The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(68)

“You think so, do you?” Swiftly, his hand moved from her arm to…another part of her. A part which was located right below her back, which no gentleman would ever touch on a lady. “I could also hold you here, I think. It's just as good for supporting you, and much more fun.”

“Reuben!”

“Well, am I a gentleman?”

“No! Now off with your hand!”

“Do you really want that?” he smirked.

“Yes, really! We're off to see Isenbard, and if he sees your hand there, he’ll try to cut your head off on the spot! I don’t want you two fighting.”

For a moment, Ayla thought she could see a guilty expression on Reuben's face. But it was gone so quickly she might have imagined it.

“Let's go see Isenbard, then,” he said hastily. “Shall we?”

“Um…yes, of course.”

A bit confused about his sudden haste, Ayla let herself be accompanied outside by Reuben. He had let go of that particular part of her body and switched his grip to her hand instead. He held it with a light pressure, not trying to pull her forward or support her physically, just letting her know he was there. Ayla was immeasurably grateful for that, just as she was grateful for his banter that had kept her distracted from the images that lay in ambush at the edges of her mind, waiting to attack.

With effort, she managed the descent down the stairs. She tried not to let show how much it hurt her feet, but she guessed Reuben saw right through her feeble attempts at deception. Halfway down the stairs, he paused and looked down at her.

“Everything all right?”

She nodded wordlessly, and they continued their way down the stairs and through the hall. At the door, Reuben paused again.

“No, really, I'm fine,” Ayla assured him, but Reuben just frowned and shook his head.

“No, no… Ayla, don't you hear that?”

“What?”

“That!”

Thrusting out his arm, Reuben pushed open the keep door. A strange noise assaulted Ayla's ear: a howling and clanging like that of the tortured souls of Limbo. It drifted over the castle, carried by the night wind, and sent a chill down Ayla's back.

Dilli had been waiting right outside the keep, an anxious expression on her face. She rushed towards her mistress as soon as she saw her.

“Oh, Milady! What is happening? What is this horrible noise?”

“I don't know,” Ayla said, her voice hardly audible over the unearthly cacophony. “But I will find out. Reuben?”

He nodded, and the grim determination in his face gave Ayla both hope and fear for what lay ahead.

“I’m with you, Milady.”





The Deadly Fear of Cooking Pots

More than once, Reuben was tempted to just pick Ayla up and carry her the rest of the way. Every time she winced as she took a step forward with her wounded feet, the impulse grew stronger. However, he knew she wouldn't have wanted that, and for some strange reason, he didn't consider what he himself wanted most important where she was concerned.

With a little of his help, rendered so gently that she probably didn't even notice, Ayla managed the way down the courtyard and through the inner gate. When they passed under the archway, he heard her whisper, “Don't let go of my hand, please? I'll have to see them again soon, and I need you.”

He knew right away what she was talking about, and his heart ached for her. She should never have had to see any of the horror the enemy had flung over the castle walls.

Some part of him was seriously considering implementing the plan he had outlined to Ayla only in jest. If he could kill all her enemies himself, that would be immensely satisfying. Not quite as satisfying as some other things he could think of doing in regard to her, but still immensely so.

“They are just dead pieces of meat and bone,” he tried to comfort her. “There's nothing terrible about them.”

In the darkness under the arch, he couldn't see her face, but her voice quivered slightly as she answered, “I try to tell myself the same. But then I look into their eyes, and I know differently.”

Yes, killing all her enemies himself would definitely feel great.

The gates to the outer courtyard swung open, and a flood of utter confusion hit them with the force of seven thunderstorms. Heads—rotting, split in half, grinning ghastly at everyone around—were littered around the courtyard. People were milling around everywhere, the women wailing and crying, the men shouting senseless orders nobody paid attention to. There were even, Reuben saw, one or two children staring with empty eyes at the horrible, empty eye-sockets of one of the skulls.

Reuben thought that Ayla would start crying. That she would run back into the inner fortress and try to hide. He felt her body stiffen and anticipated having to support her if she collapsed.

Only then did he notice that her eyes were not fixed on the grizzly heads scattered over the courtyard, but on the children.

“You there!”

Suddenly, Reuben found himself standing alone under the archway. Ayla seemed to have forgotten that her feet were covered with painful cuts. She was striding, as determined as a soldier on the march, towards the young boy and the girl, and with a swift movement, engulfed them in the loose folds of her dress, covering their eyes.

“You people!” she called to several villagers standing nearby, yammering. “Have you lost your senses?”