The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(57)

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Once her stomach had recovered from Burchard's merciless stuffing, Ayla went to the stables. She longed for a few moments away from everything—the siege, the blood, the knowledge that, soon, Reuben would put his life on the line—and the only place where she could find peace right now was with her beloved childhood friend.

Eleanor wasn't in her box when Ayla entered the stable. Frowning, she looked around. Her mare was nowhere to be seen.

“Eleanor?” She called. “Where are you, old girl?”

No answer. Then Ayla suddenly had an idea. She went around the corner to the rear of the stable, where a few of the larger and wilder animals were kept tethered. And there Eleanor stood, right next to a certain black stallion.

Ayla scowled. “You're really shameless, you know that?”

Eleanor whinnied plaintively.

“Has he behaved himself, at least?”

Another whinny.

“No, of course he hasn't,” Ayla mumbled. “Why did I even ask?” She went over to her mare and stroked her neck gently.

“Soon you'll run after him all the time and will forget all about me, won't you?” she sighed.

The only answer to that was an affectionate and firmly negating nibble on her sleeve.

“Oh, Eleanor.” Ayla sighed again and pressed her face against her friend’s side. The mare's coat felt so soft, so warm and relaxing. “Sometimes I wish that I were a horse, too, and we could run out of here, far, far away, where there are no powerful nobles to hound us.”

Eleanor nibbled some more. What better moral support could you wish for?

“But I suppose we would have to take him with us, wouldn't we?” She stabbed her finger at the black stallion, Satan, who eyed her more like he wanted to devour her alive than nibble at her dress.

Eleanor just looked at her mistress with those big, black horse-eyes that seemed to say, “You wouldn't mind if a certain red knight came with us, would you?”

Ayla sighed. “No, probably not. You know me so well.”

She snuggled closer to Eleanor.

It was just so pleasant, sitting here, her head leaned against her old friend. Outside, a bird perched somewhere on the roof was singing, totally ignorant of the army of murderous men camped outside the gates. If she hugged Eleanor very tightly and didn't think about anything else, Ayla could pretend it was just another day in her peaceful life at Luntberg, before mercenary armies and evil Margraves. It looked like just such a peaceful day. The sunlight streaming in through the jagged, man-sized hole in the wall was so beautiful…

Wait just a minute.

Hole in the wall? What hole in the wall?





Visions of the Past

Ayla strode determinedly along the walkway. The guards down in the courtyard had told her that was where Isenbard was to be found, and she wanted a word with him. Turning around a corner, she saw him standing not far off, looking down into the valley, surrounded by a few guards. When he noticed her, he turned towards her and bowed.

“Ah, Milady. You’ve come just at the right time. I have something of importance to discuss with you.”

“So have I,” said Ayla. “Why is there a hole in the wall of my stable? And,” she added, sniffing and wrinkling her nose, “why do you smell of horse manure?”

“Because I haven't had time to wash it off yet, Milady,” Isenbard answered with another bow.

“Wait a minute! That's no answ—”

“Milady?” Isenbard interrupted her. “I shall be more than glad to discuss horse defecation with you at some later time. Now, however, there is something that urgently requires your attention.”

He pointed down into the valley. Distracted from her line of inquiry, Ayla looked to where he was pointing. It was a spot at the edge of the forest. There, men bearing the crest of Falkenstein were hacking away at trees. A fair number were already felled and lay on the ground. Other men were working on them, stripping off the bark and carving.

“What's this?” Ayla asked, frowning. “They're building more boats? That can't be. They're already across the river and have taken the bridge.”

“Boats aren't the only things you can build out of wood, Milady.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm aware of that, uncle. But what, then?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” he admitted. “It looks like…” He paused, then shook his head. “No, but that wouldn't make any sense. I'm really not sure. I'm an old soldier, Milady. I am not very up to date regarding the latest war machinery.”

The sentence hung heavy in the air.

“What if there were somebody here who is?” Ayla dared to ask.

“Your merchant who is so knowledgeable about war?” Isenbard asked without taking his eyes off the soldiers at the edge of the forest.

“He isn't my merchant!”

Ayla wasn't sure, but she thought she saw a smile flit over Isenbard's normally so stern face. “Of course he isn’t. My mistake, Milady. I beg your pardon.”

“But…you were right. I was speaking of him,” admitted Ayla.

“I thought as much.”

“Do you know where he is?” she enquired.

“Celebrating his victory, most likely,” the old knight grumbled.