His hand still raised, Reuben took a step towards them. All shrank away from him. All but one.
Ayla launched herself forward, dodging her guards’ attempt to grab her, and threw herself into Reuben's arms. She hit his chest with such force that it almost hurt. The metal of his chain mail bit through her thin gown, but she didn't care. He was safe, and she was in his arms.
A small, frightened part of her wondered whether she should really be doing this. The image of him standing up on the wall, the torch in his hand, tongues of flame caressing his fingers, had burned itself into her memory forever. This small part of her recoiled from the image, remembering tales of witchcraft and devilish evil that wandering preachers had sometimes told.
She remembered too, what she had previously not let herself notice: how Reuben had never, even with the most grievous wounds, shown the slightest sign of pain. Not like he was able to resist it, but as though he actually didn't feel it. As though some devilish force had made him invulnerable.
Could Reuben be something inhuman? Could he be something demonic?
Well, if he was, he didn't do a very good job of disguising the fact.
Reuben pressed his cheek against hers, holding her close.
“Ayla,” he murmured. That was it. Just her name.
In that moment she realized: whether demon or man, she didn't care.
Yes, what she had just seen him do was unearthly and maybe even unnatural. Yes, he had just set fire to a man right in front of her. But it hadn't been a very nice man, and he would have been killed anyway. Was it so much more terrible to be set on fire than to be chopped to pieces with a blade? Ayla didn't know. She had never tried either. All that really mattered was that he was safe, and she was safe, and they were together.
She felt him raise one of his arms, until he could stroke the wild tangles of hair handing down over her shoulders. Sighing, she leaned into the touch—only when something singed the ends of her hair, did she remember.
“Your hand,” she cried in distress. “Your hand is still burning! We have to get water!”
She tried to move away, but found Reuben's arms tightly wrapped around her, unwilling to let go. The feeling warmed her heart—yet unfortunately, since one of the aforementioned arms was still smoldering, it also warmed other parts of her which found the sensation less congenial.
“Reuben, please let go? My dress will catch fire.”
He released her immediately, and looked at her with the most adorable nefarious grin she had ever seen. “Oops.”
“Oops?” she echoed. “That's all you have to say? Oops?” With one hand, she motioned at her guards. “Go and get a bowl of water.”
When she heard no movement, not even a 'Yes, Milady', she turned and saw they were all still standing there, staring at Reuben's hand. It wasn't really still burning. He had let go of the torch up on the wall. But the metal of his gauntlet still glowed red in places, and the leather underneath was smoking.
“Go!” she yelled. “Water! Now! Or I will put you all in the stocks come tomorrow!”
That got their attention. Two or three hurried off towards the keep.
One side of Reuben's mouth quirked up. “More threats of violence?”
Ayla scowled at him. She wasn't in the mood to joke right now.
“You stupid fool! You have a codpiece for brains, do you know that? Why on earth did you go after that monster alone? You could have been seriously hurt, or killed even!”
His eyes lit up.
“Concerned for me, were you?” he asked in so self-satisfied a purr that it only made her scowl deepen.
“In your dreams!”
His insolent grin widened, and he leant forward, whispering into her ear: “I doubt that. In my dreams, you wear a lot less clothing.”
She gasped, and the blood rushed to her face. How dare he?
He was Reuben, the robber knight. That's how.
“Here, Milady.” The bowl of water had arrived. One of the guards had returned and held out to her. She felt that her face, red hot as it was, was just as much in need of the water as Reuben's hand, but in spite of that fact she gestured to Reuben.
“He needs it, not me.”
“Err... yes, Milady, but...”
Ayla saw the man's eyes flicker fearfully towards Reuben's smoking hand. Oh Lord. They were afraid of him.
“Give that here,” she said, rolling her eyes. Taking the bowl from the man, who was sweating relief out of every pore, she took two steps towards Reuben and held the bowl out to him. The smile vanished from his handsome features as he held up his hand, gauntlet and all, and slowly lowered it into the water.
Steam exploded upwards into the night in a great, swirling column. The guards staggered back several steps and even Ayla had to muster all her bravery to remain standing where she was. The steam was gripped by the wind and blown towards them. It seemed as though the bowl of simple water had been turned into a witch’s cauldron, and the steam rising from it were in fact the mists of Avalon.
Of course it wasn't. It was just steam from a bowl—or at least that was what Ayla tried to tell her wildly beating heart.
During the entire time while Reuben's hand was in the bowl, his face was totally impassive, his gray raptor eyes boring into hers. He didn't show one single sign of pain, but rather seemed busy looking for something in her expression. What it might be he was searching for, she had no idea. Fear? Disgust?
Whatever it was, he wouldn’t find it.
When the steam from the bowl finally began to abate, Reuben nodded and removed his hand.
“That was long enough, I think.”
He didn't say any more. Neither did the guards utter a single word. Ayla realized that they were waiting for her to say something. Right—she was the lady of the castle. She was supposed to be in charge. Recent events had pretty much driven that fact from her mind. You didn't feel very in charge with a knife at your throat.
“Captain Linhart?”
The Captain stepped forward and executed a very correct bow, that in no way betrayed the fact that less than a quarter of an hour ago, she had landed on top of him. Ayla was very grateful for his quiet efficiency.
“The mercenaries must have entered the castle somehow,” she said, speaking to Linhart but watching Reuben out of the corner of her eyes. “But not through the main gates, I think.”
“I agree, Milady,” the Captain replied promptly. “Had they been able to force open the gates without our knowledge, they would have swarmed in here in hundreds, and we would have been overrun.”
“That's what I thought. There must be a hole somewhere through which those rats are coming in. I want it found and sealed. Understood?”
“It shall be as you command, Milady.” Again, Linhart bowed. Then, motioning three other soldiers to follow him, he began to move towards the wall, but then halted, as if he just thought of something.
“The rest of you—stay here and guard Lady Ayla,” he ordered.
Ayla shook her head. “That will not be necessary Captain.”
“Forgive me, Milady, but you don't know that. We have no proof that that fat monster was the last of the intruders. There could be more of them lurking about. Even if they see that it is impossible to abduct you now, with the entire castle in an uproar, they might want to....” he hesitated.
Ayla smiled at him, though she went cold all over as she did. She knew what he was speaking of.
“Speak the words, Captain. I'm not afraid to hear them.”
“Milady, they might try to assassinate you.”
Ayla nodded. “I was perfectly well aware of that, Captain.” Her eyes flickered to Reuben. “Still, it is not necessary for the guards to remain. I am perfectly safe.”
Linhart's eyes followed hers and he seemed to understand. Chewing nervously on his lip, he stood there for a moment, then, determinately not looking Reuben's way, said: “Nevertheless, I would like for the guards to remain, if you don't mind, Milady.”
She smiled again, this time with real amusement and warmth. “If it sets your mind at rest, by all means, Captain.”
“Thank you, Milady.” He gestured to the three waiting guards, obviously in a hurry to get out of here, and out of sight of Reuben. “Come on you three. Let's go!”
As the four men at arms hurried away, Reuben stepped closer to Ayla and, smirking, whispered into her ear: “He doesn’t want you to be alone with me. He probably thinks I’m dangerous.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. You have a smart Captain of guards.”
Ayla laughed, softly.
“I think so, too.”
“You do, do you? Are you sure it's safe enough for you to be alone with me, even with a dozen guards at your beck and call? I might do anything. Turn into a fire breathing demon, for all you know.”
She laugh again, and then, she didn't know exactly how, sobs started to be mixed in with the laughter. Suddenly, tears were running down her face, and she was shivering all over.
Through the haze of tears she saw Reuben peering down at her puzzled.
“Err... I was only trying to make a joke. I can't really turn into a fire breathing demon, you know.”
“I... I know” she choked out, though a small part of her was actually relieved to hear it. “It's not that. It's just everything... tonight... the knife... and... Oh Reuben!”
She just threw herself against his chest and let the tears flow. It was all crashing down on her, everything that had happened during this wildest of nights, and it was too much to bear alone.
Reuben put one arm around her, and with the other hand, which still smelled slightly roasted, patted her hair awkwardly.
“Err... there, there,” he muttered. “It's not that bad, really. I've had plenty of knives to my throat in my lifetime. You get used to it.”
She slapped his chest. “I don't intend to get used to it! I'm not a robber or cutthroat like some people I know!”
That made him grin again.
“Well, if you don't want to get used to it, there's only one way.”
“What?”
“You have to be quicker than the cutthroats. There are various methods you can use to avoid a knife to your throat. I would advocate a kick in the balls. Most effective.”
“Reuben!”
“What?”
“I'm a lady! You shouldn't use such words in front of me!”
“What word?” he asked, innocently. “'Kick'?”
“No! The... other one.”
“Which other one would that be?”
Ayla blushed to the roots of her hair. The scoundrel! He wanted to make her say it. But she wouldn't!
“I see we're going to have to work on your vocabulary, Milady,” he said with a devilish grin that knocked the breath out of her.
“And you,” she said, sounding a bit out of air, “need to learn some manners.”
“Why ever should I?” he demanded. “My insolence seems to have its benefits. After all, I managed to stop your tears.”
Ayla realized he was right. Her sobs had ceased. Of her tears, only wet streaks on her cheeks remained. Reuben touched one of them gently, and whispered: “Your eyes are as blue as sapphires. When you cry, it looks like a spring of crystal-clear water suddenly opening up. It makes you look even more beautiful than usual.”
Ayla's heartbeat increased, as if in fear. Strange—she wasn't threatened anymore. Her enemies were gone. The knife was gone. Why was her body acting like this?
Dimly she noticed that the guards had unobtrusively put some distance between her and Reuben. Now, as Reuben leaned closer, whispering to her, a few of them turned or stuck fingers in their ears.
“By the way...” Reuben began, and there was suddenly uncertainty in his scorching gray eyes.
Ayla sucked in a quick breath. “Yes?”
The uncertainty in Reuben's eyes grew as he stared down at her with... what? Adoration? Maybe even love?
“There is something,” he said, “which I have been meaning to ask you.”
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Greetings, Milords and Ladies,
Now the question is: what is the question? ;-) You have three guesses!
And now I have some momentous news: your medieval author Sir Rob has recently had his first real interview with modern-day media! 'The Robber Knight' has been featured in an article in the German news magazine 'Der Spiegel', which in my home country of Germany is about a big a deal as being interviewed by 'Time' or 'News Week' in America!!!!!
If you haven't noticed by the five exclamation marks, I am really excited! I am almost in danger of loosing the composure which befits a medieval knight such as myself ;-)
I've included a link to the online excerpt of the article. Just click on the external link for this chapter, if you'd like to take a look.
Thank you all so much! It is your support that has made this possible! :-)
Now enough of these measly modern matters and back to the middle ages! I have included a picture of a a medieval man wearing a codpiece, just so you know what insane fashions there were in the middle ages. Imagine this fellow walking over a 21st century catwalk... :D :D
Farewell until we meet again
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY
Codpiece: Medieval garment worn by men in the lumbar region. "You have a codpiece for brains" would be a medieval way of saying “You dickhead!”