*~*~**~*~*
A strange noise woke Ayla from her reverie. She was thoroughly glad of it. She had been stroking the blossom in her hand, trying hard not to remember how Reuben's skin felt in comparison. She was a virtuous maiden! Or at least she was supposed to be. The thoughts that had accosted her lately were strange, new, and frankly, somewhat disturbing.
The only problem was that they also happened to be wonderful.
Thwak! Thwak!
She frowned. There it was again, that noise: like a woodpecker, only far off and irregular. Ayla wandered through the orchard in search of the origin of the sound, until she came to the edge of her little sanctum. Continuing, she walked till she had reached the inner castle wall. The noise seemed to be coming from beyond. Entering one of the towers, she climbed up the stairs onto the wall and looked out over the valley.
The noise was coming from beyond, as she had suspected. From beyond the river, out of the forest.
Staring out towards the distant sea of needles and leaves, towards what was now enemy territory, Ayla saw the first tree fall.
*~*~**~*~*
“They're doing what?” Burchard asked in a disbelieving tone.
“Felling trees,” Ayla told him again.
The grumpy old steward looked very surprised, his bushy black eyebrows almost disappearing into his mane of hair. Finally, he shrugged. “Well, I say let them. Better that they cut down trees than our men.”
Ayla shook her head, frowning. “They're not just cutting wood for their campfires. There's something behind this. I don't know what, but I don't like it one bit. I wish,” she added after a pause, “that Isenbard were awake.”
Burchard grunted. “We all wish that.”
“We need him.”
“I know that, Ayla.”
“They are planning something.”
The steward sighed heavily. “You are probably right.”
“Then what are we going to do, Burchard? What am I going to do?” she asked him in tones of rising panic, gesturing to all the people visible through the window of the main hall where they were talking. Some of the people were still milling around the entrance, badgering the guards with questions about Sir Isenbard, others were on the walls, looking towards the east. “What am I going to tell them? What am I going to tell Sir Rudolfus, Sir Waldar, and the soldiers? That I haven't the faintest clue what our enemy is planning, but that they should just lean back and trust that I, a seventeen-year-old girl, can handle it?”
“Shh. Come here.” Burchard held open his big, beefy arms and Ayla let herself be hugged by him, let herself be hugged like she had when she had been a little girl, here, in this empty room, where none of her people could see her weakness. “I don't know what you should tell them,” Burchard said. “I'm sorry, but you are the Lady of Luntberg—not I.”
“But you have so much more experience than I!”
“Experience at planting cherry trees and giving farmers who don't pay their tithes a good kick in the backside, maybe.”
In spite of the tears now streaming down her face, Ayla had to laugh.
“I'm sorry, Milady.” Burchard opened his arms again and pushed her slightly away. “Isenbard was the only one among us with any experience in leading men in war. Except, perhaps...” he hesitated.
“What?” Ayla asked, eagerly.
“Well... you could always ask your father.”
She jerked back. “No! Burchard, what are you thinking? He will be out of his mind with worry! I won't allow that, not in his state of health. Don't you dare tell him that we barely survived the first attack, or that Isenbard is unconscious either, understand?”
Burchard unhappily chewed on his mustache.
“Do you understand, Burchard?”
“Yes, Milady,” he growled.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, Ayla straightened and tried to calm herself. She couldn't go to pieces. She was a lady and had to behave like one.
“Assemble Sir Waldar, Sir Rudolfus, and the soldiers' captains in this room in one hour. We will discuss our strategy then. Now I have to check how the sick and injured are doing. I'm sure some of them need my attention.”
“As you wish, Milady.”
Ayla's steps led her first to Reuben and Isenbard's room. Some part of her wanted to insist that this was mostly because of her concern for the latter, but she knew better. Her thoughts were on Reuben. She wondered at the fact that this arrogant, ruggedly handsome stranger could mean more to her than a man she had known her whole life. For a moment, she asked herself whether she should be appalled by the fact. She wasn't. Instead, she was thrilled she would be seeing him again. In the name of God, she had spoken to him only yesterday! That was surely not long enough a separation to pine for anyone's company. What was the matter with her?
I am a virtuous maiden, I will not think licentious thoughts, she repeated over and over in her head. I am a virtuous maiden, and I will not think licentious thoughts.
It worked fine—until she opened the door to Reuben's room and saw him lying on his bed, turned toward her, his face covered in sweat and the sweetest, most devious grin on his handsome features.
Dear saints and martyrs!
“Hello, Reuben,” she said, and for some reason couldn't help it—a smile appeared on her face.
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Greetings, my fellow travelers in the middle-ages!
I thank you most humbly for all your feedback on my cover-prototypes! I am now off to buy fabulous stock photos for my new cover. Pity I can't just do it Sir Reuben-style and threaten the photographers with my sword until they give me some :D :D
As for the chapter - what do you think the enemy is up to? ;)
Fare well for now,
Sir Rob
YOU ARE READING
The Robber Knight
Historical FictionWhen you are fighting for the freedom of your people, falling in love with your enemy is not a great idea. Or is it? Ayla has to defend her castle and her people all on her own, with nobody to help her but a dark warrior she hates with all her heart.
32. Garden of Blossoms
Start from the beginning