through her mind. They and their families are alive when they thought they would never see the living light of day again.

Finally, the victory parade was stopped by Dilli, who called out, “Shame on you! Shame on you! Milady hasn't had any more to eat than the rest of us—probably less!—and you keep her from her meal! Set her down and get back to your places!”

Chastened, the crowd set Ayla on her feet again.

“Sorry, Milady,” said Bardo the carpenter, twisting his cap in his hand. “We didn't mean no harm. We was just…”

She couldn't help laughing. “Yes, Bardo, I know. I know you didn't mean any harm. On the contrary, you meant good, and I thank you.” She clapped her hands. “Everybody! Back to the tables. Tell the cooks to serve everybody a full meal! Rationing is over. And besides that, everybody will get one cup of my father's best mead!”

A cheer went up.

“Everybody?” Squeaked an excited boy, who was sitting on his father's shoulders. He had to be no more than five years old.

“Everybody except the children, of course,” she corrected herself, which got a few grumbles from the younger people in the room. “For them, it shall be an extra slice of salt pork instead,” she added, an announcement that was greeted with a second cheer.