The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(145)
Suddenly, a melancholic smile appeared on her lips. She did know such a place.
A servant carrying a pitcher of water went by her, and she motioned for him to stop. Bowing slightly, he halted and looked at her expectantly.
“Excuse me, do you know in which storeroom we keep candles?”
“Candles?” Frowning, the servant looked out of the window, which showed the morning sun presiding over a perfectly bright day. “Um…of course, Milady. I could fetch one for you, if you wish.”
“That would be most kind. Thank you.”
Depositing his pitcher on the windowsill, the servant hurried off. Soon, he returned with a beeswax candle, flint, and steel.
“Here, Milady, in case you want to light it.”
“Very considerate of you. Thank you.”
The servant bowed deeply, now that he didn't have a pitcher full of water to balance. “Not at all. It is an honor to serve a lady such as you.”
Before Ayla could say something, he took up his pitcher again and hurried of. She looked after him, wondering whether Reuben had also gotten to her servants by now, or if he could actually mean it.
~~*~~*
When Ayla stepped into the orchard, a peaceful quiet lay over the trees. Birds were sitting in the branches, hopping from one twig to another, but somehow they seemed to know the importance of the moment and kept their silence. Only the grass under her feet made soft noises as Ayla approached Sir Isenbard's grave.
I will have a stonemason called, she thought as she looked down at the bare earth, feeling moisture at the corners of her eyes. And he will put up a headstone here, on which all Isenbard's brave and selfless deeds will be inscribed, for everyone to see.
Leaning forward, she put the candle on the grave, smiling at the sight of numerous field flowers which had already been placed there. Village folk might be too poor to afford candles, but they had their own ways of expressing their feelings.
“You have not been forgotten, Uncle Ironbeard,” she murmured. “And you shall never be forgotten.”
She was not used to lighting many fires herself. She had to strike steel to flint several times before sparks flew, and one caught on the wick of the candle. Soon after, a tiny flame flickered among the flowers, and the wholesome, smoky scent of the beeswax candle floated through the air. Not caring whether she got herself dirty, she knelt in the grass in front of the grave and put her hand on the earth.
“Your sacrifice wasn't in vain,” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. “I just wanted you to know that. We won. We saved the village from Falkenstein. His army is destroyed, his commander is dead. Your sacrifice saved us all. Thank you, Uncle Ironbeard, for this, and everything else. Thank you for teaching me how to ride. Thank you for teaching me to be brave, and to never give up. Thank you for being there for me when I needed you, always.”
She bent her head and, clasping her hands together, murmured:
“Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen.”
The last word of the prayer seemed to echo between the trees. Ayla just sat there for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet of this place and the fact that, for the first time, she could now really cry for Sir Isenbard von Riffgarten. Her tears dampened the earth under her fingers. One fell into the candle, and smoke rose from the flame with a sizzling noise.
The noise woke Ayla from her grief.
She opened her eyes, smiling sadly. “I suppose it's not right to come here asking you for something, when you've already earned your rest so thoroughly, but…I need your advice.”
She swallowed, feeling infinitely grateful that she was speaking to a grave. She would never have been able to say what she was about to say to a live person. The words came tumbling out of her.
“You see…it's this young man, Reuben. You remember Reuben, don't you? Yes, of course you do. He's the fellow that punched you through the stable wall and dumped you on a pile of horse manure. I guess you would remember him after that. So…Reuben. He…he says he loves me.”
There was a pause. Ayla could almost imagine it was just one of those ominous pauses in a conversation for which her Uncle Ironbeard had been well-known. She felt as if he just waited for her to finish her explanation and then he would answer, would help in any way he could.
“Not that I don't believe him!” she hastened to assure him. “I mean, at first I did, then I didn't anymore because I found out he had lied to me, and now I do again because he’s been so brave, so wonderful. You've told me yourself how he feels, and I know I can rely on your judgment. Of course he's not an eligible match, not in the least, but…” Lowering her voice as though the birds in the trees could hear her and reveal her secret, she whispered, “…but I love him, too. I want to be his, and I want him to be mine.”
She could almost see Isenbard raising an eyebrow, as if asking, 'Well, then what's your problem, girl?'
“Yes, I know, I might be making a fuss about nothing,” she admitted, chagrined. “But, you see, it's his past. I know practically nothing about him. And…and I think he can do things no normal man should be able to do. I'm frightened. I don't know what it is that makes him different, what it is that happened to him. I'm also afraid that, if I do know, it might scare me off, and…I don't want that to happen.”