The impudent scoundrel! Fuming, Ayla marched down the corridor away from the chamber where that saucy, villainous, brain-boiled bastard lay in peace, probably contemplating how best to get his “compensation” out of her, while she had to get out there and face the Margrave von Falkenstein. Plucking eyebrows indeed! What did he know about her and the tasks ahead of her? Nothing!

Yet what had aggravated her the most wasn't the fact that he seemed to radiate arrogance, nor that he had dared to order her servants about in her own castle, nor even the fact that he obviously thought of her as a brainless hen.

No, what angered her was that through the entire procedure of removing the arrows, a process which should have left a pampered merchant like him, or indeed any man, screaming in agony, he hadn't uttered so much as a single sound of pain. He had even made polite conversation with her, for heaven's sake—the only time during their short acquaintance when he had actually deigned to be polite, so far.

She had wanted to hurt him so badly—instead she ended up healing him. How she had wanted to hurt him! Especially, oh, especially when she had been forced to put her arms around him and—the thought almost made her blush even now—she had fallen on him.

His insolent grin had been enough for her to want to sink into the floor right there and then. She wondered at the fact that it hadn't burned an everlasting mark of shame on her forehead.

Nonsense, she forced herself to think. I was only bandaging him. And the falling on him, that was an accident.

Ah, a small voice in the back of her head said. But the problem isn't that it happened, is it? It's that you enjoyed it.

“Shut up!” she growled.

“Err... Milady? I didn't say anything.”

Ayla looked up to see Dilli and three guards waiting at the end of the corridor. They stared at her with worried expressions.

“What is it, Milady?” Dilli asked.

Ayla just shook her head. “Nothing, Dilli. Will you look after our guest for the time being? I have to get down to the bridge to check how the barricade is coming along.”

The maid blanched slightly, but curtsied. “Certainly, Milady. If I may ask, Milady, what should I do if our guest asks for a meal? Should I prepare something special?”

Ayla scowled, not noticing the way her maid's voice shook when she mentioned their guest. “No! Just give him the same as the rest of us...” She stopped and considered for a moment. Thoughtfully, she tugged on her lower lip. “Actually, no, Dilli. You had a good idea there. Prepare him a meal according to the special diet for the sick and wounded by Hildegard von Bingen. You know the recipe?”

“Yes, Milady. You taught it to me last winter, when the smith got taken ill.” The maid hesitated. “Forgive me for asking, Milady, but what if our guest does not like his, err... special diet?”

Ayla smiled and shrugged. “He will just have to stomach it, now, won't he?”

“And... I am to bring him his meal myself? Alone? Without any guards accompanying me?”

Ayla was looking another way and didn't see the pleading look in her maid's eyes.

“Yes, yes. Sorry Dilli, but I can't chat anymore. I have to go now. You three!” She waved at the three guards. Still, there was a slightly vindictive smile on her face. She knew the special diet of Hildegard von Bingen. Reuben's reaction would be... interesting. “Follow me! We're heading down to the bridge.”

*~*~**~*~*

“You seem in a good mood this afternoon, considering we're about to be attacked by an evil tyrant,” Burchard remarked suspiciously as he beheld her striding towards the bridge.

“Yes, something came along that made me feel a lot better,” Ayla replied with a smile.

“Is that so? Well, I hope it lasts after you've seen the barricade.”

The barricade was indeed a sorry sight. It looked like an array of overgrown toothpicks. Men were wandering around asking each other questions like how they were supposed to make the posts stand upright and whether the pointy end should point upwards or downwards.

Ayla cursed herself for not noticing the confusion when she had passed through earlier. She had been too occupied with that scoundrel Reuben to even look at the fortifications, which had prevented her from noticing how very little fortified they actually appeared.

“Hey, you!” she called to the man who seemed to think he was in charge—he was the one who was shouting the loudest.

The big fellow immediately stopped shouting and came over to her, bowing. He was about two heads taller than Ayla and three times as hairy. Standing across from one another, they looked like a brutish bear and a little white lily. Yet it was the man that cowered, anxiously twisting his cap in his hands.

“Milady.”

“What's your name?”

“Bardo, Milady.”

“Then please tell me, Bardo: what is this,” she pointed at the pseudo-barricade, “supposed to be?”

The big man scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “Well... I don't rightly know myself, Milady. It's a bit of a mess, to be honest.”

One of the poles chose this exact moment to topple over and fall onto the stones of the bridge with a loud clatter.

“I can see that,” Ayla remarked. Bardo ducked, as if expecting to be slapped. Ayla immediately felt bad for taking her temper out on him. He was surely doing his best—his life and his family were as much at risk as anybody's here. It wasn't his fault that as a carpenter he had probably more often engaged in making desks and bedsteads than fortifications for an impending siege.

No, it wasn't his fault. On the contrary, it was hers. She should have engaged in a few bloody feuds with her neighbors instead of passing her days riding through the forest on Eleanor. Then maybe Bardo would have acquired some practice by now, she thought wryly.

And Eleanor might still be with her. The thought was painful.

Softening her voice, she said: “Do you think you would be able to manage if somebody showed you how to do it?”

Bardo nodded earnestly. “Yes, Milady. I'm good at what I do, good at working with wood. I just don't have any experience with this kind of thing, Milady.”

“Well then, we will have to find someone who has,” she concluded. Turning to Burchard, who had stood by her side silently all the time, she asked: “Do you think Sir Isenbard has any experience in anything like this?”

“He has been around for more than sixty years and fought his share of battles,” the steward replied. “What do you think?”

Ayla nodded. “Then we're agreed. We must send word to him immediately, and to Sir Rudolfus and Sir Waldar, too. Thank God they live west of the river.”

“I wouldn't be so hasty with my thanks,” Burchard growled. “Sir Isenbard will be helpful, I agree. He might not be in his prime anymore, but he's hard as an old oak. Sir Rudolfus or Sir Waldar, however... that's another matter.”

Ayla raised her hands in exasperation. “They're the only other vassals my father has, Burchard.”

“That's what worries me.”

“What would you have me do? Even if they're no help at all, they will at least bring a few more men with them.”

The steward shrugged. “You're right, I suppose.”

“Send three riders out at once. And make sure the fastest rider is sent to Isenbard. I want him here as quickly as possible.” Shaking her head, she examined their feeble attempt at a barricade again. “In fact, I wish he were here now. I'm a fool not to have sent for him already!”

“And how would you have done so?” Burchard asked. “All our seven riders, including yourself, were rather busy up until now. There's no sense in beating yourself up. For your first siege, you're doing great!”

“Oh really. And what makes you think so?”

“Well, we're not dead yet,” the steward replied with a wolfish grin that showed his yellowing teeth. Before she could think of an answer to that, he walked off, beckoning three of the riders who had just returned from their rides to the eastern farms towards him.

Sighing, Ayla turned back to Bardo, who had waited silently, watching their conversation with apprehension.

“Well, it appears you'll soon get your help. Sir Isenbard will know what to do.”

“Yes, Milady. Thank you, Milady.”

She turned away, already considering what needed to be done next, but turned back one last time to look at the carpenter. “And one tip to start with...”

“Yes Milady?”

“The pointy ends go at the top.”