The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(140)

“I don't know…” She shook her head. “I feel like the enemies’ ghosts are lingering somehow. Like their evil influence is not completely gone. Silly, I guess, but I can't help it.”

“Not quite so silly, maybe,” Reuben said, his voice hoarse. “Look.”

Looking up from the path, she saw what he meant. They were passing the villagers’ fields right now: acres of corn, swaying gently in the wind. Or, at least, that's what they should have been. Yet they were not. Smoke bit into Ayla's nose.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, staring at the blackened wasteland that had once been the crops of her people. From the corner of her eye, she could see Reuben rounding on the sergeant of their escort, but she didn't care. She only had eyes for the ashes.

“Why didn't you report this?” Reuben snapped.

“Y-you said to report any dangers, Sir. Those were not dangers. Only some ash, that's all.”

“Fool! Didn't you know those were cornfields?”

“Corn…no! No, Sir, I didn't. I'm from Sir Rudolphus's estate. I've never been here before. I'm sorry, Sir.”

Ayla didn't stay to listen to any more of the man’s stuttered apologies. She had to get away from here! Feeling sick, she spurred Eleanor on, away, away from the smoldering ash. She had to get away from that sight or choke on her own tears.

Reuben caught up to her quickly. The pounding of his huge stallion's hooves easily drowned out the noise made by Eleanor, just as it drowned out Ayla's dry sobs.

“Ayla! Ayla, stop!”

When she didn't, a large hand appeared in her vision, grabbing the reins. Whinnying in protest at somebody else other than her mistress handling her, Eleanor came to an unwilling stop. A moment later, Ayla could feel arms around her, hugging her tightly. She hugged him back just as fiercely, not caring who might be watching. She needed him right now.

“You have to stay with the escort, Ayla.” His voice was rough and full of concern. “I've had the surroundings checked, yes, but there still might be lone mercenaries about. If anybody caught sight of you, and if he had a bow…”

“Reuben, don't you see?” Pushing him away a bit, Ayla looked up at him, her eyes watery. “Those villains burned my people's crops! That was their food for the coming winter! What are we going to eat?”

“You won't starve, surely,” he pointed out. “You have enough food for yourself and your servants in the castle.”

Outraged, she thumped his chest.

“Do you think I would eat when my people can't? I'd never eat more than those I have to care for!”

His eyes narrowed. “Yes, I've noticed. It is a strange habit from which I hope to cure you in the not too distant future.”

“Well, you won't have any luck with that!”

“Why not? Most feudal lords don't care how much their peasants eat, as long as there are still enough of them to do the work when the winter is over.”

“Well, I'm not most feudal lords!” Ayla bit her lip. What Reuben said cut her to the bone. “Would you eat when an army under your command is starving?”

“No,” he answered without having to think about it. “I wouldn't. But an army is different.”

“Why?”

“Because…they are an army. And I am their commander.”

“Well, those people,” she pointed in the direction of the castle, “may not wear any swords or spears, but they are my army. And I am their commander. It is my duty to care for them.” Her head slumped forward to rest against his oh-so-comfortable, strong chest, and, hidden from the world, she let a few secret tears spill over. “And I fear I have failed.”

She expected Reuben to pull her closer—so she was rather taken aback when she felt him letting her go, and she looked up to see was he was doing. He was just sitting there, looking along the path towards the enemy camp. There was a sparkle in his gray eyes.

“Maybe,” he said in a thoughtful voice. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a devilish smile. “Maybe not. Come with me, will you?”





The Enemy's Postmortem Gift

They arrived at the open gates of the camp to find a sergeant of what used to be Isenbard's men waiting beside a large pile of metal objects.

“Greetings, Milady, Sir Reuben.” The sergeant bowed deeply.

“Greetings, sergeant,” Ayla replied. Everything inside her yearned to ride on, to leave these unimportant trinkets behind and search for what she really wanted, for what she prayed was inside the camp. But she knew she couldn't do that. She couldn't start a panic by acting strangely, and she had to keep a cool head. Pointing to the jumbled pile, she inquired, “What is this?”

“All metal that isn't weapons or armor that we found in the camp, Milady—some oil lamps and candlesticks, a lot of pots and spits, and some other odds and ends.” He pointed to another pile. “Those are other small things: clay jars, clay plates, horns. I've brought them out here for one of the servants to inspect. Maybe we can use some of it in the castle.”

“I have a better idea,” Ayla said. “Bring all of it up to the castle, and have it looked through by the villagers. I'm sure they'll recognize much of it.”