The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(35)
He was almost through, he had almost reached his goal, when a gravelly voice shouted over the bedlam: “Stop! Stop right where you are, or I'll slit her throat!”
Standoff and Climbhigh
Reuben's sword froze in mid-air, an inch from an enemy's face. The soldier who had been about to have his head cut in two paled like a corpse and staggered back. The few of his companions who remained alive and standing followed suit. They all crowded together around the beefy man, who now faced Reuben with a superior smirk on his face.
Reuben's eyes narrowed. Never had anyone dared to smirk at him in that manner and lived to see another day. Yet he had to admit, with a shudder, that the man had good reason to feel superior.
His hand held a knife.
And the knife lay at Ayla's throat.
Ayla's sapphire eyes were wide and round as coins and stared at Reuben with an unfathomable expression. Sadness? Courage? Fear? It might have been all of those, or none. Whatever she was feeling, it did not really matter. Reuben forced himself to take his gaze off her eyes and to direct it where it belonged: to the hairy hand which held the knife.
“Well, well,” the man sneered. “Not so quick with your sword now, are you?”
Reuben didn't answer. Having assured himself that Ayla's neck was completely unharmed at the moment, his eyes moved from the man's hand to his eyes. The hand would deliver the blow, but in the man's eyes Reuben would see the action before it began. They were dilated with fear. For all his bravado, this was a man in fear for his life.
As well he should be.
Right at this moment, it would only serve to make him more dangerous, though. More unpredictable.
“Let go of your sword,” the thick-set mercenary snarled.
“No, Reuben, don't!” Ayla's voice was breathless and hardly audible. “Don't! Go! Just go and…”
“Keep your mouth shut, you fly-bitten harlot!” the mercenary growled and tugged on her hair so hard she let out a little whimper. Reuben had to call on all of his powers of self-restraint to remain immobile. In his head, he distracted himself with a list of things he planned to do with the beefy man once he got him away from Ayla. It was not a pretty list, but a rather long one.
“Drop your sword!” the man repeated. “Or do I have to cut her?”
Reuben's fingers loosened. There was a moment of indecision—then his sword fell to the floor with a loud clatter.
“The dagger, too!”
Reuben hadn't even noticed that, during the fight, he had drawn his dagger as well. The blade was bloody, so it must have been of some use. It, too, dropped to the ground. It was of no matter. The man could make him drop his sword and dagger—but he could not make him drop his fists. More than that Reuben would not need once he got within range.
“Let her go, and I promise you safe conduct out of the castle,” he lied, his voice as cold and hard as flint.
“Ha, yes! Safe conduct out of the castle so that Sir Luca can chop our heads off when we get back, hm?” The beefy man spat on the floor. “No dice!”
“What then?”
“I'll tell you what then! We're going to take your precious lass here out of the castle and straight to our master.”
“No!” The word that came out of Ayla's throat was a half-growl, half-whimper.
“Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth?”
Again, the thick-set man tugged on Ayla's hair. She didn't let that deter her, though.
“Reuben, please,” she whispered. “I'd rather die! Please! I'd rather die than fall into the hands of these…” She couldn't finish the sentence but, rather, ended in a strangled moan.
Her captor laughed harshly. “Ha, what do you think we'll do, harlot? Torture you? Burn you at the stake? No, we're bringing you to your rightful husband, the Margrave von Falkenstein! Once he's given you a good pounding and plowing, you'll soon change your mind. You'll be thanking us on bended knee, wench! Just you wait.”
Reuben made a few additions to his list. What very interesting additions they were…
“Please, Reuben,” Ayla implored him again. “I'd rather die.”
Her words were weighted with significance that, for the first time, seemed to penetrate the thick skull of the man who was holding her. He tensed, looked sharply from her to Reuben, then relaxed again as the latter didn't move. He smirked.
“Counting on your friend here to attack and make me cut your throat, are you?” he laughed. “Well, harlot, you might be ready to die, but from the looks of him, pretty boy here doesn't want that.” He smirked again, directing his insolent gaze at Reuben. “Am I right?”
“Yes,” Reuben said darkly. “You are.”
“Well, then,” the beefy man growled, “we'll just leave now.”
“Leave the castle?” Reuben asked. “How do you intend to get through the gates?”
“Oh, I think the guards will be nice enough to open up when they see the important parcel I'm carrying.”
Reuben heard the loud sound of boots on stone behind him and turned his head for a moment to see five guards, one of them with a nosebleed, running down the corridor. They stopped dead when they saw their mistress in the clutches of the mercenary. Their eyes slid from Reuben, to the mercenary, and back to Reuben. Slowly, it sank in that he was not the danger here.