The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(81)

“Sir Isenbard!”

A third and final time the soldier's spears were raised.

“Sir Isenbard!”

Then there was silence.

Ayla could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Through the veil of moisture, she could dimly make out the figure of Captain Linhart entering the tower to descend from the wall. It seemed like an eternity, but finally he emerged from the door at the bottom and strode across the courtyard towards her. People parted before him like the sea had done before Moses.

He halted at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the keep door. Ayla looked down at him, and he returned her gaze earnestly. His eyes were a mirror of her tortured soul, as were those of every other man, woman, and child in the castle.

“Milady.” He bowed once deeply.

“Captain.” She nodded. At the moment, she wasn't capable of more. She was still busy processing what she saw in front of her: the solemn faces, the flickering torches, the fact that they had come. They had all come.

“Shall the two of us carry the bier?” Linhart asked.

The shadow of a frown stole onto Ayla's face. Surely he wasn't expecting her to try and lift the bier? Sir Isenbard was still in full armor. She couldn't possibly carry that kind of weight.

“Do you mean…you and me?”

“No,” came a voice from behind her and slightly to the side. “He means him and me.”

A gigantic figure in red stepped out from behind the keep's door. Ayla's knees almost buckled beneath her when as she recognized him. He had been there the whole time! Waiting, not disturbing her, keeping watch.

Briefly, their hands touched.

“Would you?” she asked.

“If you want me to, Milady.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice slightly throaty. “Thank you.”

“It is an honor, Milady.”

Reuben stepped forward and took one side of the bier from the guards. Linhart came up the stairs and took the other end. Ayla wished she could express to the both of them what it meant to her, seeing them like this, bearing him, honoring him, but she couldn't. Her voice had failed her, and even if it hadn't, she wouldn't have been able to think of the words to say.

So she just asked, “You know where to go?”

They both nodded and, without further instructions, started forward. The crowd parted to let them and Ayla through. As they passed, people reached out to touch Isenbard's armor, his hands, his face. None of them were shrinking from the blood-encrusted wound that disfigured his throat. They just wanted to be close to the man who had been their friend and their shield one last time.

It didn't pass Ayla's notice that quite a few of the villagers touched her hands as she passed in exactly the same manner. She didn't mind. Anything that could give them comfort was fine. She only wished she had someone to hold on to.

Unconsciously, her eyes fixed on Reuben. She couldn't hold him. At least not right now. But she could look at him, follow him, and so she did. Their steps led not to a cemetery, for there wasn’t one within the confines of the castle, but to the little orchard at the back of the keep. There, Ayla had chosen a small patch of earth, next to the largest and most beautiful of apple trees.

In a space of ground between two of its large, knotted roots, a hole had been dug in the fertile earth. The hole was not very deep, because not far underground the earth gave way to the hard rock that formed the center of the mountain. But it did not need to be deep. There was only one thing that would ever be buried here.

With a motion of her hand, she directed Reuben and Linhart to place the bier beside the open grave.

~~*~~*

Reuben bent down until the bier touched the ground, then slowly let go and rose again. Around him, the villagers and guards gathered. Even those guards who, for the safety of them all, had to remain on the outer wall, were here in a sense. They were here with their hearts. Reuben could feel it. Grief and love mingled in the air, a bittersweet perfume he had not breathed for so many years, he who had been the cause of so many deaths over the years.

This one felt more real than any of them.

But among all the faces, he searched in vain for the one he had expected to see. The one he did not yet know.

As Ayla walked around the bier to stand beside him over the dark hole, he whispered into her ear, “Where is your father?”

She shook her head.

“He's not here. And he won't be coming.”

“But…isn't he Sir Isenbard's oldest friend?”

“Exactly.”

Confused, Reuben looked down at her. She just continued to stare fixedly into the dark hole.

“I…don't understand,” he finally admitted.

That was when she looked up at him, her sapphire eyes full of tears. “Reuben, I…please, I know he should be here. I know I should have told him. It's just…I couldn't. He's not well, and I'm so afraid. Afraid that if I told him, he…”

The words broke off in a choked sob.

“I…I can't lose him, too. Not so soon after…”

Now he understood. He didn't say anything, just brushed his hand against hers, offering. She clasped it firmly, gratefully.

A little man emerged from the silent crowd. From the wooden cross hanging around his neck, Reuben presumed him to be the village priest. Reuben wasn't too fond of priests. They had been too busy trying to convince him of the error of his ways, either with prayers or red hot knives, for him to like their kind much. This one looked different, however. Small and mousy in appearance, he still had a certain bearing. He stepped up to Ayla and took her other hand, pressing it for a moment.