The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(29)

“Well?” persisted Reuben.

Ayla realized that she had been gazing at him in silence and hadn't answered his question. She cleared her throat, which felt unusually dry.

“He will be well cared for and properly fed,” she promised. “You have my word of honor.”

He nodded, accepting that. Apparently, he did not doubt her. Oh, if only she could trust his words as easily.

“Is there enough fodder?” he asked.

She laughed. “If we could all live on hay instead of corn, we could hold this castle for months without fear of starvation. My father always kept the hayloft well-filled. Grass is so much easier to come by than food.”

Once again, they both fell into silence. Finally, Reuben pushed himself up from the bed and stood in one single, fluid movement. Ayla found that he was, suddenly, only a few feet away from her, and his proximity was both sweet and painful.

“Why are you really here, Ayla?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength. When she opened them again, she said, “I was wondering what to do.”

“About the siege?”

“No. About you.”

“I see.”

“I thought that, maybe, coming here, talking with you, would help me to decide.”

He cocked his head. “And have you decided?”

She stood there, silent as the grave. She could not get one word past her lips in answer to that question.

“Ayla…” Reuben stepped forward and raised his hand as if to touch her. She jerked back abruptly, reflexively, as if it were the sharp blade of his sword he was holding out to her and not his open hand. Reuben let his hand fall.

“What is it to be, Milady?” he demanded, his voice colder now, his eyes burning into hers.

Ayla returned his gaze, trying her best to show no emotion.

“I swore by all the bones of my ancestors that I would hang you for your crimes,” she told him.

Reuben raised an eyebrow. Other than that, his face, too, showed no emotion. “And will you, Milady?”

“I don't know yet.”

Of course she knew. She had known all along. But she couldn't tell him. Before everything, before her own heart even, had to come the safekeeping of her people.

Slowly, she rose and went to the door. Over her shoulder, she said, “I will let you know once I've come to a decision.”

Then she left and closed the door behind her.

~~*~~*

Sir Luca DeLombardi was shouting his head off. And he was shouting Italian.

“Tu infestato bastardo figlio di puttana!” With fire in his small, black eyes, he glared up at the castle and shook his fist in the direction where the red rider had disappeared. Long had the gates closed behind the mysterious intruder into their camp, but Sir Luca's rage had by no means subsided. “Ti sventrerò e darò quel che resta di te ai miei cani per colazione!” he roared. “Esci fuori a combattere bastardo! Esci demonio! Esci demonio!”

Fritz the soldier leaned over to one of his comrades and mumbled, “What's he saying?”

“That roses are red, violets are blue, but your eyes are more beautiful than either.”

“Really?”

“Demonio! Tu tre volte maledetto demonio!”

The other soldier rolled his eyes. “No. Not really.”

Sir Luca whirled around. Apparently, he was finished with shouting. But only because other, more vicious things were on his mind.

“Who was he?” His normally smooth and affected voice was hoarse from shouting. All of his men merely stood around in a loose semi-circle. Some shrugged. Some threw uncertain looks to one another. Nobody said a word.

“Well? I said who was he?”

Again, no answer.

“I thought this Lady Ayla had no real fighters, apart from that old man who was struck down? I thought she was defenseless! And now this?” Sir Luca advanced towards one of his soldiers, grabbed the man by the collar, and shook him like a rag doll. “Now this devil comes, enters our camp with impunity, and steals from me? Who is he? I want to know who he is!”

“I…I d-don't k-know,” the soldier stuttered, his face pale as a corpse. With another muttered Italian curse, his commander shoved him backward and turned to another soldier.

“Who,” he said in a low voice that somehow sounded even more dangerous than his shouting, “was on watch when this bastardo broke into our camp? Bring him to me.”

The soldier squirmed. “Err…Sir, I don't think that would be…”

“Do it! Now!”

The solder swallowed and bowed.

“Of course, Sir.” He ran off into the dark, beckoning to one of his comrades to follow him. They left in the direction of the gates. The rest, among them the still simmering Sir Luca, remained where they were, in front of the big command tent.

A minute elapsed. Then another.

“Where are you, you maggot-ridden sons of pigs?” roared Sir Luca.

“Coming, Sir, coming!” came the answer out of the darkness. “It's just not so easy to find him, that's all.”

“How can it be so difficult? Who is this man? What's his name?”

“Err…Rupert, I believe.”

“Well, have him called before me!”

“It's not quite that simple, Sir. Just wait a moment and…ah! There it is! Arnold, have you got his…very good! Come along.”