Desperate to calm her thoughts and to find a haven where she could think about everything that was happening, Ayla rushed to the small orchard behind the keep. Perhaps “orchard” was too big a word: it was really just a few apple trees and bushes growing in the shade of the monumental stone building and snuggling up against it like cubs against their mama bear. The trees were in full bloom now, shining with white and rose apple blossoms. Ayla smiled at the sight.
This had always been a place of refuge for her when she needed to find some peaceful solitude. She came here almost every day—except for the last few days, she realized. Blushing, the probable reason for this occurred to her: lately she had found refuge somewhere else, or to be more precise, in someone else. Solitude hadn't seemed nearly as appealing as before.
But now Reuben was asleep, and anyway, she needed to get away from him for a time. She needed to think seriously, and being near him made it difficult to think about anything but him. To stare into his intense gray eyes was more than her concentration could take. She knew, if she were with him, she would lose herself in those eyes, and she would lean closer, aching to touch his face again...
Stop it! she chastised herself. Isenbard is unconscious; your people are in serious danger! You need to think now, not daydream.
Wandering through the orchard, she inhaled the sweet smell of the apple blossoms. It helped to bring her back into the here and now. This was her home, which she needed to defend. Slowly, she reached out and plucked one of the apple blossoms from a tree. Holding it to her nose, she smelled it. Ah, how sweet.
Some part of her mind wondered what Reuben smelled like. The salve she had been using on his wounds had many excellent attributes, but the fact that it stank like a dog's territory mark wasn't one of them. She hadn't been able to smell anything of him. Would he smell... alluring?
Stop it! she repeated in her head. Even if he did, so what? He's a commoner, and not for you! You can't get involved with a commoner, even if he would want that. And he wouldn't. Would he?
She inhaled again, trying to find peace in the familiar scent.
*~*~**~*~*
Reuben awoke with a start. He couldn’t remember having fallen asleep. The exhaustion of the fever must have claimed its due. Though, he had to admit, the fever wasn't nearly as bad as it had been earlier. These infernal cold caterpillars, or whatever they were called, which Ayla had wrapped around his arms and legs, had to be doing their job. She really did know what she was doing, he had to admit, grudgingly.
Slowly, his head still feeling a bit dizzy, he looked around. The first thing he noticed was that the soldier who had shared his room was gone. From the copious amounts of dried blood on the sheets of his bedstead, Reuben surmised that the man had not gone back to his family—unless it be wrapped in a shroud.
Reuben turned his head to look out of the window and to turn his mind from thoughts of blood and death.
That aim he achieved immediately.
In a small orchard directly underneath his window stood a slender, white figure with golden hair, clutching a flower in her hand, her nose gently brushing the petals of the blossom. It was the most beautiful picture Reuben had ever beheld, and it made him ache with longing. Ache! Him, the knight who knew no pain.
He wanted her. And he was going to get her.
But first, he had to get off this accursed bed!
*~*~**~*~*
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