Suddenly, the uncertainty in Reuben’s eyes was replaced with resolution. Ayla’s heart nearly stopped from the look on his face.
He wanted to ask her a question? Her? What question?
Could it possibly be that he wanted to…?
Taking a deep breath, Reuben leaned forward until their faces were almost touching and asked in a rough voice, “Are you going to have me executed?”
Ayla blinked at him, uncomprehending. “What?”
“Are you going to have me executed?” he repeated. “When you came to see me in my room the other day, you said you were wondering if you should execute me, and you hadn't made up your mind yet. Have you decided, now?”
“Oh, that! That completely slipped my mind.”
Reuben grinned with a touch of sarcasm. “Well, I must admit, it has been weighing rather heavily on mine.”
Ayla slapped his chest again, not very pleased that he was making fun of her again, and more than a little disappointed at the contents of his question—though she never in a million years would have told him that!
“Of course not, you pea brain!”
Reuben's grin lost all the sarcasm and widened to a glorious smile. “Well, that's a relief, I must admit. I rather like being alive. Particularly recently—things have been rather interesting.”
Ayla gestured around at the blood-spattered cobblestones and the dozen corpses lying strewn over the courtyard. “You call this interesting?”
“What?” Reuben seemed to notice the corpses for the first time, and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh that. No, I get that every day. I,” he continued, sliding his hand around Ayla and up her side, his fingers caressing her through the thin nightgown in a way that was surely forbidden by a dozen decrees of the Holy Church, “was talking of something else.”
She slapped his hand away. “Behave yourself!”
“Why?”
“Um…because…because…”
She didn't immediately know an answer, and that aggravated her to no end. Especially since his grin got more insolent by the second.
“Because it's improper,” she finally snapped.
“Oh, it's improper.” Reuben nodded gravely. “Of course, if it's improper, I should really not be doing it. I really shouldn't. Only, there's one thing…”
“Yes?”
He bent forward, and whispered in her ear, “I like to be improper. Especially with you.”
“Sir Knight! Go to your room, or…or…”
“Or you'll get improper with me out here? Well, I wouldn't want that.” Before she could say another word, he had let go of her. With a last lascivious smile, he turned and strode off, whistling.
Ayla’s mouth opened in shock. Never in a thousand years would she have thought that he’d actually do what she ordered and go. Suddenly, she felt cold without his arms around her, and she had already taken the first step to follow when she realized what she was doing. By the apostles! What did she think she was doing? Running after a man, to have him hold her where all could see? Maybe not just hold her, but ki—
She cut that thought off right then and there. She was a virtuous maiden! She would never, ever…
She couldn’t even think about things like that.
Reuben didn’t stop. He was almost at the gate of the inner wall now. The shadows of the gatehouse fell over his muscular figure, turning his crimson surcoat a sinister maroon.
“If you want to get improper in private, you know where to find me,” he called back without turning. Then he vanished into the night, leaving Ayla behind with a face as red as a beetroot and a dozen castle guards who were trying to pretend that they were deaf and dumb.
*~*~**~*~*
When Sir Isenbard and Burchard were awakened next morning and told that they had slept through an attack on the castle, they were noticeably displeased. Ayla had taken care to not inform them personally of the facts, but instead had sent a servant to do it and then hurried off to the other end of the castle, so they would have to march a goodly distance to reach her. That would hopefully give their anger some time to cool. When the pair of them exited the tower and marched along the allure towards where she was standing on the castle wall, both their faces set in impressive scowls, she knew it hadn't worked as well as she'd hoped it would.
“Ayla,” growled Burchard, his massive mustache quivering, “what is that I hear about an attack on the castle?”
“That is what I would like to know, too, Milady,” said Sir Isenbard.
“It was nothing to worry about, really,” she assured them hastily.
“Oh? So there wasn't an attack on the castle?”
“Well, yes, there was…”
Isenbard stepped forward, his usually calm face resembling a thunderstorm. “Ah. Perhaps you can explain to me, Milady, how this is 'nothing to be worried about.'”
“There were only about a dozen of them, Uncle Ironbeard. We managed to get rid of them fairly easily.”
She managed to keep from blushing. Probably because only the second part was a lie.
“A dozen?” Burchard frowned. He didn't have a lot of military experience, but even he could tell that this was a paltry force to storm a castle. He looked puzzled, whereas Isenbard looked like a grouchy incarnation of suspicion.
“A dozen?” he demanded. “What could they have hoped to accomplish with so few men? What did they try to do?”
This time, Ayla did blush.
He took another step forward. Now he was so close that she couldn’t escape his hard gaze. “Milady? What did they do?”
“Nothing much.”
“What. Did. They. Do?”
“Well…they may have tried to kidnap me a little.”
Both of them paled as if they had seen a ghost.
“What, pray,” asked Isenbard, his voice gruff, “do you mean by 'a little'?”
“They put a knife to my throat and tried to drag me out of the castle.”
Burchard swore. Ayla gave him a reproachful look. “Burchard! You know I do not like people befouling God's clean air!”
He looked contrite. “Yes, Milady, but by all things holy…kidnap you…”
His words were interrupted by Sir Isenbard, who closed the rest of the distance between him and Ayla and fell to his knees in front of her.
“I am sorry, Milady,” he said, his voice breathless. “I have failed you. I have broken my oath of fealty and protection. If you wish, you may have me hanged from the highest tower of Luntberg castle for the crows to feast on, as an example to all who falter in your service.”
Ayla felt her knees shake. She had known Isenbard since she was a little girl, and thus she knew this was no false promise. He meant what he said. The magnitude of his offer took her breath away. Not so much the fact that he thought he deserved to die—Isenbard was a knight as brave as any and had faced death many a time.
No, it was the thought that he believed he deserved to be hanged that shook her innermost core. Only common criminals were hanged—the nobility, even if they had betrayed their duty to their liege lord, were given the honor of the executioner's ax.
Quickly, Ayla fell to her knees and grabbed the old knight by his shoulders. There were tears in her eyes. “Uncle Ironbeard, get up! Why on earth would I want to execute you? You of all people?”
“Because I have failed you,” he repeated, keeping his eyes cast down, his stony, hard face impassive. Ayla swallowed. He really believed this! But she couldn't have him despair—she needed him too much. Her people needed him too much.
“Sir Isenbard,” she said in a more official tone. Being emotional wouldn't serve her now. He thought he had failed his liege lady, so she had to act the liege lady. “You were still recuperating from your injuries. You were asleep, as I ordered, and not on guard duty.”
He remained silent.
“Would you punish a soldier for not noticing an enemy infiltration if he was not on guard duty, but asleep with his comrades?”
Sir Isenbard hesitated, then reluctantly replied, “No, Milady.”
“So you have just admitted that the punishment you demand of me is unjust, have you not?”
He sighed. “Yes, Milady.”
“Then can you tell me why I should punish you?”
“Because I may not have been on duty—but it is my duty to always help you, and I did not.” But she could not feel force behind his words anymore. She had won him back.
“You do,” she said, softening her voice. “You always do. Now rise, Sir Isenbard.”
Slowly, he did as she asked.
“Others helped you last night,” he insisted stubbornly. Then he frowned. “By the way…who did wrest you from the clutches of the intruders?”
If she hadn't been strictly opposed to bad language, Ayla would have cursed herself right then and there. Why did he have to ask that question out of all possible questions?
“Err…the castle guards,” she murmured hurriedly. “Yes, the castle guards did.”
“Really?” Burchard looked impressed. “I must admit, I wouldn't have thought they had it in them.”
Isenbard looked suspicious again. “The castle guards?”
“Yes.” She flushed. “Captain Linhart got me away from the intruders.”
It was true, in a sense. He had gotten her away, after she had landed on top of him.
“Did he, now.” Thoughtfully, the old knight stroked his white beard. For a moment, she could have sworn his eyes flickered towards the keep, to the window of Reuben's room. But no, he couldn't possibly…
“How did the intruders get in?” he asked suddenly, breaking her train of thoughts.
“That I don't know,” she admitted, frowning. “Captain Linhart and a few of his men started to search the perimeter last night. I haven't gone to inquire after the results yet, so I don't know what they might have found.”
“I think we're about to find out,” said Burchard, pointing along the allure. “Look!”
A few dozen feet away, Captain Linhart and two soldiers were hurrying along the battlements towards them, grim expressions on their faces.