The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(96)

“So you betrayed us?” she hissed. “Just like that?”

Hans nodded.

“I have always been a loyal liegeman. But then, one night, as I was holding watch alone at a corner of the outer wall, a voice called up to me from the dark. It was one of the enemy, and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse.”

“Your life, I suppose?”

“No.” With a sad smile, he shook his head. “The lives of my wife and my two little girls.”

Ayla felt ice flood her veins. For a moment, for one terrifying, endless moment, she didn't know what to say to this man. He was the traitor, she was the judge, he had done wrong, she was doing right—yet, for that single moment, it was she that felt guilty.

“So you hung the rope from the wall?” Her lips were moving automatically now, spouting out some senseless words in the attempt to keep her mind from thinking about the inevitable.

“With the grappling hook, yes. I found the hook among some old gear down here in the dungeons and went to a particular spot on the wall which the Margrave's soldier had described to me. There, I hung the rope over the wall with the grappling hook to make it look like it had been thrown up from the foot of the wall.”

“And the next attack? The one that killed…”

Sir Isenbard. She couldn't bring herself to say his name. It was too much.

Hans shook his head.

“I didn't have anything to do with that. They became impatient and tried without me. Milady…I truly meant what I said. I am sorry about Sir Isenbard.”

And, for some strange reason, Ayla believed him.

She swallowed. “Your wife…your two little girls…what are their names?”

Sudden, fear flashed across the face of the guard who, just a moment ago, had seemed so composed. He threw himself at her feet in supplication.

“Please, Milady, I beg you, do not harm them! Punish me! Torture me! Do anything you want to me, only please do not harm them, please! Take me!”

“You have already been taken,” Ayla reminded him, her blue eyes flashing coldly. “Their names, Hans! I can find out easily enough from any of the villagers.”

Now it was his turn to swallow.

“M-my wife is called Madalena, and my two girls are Anna and Katherine. Please, Milady, I beg of you, you can do anything to me! Do you have a rack? I'll go on the rack if it will save them, I'll do anything, please, I…”

“Your family will not be harmed,” Ayla said. Inside, she wondered how she managed to keep her voice steady. Maybe because she felt so numb inside. Was this the price you paid for becoming a leader?

Well, at least she could be the right kind of leader.

“Your family will not be harmed,” she repeated, taking deep, steadying breaths. “Do not fear, Hans. I am not the Margrave von Falkenstein.”

He looked up at her, tears in his eyes.

“I know, Milady. You are the true daughter of your father.”

“Which soon enough will not matter anymore, when the castle is taken, will it?” She said, her voice brittle.

He bowed his head. “I'm sorry, Milady.”

Again, she believed him.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she wandered past him towards the door. As she opened it and was just about to step out, Hans asked, “Milady? What will happen now?”

She paused. “To the castle, or to you?”

“Both.”

“I do not know.”

Then she stepped out into the corridor.





Sworn Bond

The news spread like a wildfire through the castle: Lady Ayla was going to make a proclamation. Or, at least, the news would have spread like wildfire in the castle if it had been made out of wood and not solid stone—very, very fast. Nobody knew exactly what the proclamation would be about, but nobody was very hopeful. Since the death of Sir Isenbard, nothing seemed certain anymore.

Ayla stood at the top of the steps in front of the keep and surveyed the crowd around her. She noticed the mixed apprehension and hope on their faces. She noticed, too, how both facial expressions vanished abruptly, morphing into awed terror, when the people's gaze landed on the giant blood-red figure behind her.

“My vassals,” Ayla called out. “My people, my friends. As you know, we all lost a dear friend not long ago. With Sir Isenbard’s death, we also lost the commander of our forces. I have called you here together today for a matter that is very important, indeed essential for our survival: the choice of his successor.”

She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “I have made my choice. Since your lives hang in the balance here, just as much as, or even more than mine, you deserve to know right away.”

Ayla saw the eyes of the crowd flit from Sir Waldar to Captain Linhart, and then, with an expression of incredulity, on Sir Rudolphus, all gathered around her. Which of her vassals would their lady choose?

“Step forward,” Ayla commanded, “Sir Reuben Rachwild.”

Murmurs of surprise and confusion went up all around her at the unfamiliar name, but cut off abruptly as the giant figure in crimson metal stepped forward, and knelt before Ayla.

“Some of you,” she proclaimed to the crowd, “know this man as Reuben, the merchant. Yet that is not who he truly is. He is Sir Reuben, a knight, tried and tested in battle many, many times, a terror to his enemies. When he was surprised in the forest by the Margrave's troops, before the siege began, he fought an entire battalion, nearly forty of our enemies, and slew them to a man!”