The Robber Knight's Love

59. Inflamed Buttocks and Fiery Threats

To illustrate the point, he sprang forward, grabbed a soldier by the throat and shook him until he had turned blue in the face. Thinking that he had probably gotten his point across, he let go, and the soldier collapsed into a crumpled heap on the ground, coughing.

Raising his hands to point at four wide-eyed guards, he called: “You and you! Guard the inner gate. You and you, guard the outer gate. If anybody wishes to leave, tell them the castle is under lockdown till the surrounding land has been scoured and found to be clear of mercenaries!”

“Um... nobody could leave anyway,” a timid voice dared to venture. “I mean, since the portcullis is down and the rope is cut.”

“That's where you're wrong, you puny little codpiece,” Reuben grinned. “We can't have our defensive mechanisms damaged, can we? You there! Find me a good, stout rope! Any of you who know the mechanism of the portcullis: go start repair work! The rest of you... well let's just say there's plenty of other work to be done. We have a mess to clean up!”

When somebody from the keep joined him half an hour or so later, Reuben was proudly surveying his troops while they scoured the outer courtyard with brooms and whet cloth. About half of the bloody mess was already gone.

That was, when he heard the footsteps behind him. He knew at once that it wasn't Ayla. They sounded much too heavy. Besides, if Ayla were to grunt and grumble like that, he might reconsider the plans for their joined future.

Burchard entered Reuben’s field of vision. A thick bandage was wrapped around his shoulder.

“I heard shouts out here, from the keep,” he grunted. “Sounded like a raging bull.”

“That was me,” Reuben told him.

“I see.” Burchard studied the slaving soldiers. “I also see you have them firmly in hand.”

Reuben nodded smugly. “It's nice to have some respect.”

The steward gave a derisive snort. “They don't respect you. They're just scared to hell of you.”

“Where's the difference?”

The steward gave a non-committal grunt, then he fell silent and just stood behind Reuben, his jaw working. Reuben ignored him. He figured the steward would start talking soon enough about why he was really here. Reuben had an idea what that might be.

Finally, Burchard cleared his throat. “You're... interested in Lady Ayla.”

Ah. He had been right.

He raised an eyebrow. “How quick of you to notice.”

“Don't be flippant with me, boy!” Gripping Reuben by the arm, Burchard tried to pull him around to face him. Reuben remained standing, as if he were a stone statue, his muscles not even having to bunch to resist the older man. Slowly, he turned of his own volition and fixed a fiery gray glare on the steward.

“And you,” he said in a low voice, “do not call me boy. You will find that it is really very inappropriate. Now let go of my arm.”

Burchard let go of him as if he held a poisonous adder.

“Very well then,” he started again, clearly having to force his voice to remain calm. “Listen to me, Sir Reuben. It is evident that you intend to court my Lord's daughter. It is evident that she cares for you deeply, the devil knows why! From what I've seen I believe you care for her too. But with you, I'm not going to settle for belief. Ayla is a brave mistress, and as clever a young lady as ever I have seen, but she is still a young girl. She does not see through your pretenses as I do.”