The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(23)

“What was that, Milady?” Linhart half turned back to her. “I'll attend to you in a moment, just as soon as we have sent this demon to join his master down below. A few seconds more and he will be in range. Hold…Hold…”

“Stop!”

The word that burst from Ayla’s lips was quiet and breathless, but nevertheless perfectly understandable to everyone in the vicinity. Still, Captain Linhart and all the twenty bowmen with bows still drawn gaped at her as though she had suddenly started spouting speeches in some heathen tongue.

“Excuse me, Milady?” said Linhart after a few seconds.

“Stop…I said…stop. I don't…” Ayla gasped for breath again, still leaning heavily on the battlements. “I don't want you to shoot.”

The eyes of the captain and his men wandered from the red knight to Ayla and back. “You don't want us to shoot him?”

“No.”

“Just to be absolutely sure, Milady, you do not want us to shoot that rider in the red armor advancing towards the castle right now?”

“No.” Ayla shook her head, let go of the battlements, and stood erect. “I want you to open the gates for him.”

“What?”

“Don't worry, Captain,” she said as forcefully as she could. “I know the man who is riding up that hill.”

“Err…forgive me for saying so, Milady,” the captain dared to object, “but I know him, too. He has beleaguered us for the last few weeks, remember?”

“Captain?”

“Yes, Milady?”

“Open the gates!”

The captain hesitated. He might have obeyed. He might have refused. It could have gone either way had not, at that moment, the sound of an arrow whizzing through the air distracted him. He whirled around—but all of his men were still standing there with their bows drawn and arrows nocked.

His gaze strayed down over the battlements, and he suddenly froze as he saw several arrows flying past the red knight galloping towards the castle. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. He saw more arrows flying past the red knight.

“Err…why is the enemy shooting at their own commander?”

Captain Linhart's sane world of soldiering was slowly collapsing around his ears.

“That's what I've been trying to tell you,” Ayla growled. “He's not who you think he is! Now, go open the gates, or do I have to do it myself?”

“No, Milady! As you command, Milady!” Captain Linhart turned towards the gatehouse, made his hands funnel-shaped around his mouth, and shouted, “Open the gates!”

The guard at the gates, half-asleep until that moment, abruptly woke up and stared up at Linhart, eyes wide.

“Open the gates, man!”

The soldier made a very impolite gesture at his commanding officer, indicating that said commanding officer had a bird's nest for brains, but did as he was commanded. Three other guards rushed to his aid to help lift the giant iron portcullis, which had not been pulled up since the enemy had surrounded the castle.

Ayla watched and wavered. Should she stay here? Should she wait and see if another of the arrows, which were flying after the red knight in dozens now, would hit its mark? Or should she get down there, hoping against hope that all would go well? In the end, she couldn't bear it. She rushed to the tower door, and when Linhart wanted to stop and question her, she waved him off.

“Not now, Captain! Later!”

Not waiting for his reply, Ayla pulled open the door and sprinted down the staircase, her feet echoing loudly on the cold stone.

Please, God, she prayed, please don’t let me fall and break my neck in this gloomy tower. Let me get down all right. Let me get to him.

Twice she stumbled and only kept from falling by grabbing the rough stone wall. When she reached the bottom, her slender white hands were scratched and bloodied.

Please, oh Lord. Please let him be all right!

She staggered out into the courtyard—and stopped dead at the sight that met her eyes.

Dozens of soldiers stood all around, their weapons drawn. Apparently, the confidence of the gate guards in their commanders didn't go far enough for them not to think backup necessary. A lot of backup. Two of the soldiers held not only guisarmes, but also torches. In their flickering light, Ayla could see another two guards, these two unarmed, who were gripping the iron rings set into the oak gates and, with mighty grunts of effort, slowly pulling them back to reveal an archway of darkness.

The noises of the night outside flooded into the courtyard. Cries, curses, and the clatter of hooves. But no rider appeared out of the shadows.

Please, Ayla prayed with fierce intensity. Please…!

~~*~~*

Sir Reuben had to admit, some of those cavalrymen had been pretty good. They had actually managed to get their swords out of their scabbards before he had stabbed them. That had been some achievement.

He threw a glance over his shoulder. At the beginning, he had been slightly worried that the mare—what was her name again? Eleanor?—wouldn't be able to keep up with them. But she had proven herself to be a magnificent and swift animal and seemed only too eager to keep up with Satan.

No, the mare was keeping pace all right. The riders catching up to him might be the bigger problem.

An arrow whizzed past his head, and he glanced back again in annoyance. Bah! Problem? They couldn't even shoot straight while in the saddle! If he had been pursued by Saracens, Magyars or Tartars, he might have been in trouble, but could these bastards who hadn't shot a bow on a horse once in their lives ever pose a threat to him? Never!