The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(8)

“Do you seriously mean to suggest, Milady, that you want to share your chambers with a group of complete strangers?”

Ayla blushed. “They wouldn't have to be men.”

“I should bloody well hope not!” Burchard's bushy mustache bristled with rage. “Have you any idea how improper that would be?”

“I have no doubt you will be informing me over the course of the next half hour.”

Burchard eyed her suspiciously. “Where did you learn to be so cheeky all of a sudden?”

Another lance of pain pierced her heart. Ayla knew exactly where she had picked that up—or to be more exact, from whom.

“I practiced secretly,” she retorted, keeping the pain hidden as well as she could. “Now, are you going to give the orders for people to bring their belongings to my chambers or do I have to do it myself?”

“But even if you were to share your personal chambers—” Burchard glared at her, this time not so very fondly as before, “—which, by the way, is completely out of the question, there still wouldn't be enough room.”

“Well, as for that, I have an idea.”

~~*~~*

Very softly, Ayla knocked at the door.

“Enter,” came the brittle voice from inside. Ah, she knew he wouldn't be asleep. It was the middle of the night, true, and he was an old man, but who could sleep on a night like this? She opened the door, slowly walked to the bed, and knelt beside her father.

“I'm sorry I haven't come to see you before now,” she said, grasping his hand and pressing it softly.

The count's lips twitched in a humorless smile. “You don't need to be. From what I could hear from my tower chamber, you are pretty busy these days.”

She nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

The count studied her face intently. Apparently, he didn't miss much, even by the scant light of the single candle beside his bed. He reached up and softly touched her cheek, which was still damp from the tears and glittering in the candlelight.

“Is the siege going that badly?”

She didn't bother to correct him. No need to tell him that the reason for her tears had nothing whatsoever to do with the enemy army before their gates. He had enough to worry about as it was.

“We're surrounded,” she said, not bothering to sugarcoat anything. It was too late for that. “There is no hope of escape or relief.”

“Still, all our people are safe within the walls of Luntberg Castle?”

“They are safe—for now.”

The count breathed a sigh. Of relief? Of resignation? “Aye. For now.” He gazed at his daughter intently. “Why have you come up here, child? There are people down there who need you. I am sure you have better things to do than to tend to an old man who is of no use to anyone.”

Impulsively, Ayla leaned forward and hugged her father. The frail old man was as light as a feather in her arms.

“Never say that,” she breathed. “Do you hear me? Never! I don't know what I'd do without you. After mother's death…”

“Psht.” Softly, the count pushed her away and put a finger on her lips. “Let's not speak of that today. You have enough troubles.”

Ayla took a deep breath and tried to force the thought from her mind. He was right. More right even than he himself knew.

“So, why did you come, daughter?”

She tried to force a smile.

“Why, to see you, father. And to steal your servant.”

“Indeed?” The old man's white eyebrows went up.

“Yes.” Ayla managed a half-hearted grin. “There's so much work to be done down in the castle right now, I'm afraid we can't spare anyone just to look after a crotchety old man such as yourself.”

Now the count smiled as well. “Dear me. And there was I, thinking I was something special.”

“Don't you worry,” Ayla said and stroked his beard. “I've found you a replacement. Several, actually.”

“Several? My, my, these are days of luxury. I thought you said we were cut off from the outside world. How have you procured new attendants for me, then?”

“Oh, it wasn't that difficult.” Ayla turned her head and called, “You can come in now.”

The door to the room opened, revealing a family of four: a widowed mother with three little children.

Ayla smiled at her father. “You see, father? This good woman has kindly agreed to enter your service as a chamber maid, and she has found three pages to tend to your every need. Not only that—she has even agreed to sleep in the same room with you, so if ever you were to wake up during the night and require anything, she is there to aid you.”

“How prodigiously kind of her,” the count said with a secret smile directed at his daughter. Then, to the mother and her children, “Come in, come in, and be welcome.”

Hesitantly, the mother ushered her three little ones into the count's bedchamber. She looked around, her eyes almost as big as those of her children, taking in the massive stone walls, the fine tapestries, the intricately carved furniture made out of heavy, dark wood.

“And we are really to stay here?” she asked, fear and doubt mingling in her voice. “In this fine room? But Milord, we couldn't. It would be a presumption.”