Ayla watched Reuben anxiously. She had just finished telling him about the grappling hook, and now his forehead lay in creases. He was obviously worried about something.
“Reuben? What is it?”
“How high is your castle wall, exactly?” he suddenly demanded.
“The outer wall?”
“Yes.”
“I couldn't say... You would have to ask Isenbard. Why?”
Reuben shook his head. “It may be nothing, but I'd like to talk to him. Could you send him in here to talk to me?” He grinned. “I don't think my guards would take kindly to me wanting to take another stroll out of my room, considering the rather forceful way I asked their permission last time.”
“You mean bashing in their faces?”
He grinned.
“Yes, exactly.”
Ayla had to fight the urge to grin back at him. This wasn’t supposed to be funny. But it still kind of was, in a way she felt very guilty about.
But then the urge to smile left her. He still thought he was being guarded. She took a deep breath. This was the moment to tell him of her decision.
“There will be no more guards stationed outside your room from this moment on.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Reuben looked at her steadily.
“So you finally trust me?”
“Trust you?” She let out a choked giggle. “Never in a thousand years! I just don't want any more of my men to have their ribs squashed and noses broken!”
Reuben let out a bark of laughter, Ayla joined in, and soon they were both howling with laughter. It felt good to laugh again, after so long a time.
“A very wise policy, Milady,” chuckled the robber knight.
Ayla tried to contain her mirth and look at him sternly. “We shouldn't be laughing about this. And you should apologize to the men you injured.”
Reuben snorted derisively. “Why in the Devil's name would I do that?”
“Because you injured them! And I told you not to swear in my castle!”
“They were in my way. And I'll swear wherever I damn well please!”
“You could have asked them to step aside. And this is my castle, and you will abide by my rules.”
“Considering that you had a knife at your throat at the time, I didn't think it was the time for polite conversation. And I don't follow the rules of God, the Pope or the Emperor—so why should I follow those of a little lady like yourself?”
“If you had explained everything, they would have helped you. And as for your question… Let me think... hmm, maybe because the little lady will have you put in the stocks if you don't?”
He quirked an eyebrow. With tangles of dark hair hanging into his face, he looked unbelievably devious and desirable. Ayla ached to reach out and touch him, hold him—but she restrained herself. Last night she had only sought comfort in his arms, but she knew that if she touched him now, it would be for more than comfort. For things that were forbidden.
“They would only have been in my way,” Reuben told her. “And your threats of punishment are getting less impressive day by day. First it was hanging, then being thrown out of a window, and now only the stocks?” He smirked at her. “You should really try to be more creative.”
Ayla pouted and glowered at him, although there were other things she wanted to do far more. “I will only be too happy to oblige!”
“If you can't think of anything else, being put on the rack is always a classic people are glad to see. Or you could use a brazen bull, if you want.”
“What in God's name is a brazen bull?”
His smirk didn't waver, nor did his voice as he said: “You wouldn’t want to know.”
The way he said that told Ayla more than any horrible description ever could. And yet, the way he said it was so cool, so off-hand as if it were nothing special to die a torturous death.
With a shiver the memories came flooding back into her mind. Memories she had done her best to forget: Reuben standing on the wall, holding fire in his hand. Reuben forcing the fire down on the mercenary, lord of the flames, like Satan himself. How had he been able to do that without collapsing from the pain? What dark, demonic secrets were there in his past?
She glanced at him.
Should she ask? Could she dare? What if he wouldn't tell her? Worse even—what if he would?
“Would you scream in pain from this brazen bull?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could hold them back.
He regarded her intently.
“That depends. Do you mean 'you' as in 'somebody', or 'you' as in 'you'.”
She took a deep breath.
“The latter. If it were used on you, Reuben—would you scream?”
There was a moment of silence.
Finally, he said: “I didn't the last time.”
Oh dearest Lord above, thought Ayla, hardly able to keep her tears from flowing. What must his eyes have seen?
She could have asked him in that moment. Yes, she could have. She felt almost certain he might have answered.
Instead, she softly asked: “How's your hand?”
He looked at her with an emotion she couldn't quite decipher. Then, his devilish grin reappeared on his face, and he shrugged. “Quite well, actually. The gauntlet protected from the heat better than I would have expected.”
“Then why are you hiding it behind your back?” she asked, suspiciously.
“I'm not hiding it. I just happen to hold it there, that's all.”
“Then why don't you hold it somewhere else for a minute? Under my nose, for example, so I can examine it.”
“Really, it's fine. You don't need to...”
“Reuben?”
“Yes, Milady?”
“Hold out your hand this minute, or I'll wrestle it from behind your back!”
His grin widened. “That might be fun. I'm all for it. Who knows, we might end up passionately fornica—“
“Reuben! Hold out your hand, now!”
“Yes, Milady, of course, Milady.”
Wisely saying not another word, he held his hand out towards her. Ayla gasped. The entire hand was an angry, aggressive red as if it had been held into boiling water. In some places, the skin had blistered.
“You call this 'fine'?” she demanded. “You should have told me how bad it was! I would have come sooner.”
“I promise you,” he said in absolute earnesty, “It doesn't hurt at all.”
And that Ayla believed. She could feel the unanswered questions bubbling up inside her, fighting to get out. She opened her mouth to ask—and changed her mind.
I’m such a coward!
“It doesn't matter whether it hurts or not,” she said aloud. “It needs to be treated. I've brought a salve with me...”
Reuben snatched back his hand quicker than the eye could see and slid away from her as far as the bed would allow. “Oh no! No, no, no! No more of your salves! My nose still itches from the last time you smeared that foul-smelling substance somewhere on me. I'm not ever going to let you do that again!”
At first, Ayla wanted to snap at him—but then she got a better idea.
“Why, Sir Knight,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes, “one could almost think you are afraid.”
His mouth dropped open.
“I? Afraid?”
“Yes. You appear to flee from a mere, helpless maiden. Poor, poor Sir Knight. If you’re frightened, I could comfort you.”
His mouth opened a bit wider.
“I'm not afraid! Take that back now!”
“Why should I?”
“Because if you don't, I'll... I'll...”
She smiled innocently at him. “You'll what? Get your sword to defend yourself? Are you that afraid of me and my salve?”
His face twitched.
“You can be quite devious, do you know that?”
“I? Devious? Whyever that? I only wish to help you.”
“Yes. That's what I mean.” With an adorably grumpy expression on his face, he slid back over to her and held his hand out, proudly. “I am no coward!”
“No, you're certainly not,” she said, tenderly caressing the scorched skin. Feeling how his skin was burned drove all the humor from her face and voice. She worked quickly and quietly, working the salve into the skin deeply. She wished she was ten times a better healer, or better yet, that she possessed miraculous powers like the saints of old and could just make his injury disappear. It pained her, as a visual reminder that he had put his life at risk for her—and that he was probably going to have to do it again.
Having finished her ministrations, she bandaged his hand and let go of it.
“There. Soon it will be as good as new.”
“Thank you,” he said, a little grudgingly.
“Do you want to stay in here for a few days and recuperate?” She asked, hopefully.
Please say yes. Please put yourself in danger so soon again.
Grim-faced, he shook his head, and laid his uninjured sword-hand on the hilt of his weapon.
“No. For what I'm going to do, I don't need my left hand—only my right one.”
She didn't quite know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything. He watched her for a moment, then smirked at her.
“Oh, by the way, have you thought of a creative way of punishing me for my insolence yet?” He was obviously trying to lighten the mood. “You are welcome to use any of the torture methods I have outlined. However, they are often fatal. You could have me branded with hot irons, if you should wish me to live longer than a day.”
Ayla could feel a lump in her throat. Yes, he was trying to lighten the mood—and wasn't doing a very good job of it. Again she thought of the fire consuming his hand. What had he done to become the way he was?
The question burned in her mind hotter than the flame.
*~*~**~*~*
Reuben could see Ayla swallow.
“I would like you to live much longer than a day Reuben,” she said, her voice suddenly trembling. “I would like you to live a long, full and happy life.”
Her words wiped the smirk right off his face. Slowly, very slowly, he extended his hand towards her. He hadn't really touched her since that fatal night, when she had learned the truth of who he was and how he had lied to her. The few times he had seen her since he had not dared to. That did not mean that he had not thought of it constantly.
Inch by inch his hands neared her face. As they did he could hear her breathing quicken, and his own matched her rhythm. Carefully and tenderly, he stroked the backs of his knuckles against her cheek, than hastily withdrew. In parting, he could feel the moisture of her breath on his fingers.
“That is what I wish for you too, Ayla,” he said in a tone so serious he hardly recognized his own voice. “More than anything in the world.”
She didn't say a word, just gave a little, shaky nod and got to her feet. Reuben knew she had gone as far as she was going to go today—as far as her honor, and her fragile, broken heart would allow her to go. He let her leave without protest. At the door, she stopped once more, and without turning said:
“Sir Reuben?”
“Yes, Milady?”
“Now that your imprisonment is ended, you can walk abroad again.”
“Indeed I can.”
“I should be happy to see you up on the wall now and again. We face a mighty and perfidious foe, and I would be glad of any advice or help you could give me, if you are so inclined.”
Reuben's voice was as hard as steel and as honest as stone, as he replied: “My sword is yours, Milady.”
He could hear Ayla let out a breath she had been holding.
“That,” she said in a soft voice, “is what I had been hoping to hear.”
Then she left the room, leaving behind a dazzled robber knight who had to deal with the traumatic experience of having, for the first time in his life, agreed to fight a war without getting any ravishing or plunder out of it.
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Good Morrow, Milords and Ladies!
Today, my pen rushes over the digital paper in great hurry to deliver this author's note to you, for I have a few holidays on my hand, and plan to use them to bring to you another chapter of this medieval tale sooner than ordinary, to thank you for your fealty as my loyal readers ;-)
Thank you! Without you, Lady Ayla would have lost the feud long ago, and I would have fallen on my sword (or pen) in despair. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! :-)
Your medieval (and very dramatic) storyteller,
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Brazen Bull: A medieval Instrument of torture. And you really, really, really don’t want to know what it does. Trust me.