The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(73)

He was being absolutely serious.

She had pointed out very forcefully to him that he would have to leave her at night, since it wasn't proper for a gentleman to sleep in a lady's room.

He had replied with a tired, but nonetheless breathtaking smile that, firstly, they wouldn't be able to sleep with that racket going on, secondly, he was no gentleman, and thirdly, he could think of a few things they could do other than try to sleep.

She had almost thrown him out of the keep after that—but in the end, she hadn't, because she needed him too much. She could feel the need, almost like a physical ache. And, if she wasn't very much mistaken, he needed her too. So they both returned to his old sickroom and sat down on the bed.

“You're right about not catching any sleep,” Ayla mumbled as a particularly loud wail from outside the castle disturbed the night. “So I suppose it’s all right if we stay together. But just in case I do fall asleep…you keep your hands to yourself, understand?”

“What?” he almost looked injured. “You think I would do anything to soil your honor while you are asleep? What do you take me for, some kind of lecherous rogue?”

“Frankly, yes.”

A grin even wider than the previous one spread across his face. “I'm glad you know me so well.”

“Just thought you ought to be forewarned,” she mumbled, sinking against his shoulder. Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy. From somewhere above her, she heard his voice. “Don't worry. For what I have in mind, I want you to have your eyes open.”

As suspected, Ayla didn't find any sleep this night. She drifted in and out of a semi-darkness that was the feeble brother of sleep, each time interrupted when a particularly loud howl or clanking intruded through the windows of the castle.

She wasn't aware of anything around her, except sometimes Reuben’s arms. But she wasn’t truly asleep either. When she 'awoke' from this night the next morning, she felt as if she had been broken on the wheel. Yet to her delight, she discovered that she still had all her clothes on.

She was less delighted that the wailing and clanking outside was still going on without one minute's interruption.

“Good morning, Milady.”

Reuben sat astride of a chair on the other side of the room, regarding her with heavy-lidded gray eyes.

“What are you doing over there?” Ayla asked, confused, rubbing the non-sleep out of her eyes. “You could have stayed here.” She patted the mattress. “There's more than enough room on the bed.”

Reuben flashed his devilish smile at her. “I thought that might not be wise, considering the harsh interdiction you placed on me. You remember? The one about not ravishing you.”

“Harsh?” Ayla let out a little snort.

“Oh yes, very harsh.”

“Well, then let's get up, before you crack from the strain.” Ayla held out her hand, fluttering her eyelashes. “Will you help a Lady up, Sir Knight?”

Sighing, Reuben stood and gripped her hand. She noticed that not only had he spent the night on the chair, but he also had kept his full armor on. Not just the chainmail, but the plate armor as well. She looked questioningly at him.

“I thought it might be as well to be prepared,” he said, catching her look.

He didn't say for what he thought he might need to be prepared exactly. But then, Ayla thought, maybe she didn't really want to know.

“Let's go check up on everybody, all right?” she asked.

~~*~~*

Over the next few days, life in the castle went on pretty much uneventfully—unless you counted an old guard falling asleep on the wall and nearly falling off before a comrade caught him as a notable event.

Reuben stayed always at Ayla's side. They didn't talk much. They were too tired, and Ayla, for her part, was too full of anxiety. They just stayed close to each other and tried to organize the watch of the castle in such a manner that at least a few decently rested guards were available.

To no avail.

Over the next few days, the incessant noise from the enemy gnawed at everybody's nerves and exhausted them almost to the point of collapse.

All except one, that is. Sir Isenbard never once left the wall in three days.

Apparently, he reasoned that, nobody being able to sleep anyway, it was useless for him to try and attempt it. Thus, he could now fully concentrate on his self-appointed mission of watching over and protecting the castle of Luntberg all on his own, and could be seen striding on top of the wall long after most guards had retired to their barracks, trying to catch at least a few minutes of restless slumber.

Ayla tried to dissuade him more than once.

“It's not your fault these mercenaries got into the castle, Uncle Ironbeard,” she said in a tired voice, supporting herself against a crenel to keep standing upright. “You don't have to prove anything to me.”

“I know I don't, Milady,” the staunch old knight replied, holding himself as erect and strong as one of the castle towers.

“Then get some sleep, will you?”

“How, Milady? I cannot.”

And that argument pretty much ended the conversation every time. So day followed night and night followed day. The two intermingled and blurred, since it was not really important anymore whether the sun or the moon stood in the sky. The people of Luntberg were always tired and increasingly afraid.