The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(77)

“Err…all right. West wall. I'm on my way.”

“A very wise decision, Captain. You three—stay here and guard Lady Ayla. If she is harmed in any way when I return, you will have to answer to me.”

Quick footsteps hurried off.

Ayla didn't look up to see whom they belonged to. She could only stare at Isenbard's pale, wrinkled face. Strangely enough, a smile lay on his lips.

Quickly, Ayla bent down. She ripped off a piece of her sleeve and started winding it around Isenbard's bloody neck.

“Don't ruin your dress, girl,” he muttered. “It's not worth it.”

“What do you mean?” she hissed between clenched teeth, suppressing the urge to cry. “You are not worth it? Because if that’s what you mean, you can shut up right now, you stubborn old fool!”

He tried to shake his head—but winced and decided that it wasn’t a good idea.

“No. If I could be saved, I would happily let you tear a hundred dresses to pieces. But I cannot, and you know that.”

“No! No, you're going to be fine! I'm going to save you. I am! I…I…”

By now, Ayla had wrapped three layers of cloth around Isenbard's neck. Still, it only took half a minute for the impromptu bandage to be soaked with blood.

The wound was too big, too dangerous. The bleeding couldn't be stopped. Tears fell from Ayla's face and mingled with the blood on the cloth, running down the side of Isenbard's neck in a salty, red rivulet.

It was too much. Simply too much. Ayla collapsed onto his blood-soaked chest, crying her heart out. Arms came up to hug her tightly. Maybe it was only her imagination, but in this brief moment, they seemed to have all the strength that they had lost along with youth, so long ago.

“Shhh,” Isenbard murmured. “Don't cry, Ayla, don't cry. It's not so bad, you know. All of us have to die some time. I…” He coughed, and the flow of blood increased for a moment. When he continued, his voice was weaker but still audible. “I could have died of the pox or some other terrible disease. Instead, God has shown me his favor. I died protecting my mistress from harm.”

“You did,” Ayla choked out. “You did protect me.”

“Did I fulfill my oath of fealty? Is the castle safe?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, though in truth, she had no idea whether it was true. Was the castle safe? She had no idea what would be found on other sections of the wall. There might have been more attacks, the castle might already be breached, soon to be overrun.

But how could she tell him that? She couldn’t. Not now. Not now that he was d—

No! She couldn't even think the word! This was Isenbard! Always there, always reliable, always the perfect knight, her father's oldest friend and foremost protector. He couldn't just…go.

“Don't cry,” Isenbard repeated, his voice beginning to sound drowsy. “I am old, Ayla. My time has come. I'll see my wife again. My dear, sweet Irene… Don't cry, my child.”

“Please,” Ayla whispered. “Please don't. Don't die. If you die, what will I do? I will have no one! No one I can trust!”

The strangest of sounds originated from Isenbard's throat then. It was weak and unsteady and sounded a bit wet. Ayla needed a moment to understand that he was chuckling.

“No one? I doubt very much that this is true. You will have someone. Go to Sir Reuben. Trust him.”

Ayla's breath caught in her throat. Sir Reuben. So he knew.

She pushed herself up a bit, so she could look into Isenbard's face. All she could see there was warmth and peace. Peace such as she hadn't seen since the beginning of the siege. Peace that meant, for some reason, he was no longer really worried for her safety. Not because there wouldn’t be danger—but because he knew she’d be well protected.

“But…but he's not trustworthy,” she muttered.

“I know,” answered Isenbard. “But he loves you.”

Ayla was about to reply when Isenbard's arms slackened and fell to the ground. His eyes, fixed on her with such fatherly affection a moment ago, went blank, and his head fell to the side.

“Isenbard?” In panic, Ayla gripped his shoulders. “Isenbard? Isenbard!”

~~*~~*

Sir Isenbard's body was carried into the castle’s small chapel as the new day dawned. The rays of the rising sun fell into the room through the little stained glass window and created a halo of red, gold, and blue on the stone floor just before the altar.

“There.” Reuben pointed at the glowing spot, and the four members of the castle guard who bore the litter made straight towards it. “Lay him down there.”

They did as he said. Slowly, Sir Isenbard descended. His face looked almost peaceful. His armor, dented and scratched as it was, shone in the sunlight, surrounded by an aura of glorious colors, heralding the hero, victorious in death.

Reuben looked from the old man's corpse to Ayla, who was standing a few feet away, pressed against the wall, her face pale and expressionless. For the first time in his life, he did not have the faintest clue what to do.

If the one you loved was in need, you could find some way to help her. If the one you loved was in danger, you could protect her. But if the one you loved was mourning, you could not raise the dead and make everything right again.