Oh, no. That little wench was not getting away from Xander.
He followed her out of the stable and grabbed her arm. Her reaction made lightning look slow. She turned around, her fist balled and ready to slam into his face. His large hand closed around her fist before she made contact, but that didn't deter her. Her knee came up—and Xander caught her offending limb between his legs before it did something he really didn't want it to do.
Then, as if something in Fye broke, she went limp, all the fight gone from her. She stepped back, her eyes glistening with moisture.
Xander had seen Fye cry before. He had seen her fake tears, which were amusing. He had seen her angry tears, which were terrifying. These tears were different, though. He didn't know how to describe them, but he knew they made him hurt inside even more than he was already hurting.
"Fye..." he said. "I told you, I'm not leaving until I know exactly how things stand between us."
"I love you," she said weakly. Her tone indicated that there could be no worse news. Loving Xander was tantamount to a widespread natural disaster or a dead puppy, apparently.
Xander blinked, trying to puzzle out her meaning. He understood what she had said, but not why she had said it the way she did—or why lately she had been acting as if Xander carried ten different types of plague.
"And..." he prompted.
She wrapped her arms around herself. Xander had never seen her look so vulnerable, so... defeated. "And," she said, "I don't want to lose my identity."
"I still don't understand."
She rolled her eyes and wiped her moist cheeks. "Of course you don't understand. Xander, you... I... It would be far too easy for me to just..."
Xander waited, wondering if she would ever get to the point. It was cold outside, and he had to get ready for a journey. And he would prefer that she break his heart sooner rather than later so he could just get it over with.
"What, Fye?" he finally asked.
"One time, Xander. All it would take is one time. If I get pregnant, I... I become a mother. I would have to take care of a mewling little person. If I survived giving birth. Do you know how many times I've heard of women dying while giving birth or shortly afterward? I don't want that. Ever. But you look at me like... like you look at me sometimes, and I... I start to forget what I really want because you... because I want you. I don't want to want you. And I don't want to disappoint you or hurt you, either. Getting married was a bad idea. I'm sorry I agreed to it. I thought it might work, but I was so caught up in everything, and now..." She shrugged. "Now I'm scared."
Xander melted inside. Fye the Fearless, Fye the Brave, Fye the Indomitable Knight... was afraid of loving him. Afraid of the things that most women wanted more than anything else.
She stood there, waiting for his reply. His brain went into overdrive trying to think of what to say, desperately groping for some words that might assuage her doubts.
Finally, he started talking, hoping that his words wouldn't make things worse. "I love you, Fye. Yes, I want in the way that men always want women, but not just for that. That..." He shrugged. "That can wait. For as long as you want it to wait. Or forever. We can be as chaste as nuns on Sunday. Or we can kiss and do other things, which I would certainly prefer, but the main thing is that I want to hear you laugh with me and scream insults at me, and I want you to look me in the eye. Is that too much to ask?"
She looked at the ground for a moment, and Xander felt the cold grip of failure start to reach for him. He had said something wrong, and when he left tomorrow, he might not have any reason to ever come back—aside from Kaylin. He had to come back to check on his favorite half-sister.
When she looked up, though, her expression had changed. A hint of the real Fye was there, the Fye that Xander craved night and day. "You're going to Palermo?" she asked.
"Yes."
She shrugged. "All right. I'll come. I'll prepare some fresh insults for you so we're entertained during our journey. And you'll agree to let me protect you from any robbers or bandits we might encounter?"
He laughed, relief spilling through him like water through a broken dam. "They're all yours."
"Then I'll go tell my mother that I'm leaving."
"May God be with you."
*
32.2
Fye didn't know why she had told Xander the truth. It might have been the pleading look in his green eyes, or maybe it was the idea that she might never see him again if he left. How was she ever supposed to recover from the humiliation she had subjected herself to? She had admitted her greatest fears. Why couldn't she be afraid of the things normal people were afraid of, like armies of angry men, harsh winters, and the plague? No. She had to be afraid of being so in love that she lost control of herself.
Stupid Fye. Boil-brained, yellow-livered washerwoman!
She continued to barrage herself with insults as she went to the great hall, where one of the guards had informed her she could find Sir Reuben.
He was with a few of Luntberg's soldiers, eating the evening meal and talking about baby Thomas, who, Reuben was convinced, would one day be the greatest warrior since Alexander the Great—and better looking, too. Fye didn't doubt that Reuben would have the boy in armor before he was two years old.
Fye didn't take the seat that was offered to her by the man who sat on Reuben's right. "I just wanted to say goodbye, sir," she said. "I'm leaving with Xander tomorrow."
"You have my condolences."
The corners of her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Because I'll be with Xander, or because I'll be meeting his mother?"
"Both. Did you tell your mother?"
"Yes, sir. After she finished fainting, she told me that she expects me to return with a baby in my belly and gifts in my saddlebags." Fye grimaced at the thought. Gifts? Fine. But a baby? Fye would have to start lying to her mother, saying she was infertile. Then, she imagined, Margaret would shove a parade of herbs and other miscellaneous objects down her throat that were meant to encourage reproduction. Gross.
No. Fye would say that Xander was the one with problems, and that was why they weren't having children. Then he would get the disgusting herbs. Yes. It was a foolproof plan.
Fye hesitated, wishing that Reuben weren't surrounded by his men. "Before I go, sir, could you help me with something?"
"With what?"
"Something."
Reuben grumbled and got up from the table. He followed her out of the hall. "What?" he asked when they were standing in an empty corridor. "Did you suddenly forget how to saddle your horse?"
She threw her arms around him.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Did Xander do something to you? If he did—"
"I love Xander."
"Oh. How disappointing."
"You don't mean that."
He shrugged. "Eh. Now tell me what in the name of all that's evil is wrong with you. You're acting very... un-Fye-like."
"Do you ever miss your life before you married Lady Ayla?" she asked.
"All the time. The woman has insane ideas. She won't let me torture anyone, she doesn't understand the value of a solid vocabulary, she insists on dragging me to church every week, and she can be superbly annoying sometimes."
Fye smiled. "But you wouldn't go back to your old life if you had the chance?"
He grinned the goofy Reuben grin that few people ever got to see. It was the grin that made him resemble a love-struck boy—well, a love-struck boy who could break someone's neck with one casual gesture, but still, it was sweet.
Sweet? Fye thought. Now I'm really acting like a girl. I need to go pound the bloody pulp out of something before I really lose it and start brushing my hair or wearing dresses again.
"No," Reuben said. "Not if the devil himself offered me all his riches. What's this about? You came here to check up on my emotional well-being? That's very nice of you, but I assure you that I'm as arrogant and awe-inspiring as usual."
"I just..." Fye shrugged. "I'm thinking about my own future."
"Ah," Reuben said. "Don't think too far ahead. Knights don't tend to live very long. And people automatically hate you when they find out you're not some madwoman with delusions about knighthood, so I'm guessing you'll have an exceptionally short life."
Fye knew he had meant the comment lightheartedly, but because she was feeling all too feminine today, his words cut her. She forced a little smile onto her face, but she didn't know if he would fall for it. "Right, sir," she said. "No future for me. I'll see you when we get back, then—if I live that long."
He grabbed her arm before she could walk away. She turned back, and she saw that the devil's grin had disappeared from his face, leaving a serious version of Reuben behind.
"What's this about?" he asked. "Really?"
"I've worked really hard to become a knight," Fye said. "But I never realized how hard being a knight would make it to please the people I love. My mother wants grandchildren. Xander wants..." Fye blushed at the thought. For crying out loud! She had grown up around Reuben. After everything she had heard out of his mouth, she ought to be able to think about what happened between a man and a woman without turning into some hot-faced prude! Fye had to have some mental disorder or something. "And," she went on, "sometimes I'm not so sure about what I want anymore."
"You can be really daft sometimes," Reuben said.
Fye blinked. "Sir?"
"You remember when I was furious because you decided to marry that stupid squire of mine?"
"The stupid squire who is now a knight—and who happens to be your son."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Yes, him. I was angry about the same things that have got your undergarments in a twist right now. Are you telling me you can't handle being a wife and a knight? Because if that's what you're saying, I'll get rid of your husband problem. All it would take is one swift stroke of my sword. Since I know you're fond of him, I'll make it quick. I haven't decapitated anyone in a while. Yes, I think that's what I'll do."
Fye couldn't help herself. She laughed, wishing she had talked to Reuben about this weeks ago. He was right. Worrying about the future was stupid. Besides that, Fye could handle being a wife and a knight. She could do anything she wanted to. Moreover, it wouldn't be very knightly of her to doom Xander to decapitation by his own father simply because Fye had a few compunctions about matrimonial activities.
"I like Xander's head where it is," she said. "If you cut it off, it would start to stink, and his eyes would lose that green sparkle. He wouldn't be able to give me that look that makes me feel all—"
"Stop!" Reuben ordered. "If I have to hear one more word about how sparkly his eyes are, I'm going to rip my own ears off. Now get out of here. You have to pack for your journey."
"Yes, sir." For good measure, she hugged him one more time. "You're the best, sir."
"I know."
*
32.3
"Reuben," said Ayla's sleepy voice from where her head rested on his chest. "You're thinking very loudly."
"It's a testament to my intellectual prowess, milady."
"What's bothering you?"
"Nothing. Go to sleep. You squeezed out a baby. I imagine it's rather exhausting."
She lifted her head. It was dark in their bedchamber, but Reuben imagined the look on her face. When their first child had been born, Ayla had been on her feet within the day, right back to keeping Luntberg in pristine order. The next two children hadn't been any different, despite the slight scare when Alys was being born. "I know I gave birth today," she said. "You don't have to remind me."
"It's a boy," he said with a grin. Finally—finally—he had a son. Well, a son besides Xander. Xander only counted as his son when it was convenient for Reuben.
"I know," Ayla said. "I was there when he was born, remember."
"Oh. Right."
"Is that what you're thinking about? About turning him into the next red robber knight?"
"No. If I turned him into a robber knight, you would have to hang him, and that wouldn't be pleasant for any of us. Unless, of course, he turns out to be a worthless little devil. Then we'll just have to have another boy to replace him."
"Reuben."
"Yes, milady?"
"What are you thinking about? Really."
He sighed. "You've gotten to know me too well. Can't I just brood in moody silence while I fiddle with your hair and you enjoy basking in the glow of my presence?"
"No. You can't."
"Very well, milady." He paused, steeling himself for what he would say next. "I'm thinking about Palermo. Xander and Fye are heading there in the morning. Xander mentioned something about helping his mother. Personally, I think he's lost what little sanity he had, but at least I'll be free of him for a few months. I do, however, think it would be interesting to watch him in the tournament. Some of the Empire's best knights compete."
"Do you want to go compete?" Ayla asked.
Reuben frowned. "Milady, have you made a deal with any witches or spirit mediums lately?"
"No. Of course not."
"Then how do you know what I'm thinking?"
"Sometimes you're not very complicated."
"But what made you think that I would even dream about going back to that..." Reuben Rachwild, the master of insulting language, couldn't even think of the right words to describe that place and the things that had happened to him there.
"Because," Ayla said. "You're a man of action. Luntberg has been at peace for so long that you're bored. And you're afraid of losing your strength. It makes sense that you would want to compete at Palermo one more time before you're too old to—"
"I'm not that old."
"But you aren't what you used to be. The others might not notice it, but I know about your aches and pains."
"I know you know. Otherwise, you wouldn't constantly be shoving those stinking herbs at me. Gah! They smell like horse sh—"
"The point," Ayla cut him off, "is that if you want to go, I think you should go."
He blinked. "No. If I leave, there won't be anyone to keep our troops in line."
"Other than me?"
"You just had a baby."
"Your point?"
He grumbled. Ayla was quickly swatting away his excuses. "But if someone comes to attack—"
"We have a sizeable army. I can always call Sir Gregor for help if necessary."
"I don't trust him."
"Because you mistakenly think that he wants to steal me from you. Reuben, if you want to go to Palermo—if it's something you need to do for... closure... you should go."
He said nothing for a long moment. His hand found Ayla's face in the darkness, and he touched her soft skin. Palermo had haunted him for decades. He had sworn to himself that he would never go back—then again, he had no problem breaking his sworn promises. Besides, promises didn't really count if one made those promises to oneself.
It was crazy for him to want to go back there, but something tugged at him. A need for... he didn't know what. To show them he hadn't been defeated by their petty fears? For revenge? Or just to compete in a tournament and feel the rush of adrenaline that only victory could bring?
"Be sure to say goodbye to all the girls if you decide to go," Ayla said. "And me, of course. You could even take Kaylin and Arabella with you. It might be good for them to do a little traveling."
Reuben was rarely indecisive. He always knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get what he wanted. But this... Instead of saying anything in reply to Ayla, he kissed her. Kissing Ayla had a way of making all his stupid imagined problems disappear.
Author's Note:
Hi friends! I'm here once again to beg you to check out my other stories. I'm pretty proud of The King and the Creation. Thanks in advance.