Three seconds later, Isenbard came storming into the entrance hall, sword in hand and a ferocious glint in his icy eyes. Ayla's scream had sounded as if a dozen enemies had invaded the castle, but inside, the knight could see nobody but his mistress.

“Ayla?” In a blink he was at her side. “Are you hurt? What's the matter?”

He gripped Ayla, who was kneeling on the floor, roughly by the shoulders, turned her, and inspected her. Only when he was finished with his inspection did he notice the man on the floor beside his lord's daughter—and the tears on her face.

“Who is that?” he demanded.

Ayla tried to speak, but apparently couldn't. The sight of the man lying there in a tangled heap had knocked the breath out of her.

“Who is he?” Isenbard repeated with mounting concern.

“He... he...” Ayla swallowed and tried again. “That's... Reuben.”

“Reuben? The fellow you were taking care of?”

Ayla nodded. Isenbard's eyes wandered between the man on the floor and Ayla's tears, reassessing the situation.

“Well,” he said gruffly, “let's get him upstairs.”

“He isn't... isn't... d-dea—”

The old knight knelt and checked the man's heartbeat. “He's alive.”

Ayla sank against the wall. “Thank God.”

“Hey, you!” Isenbard called to two guards who were passing the keep outside. “Come here!”

The two men hurried inside, and at a gesture from Isenbard, picked up the unconscious fellow on the floor without asking questions. The old knight pointed towards the staircase and the guards started upstairs, needing no further instruction.

Isenbard's mind was hard at work trying to figure out Ayla's response to seeing this fellow Reuben being hurt. It was natural enough, he supposed. She had been through a lot today, seen death and destruction. Having it follow her to her own home had probably been too much. Yes, that had to be it.

Isenbard didn't want to consider the alternative explanation—that her distress had nothing to do with finding a badly-wounded man, but rather with the fact that it was this particular man. That look in Ayla's eyes...

He pushed away the thought. He had other things to worry about at the moment. Anyway, maybe Ayla's surprising behavior didn't need any logical explanation. After all, although mildly sensible, she was a girl.

The surprises of the day weren't over yet. Two castle guards carried the fellow called Reuben up the stairs while Isenbard, supporting Ayla, brought up the rear. Halfway up the stairs, one of the guards almost stumbled over a half-eaten black pudding and chicken leg which lay on the steps. When Ayla saw them, first a smile flickered on her tearful face, then she moaned, “That cheater! That scoundrel of a cheater!” and broke into another fit of tears. Not knowing what else to do with a crying female, Isenbard tried to maneuver her, as gently as possible, into her room.

However, in spite of all the tears blocking her sight, Ayla's eyes still seemed to work fine. She caught on to the fact that she wasn't going the same way as the two guards and wouldn't move another step. So Isenbard just shoved her in after them, into the room where they had put the fellow, and then went in search of some female able to cope with this situation.

*~*~**~*~*

When Reuben opened his eyes, everything was fuzzy for a moment. Once his sight became a bit clearer, he saw a by now very familiar stone ceiling. Slowly, he began to turn his head sideways—an action which took a lot more effort than usual—and he spotted a slender figure in a brown dress with brown hair sitting beside him, her face in her hands, turned away from him.

He squinted. No, the dress wasn't actually brown, and neither was the hair for that matter.

“Ayla?” he croaked.

At the sound of his voice, the girl spun around, and her hands fell from her face.

“Reuben? Reuben, you are awake? How are you?”

Reuben ignored the question, continuing instead to stare at her astonishing brownishness. “Why are you covered in mud?” he inquired.

“What mud? Oh, that... Isenbard threw me down and jumped on top of me in a muddy field, that's all.”

“What?”

Reuben's eyes almost emitted sparks at her casual statement. That creepy old bastard! Maybe he hadn't been so far off the mark with his first suspicions after all.

Seeing the look on his face, Ayla's eyes began to sparkle. “Does that bother you?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“No,” he grunted. “Why should it?”

“Oh, I don't know.” The sparkle in her eyes increased and now he could see that it stemmed from the moisture which threatened to spill down her fair face. “Personally, I'm glad he did it, because otherwise, I might have been shot today. But I don't know why you would care about that, I really don't!”

She hid her face in her hands again and began to cry quietly. Reuben tried to raise his hand—somehow he wanted to comfort her, though he didn't know how. His hand didn't move an inch. His whole body felt incredibly overheated and sluggish.

With great effort, it seemed, Ayla appeared from her hiding place and wiped her face with her sleeve. Still sniffling, she demanded: “Now are you going to tell me how you are or will I have to beat it out of you?”

“That might be interesting to see.”

“How—are—you?”

“Not too bad...”

“Don't lie to me!”

“Well, all right.” He sighed. “I feel terrible. Weak and hot and unable to move a muscle. Never felt anything like it in my life.”

“That's because you have a fever,” she said, bending forward and feeling his forehead. “Somehow your wounds got infected. I have no idea how.” She peered at him suspiciously, her eyes still wet. “You did follow my instructions, didn't you?”

“To the letter,” he assured her.

“Really?”

“Oh yes.”

“Then can you tell me what this is?” She dangled a half-eaten black pudding in front of his nose.

He managed a ghost of his usual insolent grin. “There may have been a few little deviations.”

“You stupid fool!” She smacked his arm, and her eyes started tearing up again. “Those things I told you weren't simply meant for my amusement! They were meant to help you get better!”

Reuben's mouth opened slightly, but for once, he didn't know how to respond. No cheeky remark, no sarcastic words sprang to his lips.

“Which of the kitchen maids did you coerce into bringing you this? What did you promise in return?”

That brought the grin back to Reuben's face. “Why? Jealous of what I might have promised the fair maiden?”

Her cheeks blossomed red, which made Reuben's grin only widen.

“I... you... Answer my question!”

“Not until you answer mine.”

Angrily, she threw the black pudding behind her. It hit the stone wall with a resounding smack. “You're impossible!”

For a few moments she just sat there beside his bed in angry silence.

Finally, he decided it was time to say something, preferably something that didn't get her temper up again. “How bad am I?” he asked, quietly.

“I don't know! If you'd done what I said, you'd probably be on your feet in a couple of days. But now—you fell down the stairs and have bruises on every inch of your body.”

“You checked?” he couldn't help asking, winking at her.

Her cheeks burned an even deeper red than before, but she continued, determined. “It's a miracle you didn't break your neck! For that matter, with your wounds, it was a miracle that you even got as far as the stairs. I don't know what in the world possessed you to try!” She glared at him, as if any silly plan by which he could put himself in harm's way was a personal affront to her. It almost made him chuckle. “But the bruises and the wounds aren't what bother me. It's the fever and the infection. Reuben... I... I don't know whether you will survive this.”

She buried her head in her hands again. He tried to lift his hand as before to comfort her, and this time he managed, pulling one of her small hands away and holding it in his. It felt natural, somehow, holding her hand—even if his own hand was unnaturally hot at the moment. Her soft, cool little hand felt incredibly soothing.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, and realized with some astonishment that he actually meant it.

“For what?” she half sobbed, half snapped, gripping his hand with a force he wouldn't have thought her capable of. “I'm the one who let you wander off with a fever. I should be publicly disgraced! I've shamed my teacher and don't deserve to call myself a healer.”

“Don't talk like that.” Reuben's thumb began to stroke the back of her hand instinctively, trying to calm her. “None of this is your fault. It's mine, and I'm sorry.”

“What for?” she repeated.

“For yelling at you. For behaving the way I did, and... for wanting to leave at all.”

“Why shouldn't you want to leave?” There was a despair in her voice that cut Reuben to the heart. “We're all doomed here.”

A flash of anger shot through him at the thought of the men who had caused her anguish. If he wasn't lying here like an accursed invalid, he would...

“Well,” he said in a teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood and chase away his own thoughts, “I still haven't got my compensation. It seems I will have to stay and make sure you win this little war of yours so that I get what I want.”

His attempt at levity worked. A small, tearful giggle escaped Ayla.

“It's not like I could go anywhere, in any case, with this fever,” he added, his voice sounding a bit too happy for his own liking.

“Don't worry.” Her hand pressed his again, and she leaned over to stroke his face. He let her, and enjoyed it. Oh yes, he enjoyed it. “I will look after you. I... I'm so glad you're alive, Reuben. So glad. When I saw you lying at the bottom of the stairs, still and pale, I thought for a moment—”

She stopped speaking and looked down, struggling against the tears.

“Shh.” With all his remaining strength, Reuben raised their entwined hands to her face and stroked her golden hair. The glittering strands felt softer than silk. “I'm not that easy to kill, believe me.”

“Why...?” She broke off before she could finish the question.

Reuben raised an eyebrow. “Why what?”

“Why are you so nice all of a sudden?”

A weak laugh escaped him. “You sound so suspicious! As if being nice is something out of the ordinary.”

“Well,” she mumbled, “it is for you.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“You are welcome. So are you going to answer my question?”

“I don't...” his voice faltered.

“That's not fair! I want to know.”

He shook his head and felt dizzy from the movement. “No, I mean I don't feel too good. I... Satan's hairy ass!”

“Don't curse!” she scolded. But when he didn't reply, her voice became concerned. “Reuben?”

“I... feel strange...” His vision blurred. He felt blood pulsing in his ears.

“Reuben! Reuben, are you all right?”

“Ayla, I...” But he could no longer find the strength to speak.

Ayla, he thought as he sank deeper into the darkness.

“Oh my God, Reuben, stay with me! Dilli! Dilli, bring me cold water and my bag of herbs and clean linen! Now! Reuben, stay with me! Stay with me, Reuben!”