Reuben's first thought was: I'm in the captivity of the girl I robbed earlier today, she has sworn to have me killed, and she's the lady of the castle and has dozens of armed guards at her disposal!

His second thought was: So what? You've killed dozens of men before.

His third thought was: Yes, but not without a sword and with three arrows in my back.

His fourth thought was: At least she doesn't know who I am yet.

His fifth thought was: Emphasis on “yet.”

His sixth thought was: She's going to have me hacked into tiny little pieces if she finds out!

His seventh thought was: Wait just a minute! Did she just call me an ungrateful lout?

The tumult of his emotions must have shown on his face, because the girl asked: “What's wrong? Don't like my name, do you?”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “in my opinion, it sounds like the name of a totally green, pompous, and bossy person who doesn't know when to shut her mouth. But that's probably just me.”

Her eyes flashed again. “Probably. Now turn around. I'll have to get these arrows out or you'll die, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?”

Reuben hesitated. In his experience, it was never a good idea to turn your back on an enemy. But in this case, he probably didn't have any choice.

“Certainly, Milady,” he said, pulling away the sheet from his impressive muscles and turning over. “Enjoy the view.”

She snorted, but it didn't sound very convincing.

Reuben allowed himself a grin. Why not? He was turned to the wall; she couldn't see it.

“So tell me,” he began, feeling her gaze bore into his back, “how does a noble lady come to know something about healing?”

“Why don't you tell me something for a change? How about your name? I've told you mine.”

Should he tell her his real name? Why not? He hadn't mentioned it while robbing her. They hadn't had time for that much polite conversation. And he wasn't really creative enough to come up with anything else.

“Reuben.”

“And what were you doing out in the forest, Reuben—besides bleeding, I mean?”

He felt something cool gently brush against his back and twitched.

“Relax,” she said.

Oh. Those were her hands. Her touch was gentler than he had imagined. A lot gentler, actually.

“You aren't one of the men of the Margrave von Falkenstein, are you?”

“No,” he said emphatically. “I'm a merchant,” he added, thinking of the man he had robbed earlier that day.

“Good,” she replied, her voice as gentle as her hands. “Because if you had been one of Falkenstein's fiends, I would have hanged you from the highest tower of my castle.”

“Lucky me.”

“Very lucky.” She tapped on his back. “Looks like these wounds didn't even come close to any vital organs. As long as they don't get infected, you'll live.” Her small hands moved away from his back, and he could feel her grasp the shafts. “Now, I'll just have to pull the arrows out...”

Reuben twisted as fast as a snake and had her hands captured in his in a heartbeat. She didn't utter a sound, just stared at his ferocious expression with undoubted fear in her bright blue eyes. She must have thought he was trying to attack her. It almost made him sorry for his reaction. Almost.

“Don't!” he said, breathing heavily. “Don't ever do that!”

“D-do what?” she asked, after a moment.

“Pull on arrows! You have no way of knowing if they have barbs!”

“Barbs?”

“Sharp hooks on the arrowhead that are designed to keep the arrow where it is. If you try to pull out an arrow with barbs, it'll tear your flesh open and you won't get it out anyway. You'll die from internal bleeding.”

He saw her swallow and try to get a hold of herself again. Part of him admired her guts, wanted to speak more softly to her, but the part of him that knew this little girl could just have killed him in a heartbeat was far bigger and angrier.

“I didn't know that,” she said, softly. Her eyes were watery, but the tears didn't spill over.

“Well now you do,” he growled. “And woe betide you if you don't remember it well!”

That drove the moisture from her eyes and made them narrow in a glare. Apparently, she didn't take kindly to being threatened.

“How does a merchant know so much about arrows?” she asked, suspiciously.

Reuben cursed himself for not thinking of a better profession for himself. But then he had an idea. “Every merchant has to know about the wares he buys and sells,” he answered curtly, hoping that would satisfy her. “Now get on with it.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get the arrows out if I'm not allowed to pull?”

He rolled his eyes. Typical woman. “Well, if you can't pull, what else can you do?”

“Push?”

“Yes.”

“But that would mean pushing the arrows right through your flesh! Through your entire chest and out the front!”

“Obviously.”

“It'll hurt,” she pointed out.

“Maybe.”

“Probably it'll hurt quite a bit,” she continued, thoughtfully, apparently beginning to take a liking to the idea. “It might even be torturous.”

Reuben smiled. She had no idea.

“It'll be all right,” he said, in a superior tone, which of course only egged her on.

“You'll have to promise me not to scream or flinch if the pain gets too much for you,” she said, sweetly. “After all, I'll have to concentrate on what I am doing. Do you think you can do that for me, brave man?”

“I think I'll manage.”

“We'll see.”

He could almost hear the anticipation in her voice and had to hold his hand over his mouth to stop himself from chuckling. Nothing remained of the anger he had felt a minute ago. This was going to be amusing.

She gripped the first arrow, a lot more forcefully than the first time.

“Break off the end, first,” he suggested merrily. “So that it doesn't get stuck in there. I'd hate to walk around with goose feathers in my torso for the rest of my life.”

Without comment, she placed her other hand on the shaft and tried to break it. The tough wood bent, but only a little.

“Too much for you?” he asked with a smile.

“No,” she grunted.

“You could get help.”

“No!”

Sighing, Reuben resigned himself to his fate. The girl was stubborn. It was going to take her a few minutes to figure out that she couldn't do it by herself. He only hoped she would hurry up with overcoming her pride. The wounds needed to be dressed; he couldn't afford any delay.

Snap!

Snap!

Snap!

Three times he heard the noise, in quick succession. It took Reuben a few moments to realize what had caused it.

“Here!”

The broken arrow-ends with fletching landed beside him on the bed. My, my. The girl actually had some muscle in her skinny arms. He ought not to be so surprised, perhaps. She was a good rider, and good riders had to have muscle. She had ridden that horse of hers like a queen—before he had stolen it, that is.

“Turn on your side. I'm going to push the arrows out now,” she said, as a gleeful warning.

“Go ahead,” he replied. He did as she had asked, and the smile crept back on his face. The fun was about to begin.

She gripped the first arrow and pushed. The tip sliced neatly through flesh for a few inches, then it slowed.

“What's the matter?” he asked in a polite, conversational tone.

“You're hard,” she panted. “This isn't easy.”

“You have my sympathies. After all, you're the one pushing a wooden stick, and I'm the one with three arrows in my back. Your lot is by far worse than mine.”

“Does it hurt yet?” she asked hopefully, between clenched teeth.

“It's manageable,” he smirked. “Don't stop on my account.”

“Don't worry. I won't.”

The girl—somehow he couldn't bring himself to think of her as the lady, she just seemed so young to him—increased the pressure and the arrow continued on its slow way through Reuben's flesh.

“Did you have me brought to this particular room?” Reuben asked.

“Yes,” she grunted.

“Then I must thank you, Lady Ayla. It is a beautiful room, with an even more beautiful view.”

“Think... nothing... of it.”

“But no,” he protested, smirking. “Your helping me at all is a marvelous act of Christian charity. But you taking such good and gentle care of me, that exceeds all my expectations.”

“I'm... doing my best,” she snarled and gave the arrow another shove. Reuben felt his chest. Good, it would soon be out now.

“I'm sure you are. And I'm sure the peaceful atmosphere here will be of great help to my convalescence.”

For some inexplicable reason, that made her laugh. Yet it wasn't a happy laugh. It was dark and foreboding, and altogether too sad for one as young as her.

“I wouldn't be too sure about that.”

He frowned. What did she mean by that? And why had she sounded so sad? Was there something upsetting her—besides himself, of course?

He was so occupied with his thoughts that at first he didn't notice when the arrow pierced the skin of his chest from inside. Only when the tip entered his field of vision was his attention drawn to it.

“Stop,” he ordered. “I'll get it myself the rest of the way.” He gripped the arrow just beneath the head and pulled. His fingers felt the sharp metal hooks. He had been right—there were indeed barbs on the arrow. Trying not to think too deeply about what would have happened had he not stopped the foolish girl in time, he continued to pull on the missile sticking in his chest. The shaft was slippery with blood, but that was something he was used to. Within seconds, he had pulled the arrow out and thrown it onto the floor.

With a bright smile, he nodded at the girl. “All right. The next one.”

She stared at him, incredulous. “You've just pulled an arrow out of your chest and all you want to do is pull another?”

“Well, there are still two left in there. Do you think I should leave them where they are for a while?”

“No! But don't you want to... I don't know... rest a bit?”

“Rest? What for?”

“Maybe because it hurt?” she suggested.

He shrugged. “Not that much. If it's up to me, we can go on. Of course, if you need some rest...”

Her eyes blazed like blue fire. “No thanks, I'm fine,” she snapped.

Quickly, she got to work again. The second arrow went out without any problems, too. But when she started pushing at the third, Reuben suddenly shouted: “Stop!”

Her hands dropped immediately. “What is it?” she asked, and he was more than a little surprised at her tone. Was that concern in her voice? No, surely he was mistaken. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, of course not,” he grunted. “You're getting too close to my ribcage. If the arrow gets stuck in there, we'll never get it out. Point it further down!”

She didn't take well to his commanding tone, he could tell.

“As you wish,” she grumbled.

Silently, Reuben berated himself. Why on earth did he have to be so rude to the girl? After all, he still had an arrow stuck in his chest. Why couldn't he wait until it was out of him? Then he could be as rude as he wanted.

Despite her anger, he could tell that she was doing her best to follow his orders. However, it was difficult to change the direction of the arrow while it was slicing through his flesh, and just before the head left his body, he could feel it catching on the lowest of his ribs.

“Oh!” Behind him, Reuben heard Ayla take in a quick breath. “It's stuck, isn't it? Oh, Reuben, I'm so, so sorry! I'll...”

He started at hearing his name from her lips. It sounded strange. Maybe because she had no idea who he really was, and could never know. So it was strange hearing her say his name as if she knew him.

“It's all right,” he said gruffly. “It didn't get stuck. It just caught on the lowest rib. Push a bit harder, then it'll slide sideways, and that'll be it.”

“But... won't that hurt?”

He almost laughed. “Don't worry about that. Just push.”

He was expecting to have to argue with her for some time, but she just took a deep breath and said: “All right. I'll do my best.”

Hm. She really had guts.

She pushed. Reuben could feel the arrowhead slowly sliding along his rib—and then it suddenly was free and pierced his skin, sliding halfway out of him in one go. Ayla fell forward with a gasp and landed on top of him. He could feel the warmth of her small body pressed against his back and stiffened at the unfamiliar contact. Though he had to admit, it didn't really feel bad...

Before either of them could move a muscle, they heard a knock on the door and a deep, gravelly voice: “Milady? Milady, it's me, Burchard. May I come in?”