The Robber Knight

34. Cupid's Arrows

“Reuben, I...”

Precisely at that moment, the door swung open.

Guiltily, Ayla jerked around, thinking that it might be Burchard. He had developed the annoying habit of interrupting her when she was with Reuben with increasing frequency, God only knew why.

But it wasn't Burchard. It was Heilswinda.

The maid stared at her mistress leaning over the face of the handsome man on the bed, her cheeks flushed. A grin appeared on her face, and she curtsied.

“Begging your pardon, Milady. Didn't want to interrupt.” She turned on the spot, waggling her hips suggestively before closing the door. “Mum's the word,” she called from outside in an excited, girly voice.

They could hear her giggling as she hurried away down the corridor.

Reuben raised an eyebrow at Ayla. “Mum's the word?”

Ayla wished heartily she could sink into the floor.

*~*~**~*~*

Apart from moments such as these, Ayla felt quite marvelous considering there was a siege going on which could result in sudden and violent death. Every time she looked at Reuben's face, feelings of tenderness and desire swept through her that she didn't know how to deal with.

She spent hours dreaming of running her hand over his face, once, just once, not pretending it was to check his temperature but for the simple feel of him under her fingers. A feel that sent shivers up her arm and played music on her heartstrings.

Sometimes she dreamed that he was a knight who came to her rescue. Then she berated herself. She was being as silly as a four-year-old—playing with her mind, while reality was very different. The bleak truth was: Reuben was not hers, nor would he ever be. The thought sent an aching pain through her heart. A pain so great that she started dreaming of the impossible again, just for a few hours while she sat at his bed, gazing at his relaxed, sleeping face and listening to the axes hacking away at the forest beyond the river.

The sound still made her uneasy. But she was heartened by another sound: Reuben's strong, regular breathing. He was getting better quickly, now strictly following all her instructions. She was amazed at his rate of recovery: it seemed almost as though he were consciously fighting the illness, determined to get on his feet as quickly as possible for some reason. Though what that reason might be, she couldn't fathom. She could only be thankful for his increasing recovery, feeling a fear she hadn't really known was there drain out of her with every day his health improved. All that was in her power to bring him back to health she did without hesitation, changing his bandages and cataplasms several times a day, applying salves, and force-feeding him all manner of medicines.

Ayla didn't know why exactly, but she didn't just care for Reuben's wounds, she had also taken to discussing her problems with him. Perhaps it was the strangely insightful advice that he always seemed able to give about military matters, or maybe it was because he was one of the few people in the castle she didn't feel she had to prove something to. Or maybe it was the fact that he was insanely handsome and she wanted to spend every single minute of her time in his company.

She didn't know what it was, but she found herself telling him more and more about the enemy, their odds of survival, her hopes and fears.

And he listened. Listened kindly, while she unloaded all the terrible things that were weighing heavily on her heart.

*~*~**~*~*

“...six hundred men, maybe seven hundred. They outnumber us ten to one, Reuben. Even if Isenbard's continued absence from the battlefield doesn't make such a terrible difference as I thought it would, yes even if he wakes up, I don't know how we're going to survive this,” she told him, dejectedly.