The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(17)

“My guess is that these are our enemies, building siege fortifications,” said Captain Linhart grimly. “Ditches, barricades, towers, everything. Look.” He pointed to one place, where dozens of the fireflies had converged into a large swarm. No, not fireflies—enemy soldiers with torches! They were scurrying up and down a large construction, hammering on it, adding to it. Before Ayla's incredulous eyes rose a tower, probably made of wood and already more than a dozen feet in height.

“They must have a master builder in their army, Milady.”

“But why? Why are they building this? Do they think we will attack them?”

“No.” Linhart shook his head. “More likely they want to stop us from escaping.”

Ayla's throat constricted as she understood. This was the noose of the rope—and it was tightening.

~~*~~*

Over the next few days, Ayla saw to it that every last person in the castle was clothed, fed, and sheltered. As it turned out, Burchard need not have worried about the unseemly possibility that other people would be sharing her bedchamber: Ayla was so busy that she didn't get to sleep much anyway. And if she did, it wasn't in her own chamber but in some corner when she was just too tired to continue and simply sat down before she collapsed.

One ray of sunshine, however, pierced these gloomy clouds of misery: Isenbard was recovering at a prodigious rate. After only a day, Ayla judged he was fit enough to sit up. With her unceasing ministrations, the remnants of the yellowish bruise on his head had soon shrunk to the size of a hazelnut and faded into violet. Not long after, it was completely gone. Finally, after another day of rest, Ayla granted the old knight the right to stand on his own two feet again.

“Steady,” she said as he tried to stand and wobbled dangerously from side to side. “Take it slow, will you? Should I bring you a stick to lean on?”

“A stick?” Isenbard growled and tried to shove her away before he remembered that she was a lady and knights didn't shove ladies. “What do you think I am, a doddering cripple? If you want to bring me something to lean on, let it be a sword! I'll recover quicker with a good blade in my hand, just you wait and see.”

“Yes, I'll wait. I'll wait another few days, and so shall you. No swords for you until you can walk straight, understood?”

“Yes, Milady,” grumbled the old knight reluctantly.

Ayla worked ceaselessly until she was bone-breakingly tired. Everybody admired her efforts and, in whispered tones they thought she wouldn't catch, called her a heroine to her people. Every time she heard that, she felt a tiny pinch of guilt. Not that she wouldn't have done anything and everything for her people. But the real reason she worked so incessantly was quite another:

Working kept her busy.

Being busy kept her mind occupied.

And with her mind occupied, she was less likely to think of…him. The man she didn't love and who had never loved her, but whom, for some infuriating reason, she still couldn't seem to forget.

She had walked past his door several times, and every time, a stab of pain shot through her heart. She couldn't help wondering how he felt on the other side of that door. Was he agonizing, too? Was he in pain?

And then came the obvious answer from her own common sense: of course he wasn't. All that was on the other side of that door was evil and emptiness. He was no man, but a demon in the guise of a man. He had no feelings for her or anyone else.

Never did she hear a sound from the inside of the room. It was almost eerily quiet, whenever she walked past. Once, she even pressed her ear against the oak door and listened with all her might.

Nothing.

What was he doing in there? The question was one that haunted her wherever she went. Just like the question of what she was supposed to do with him. For now, she had ordered men to guard him, and her maid, Dilli, to put three meals in front of his door every day. But that couldn't go on forever. She shouldn't have even hesitated. She should just have him ordered to be executed.

Yet still, she did not.

At nightfall on the second day after the battle at the bridge and the flight into the castle, she was sitting in a corner, exhausted from the day’s work, pondering his fate once again, when Dilli approached her cautiously.

“Um…Milady?”

“Yes?” she asked, distractedly.

“I can come back later, Milady, if you're busy.”

“No, no,” Ayla mumbled. “I'm just thinking. But it's not important. Why do you wish to talk to me, Dilli?” Despite her words, she kept staring absent-mindedly at a tapestry on the opposite wall, not looking at her maid.

Dilli bit her lip, nervously. “Well, it's about this fellow in the guest room. You know, this merchant, Reuben?”

That got Ayla's attention. Her head whipped around and she demanded, “What? What's the matter with him?”

Quickly, Dilli retreated a few steps. “I-I don't know, Milady. That's the thing. I really don't know, and I thought you would like to know that I don't know, and that's why I came.”

“You're not making any sense, Dilli.”

“Well, it's like this, Milady…” Dilli swallowed and hesitated. Ayla would have liked to wring the truth out of her, but she did her best to keep her face calm and her hands steady. “You ordered me to bring him his meals, and leave them in front of his door.”