“We've found it,” were Captain Linhart's first words, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. “Come.”
He led Ayla, Burchard, and Isenbard along the battlements, until they reached a section that was out of sight of the main tower. The perfect spot for an attack. Between two of the crenels, a strange metal object was fastened: hook-shaped and sharp, like several giant serpent-teeth fastened together, it looked like it wanted to bite its way right through the stone of the castle wall. In the very center, a rope was attached, falling down on the outside of the wall.
“What is that?” asked Ayla, aghast.
“It's called a grappling hook,” said Isenbard darkly. “They're not as common in sieges as they used to be. As the walls of castles got higher, it's been getting harder and harder to throw them high enough—that’s why armies use siege towers nowadays. I wouldn't have thought a grappling hook could be thrown this high, or I would have mentioned the matter. They must have a man in their army with an arm like Hercules, or they have one of those confounded new machines, like a giant crossbow on wheels. I've heard they can shoot grappling hooks incredibly high.”
Slowly, Ayla approached the thing and viewed it from different directions. “So…it's thrown or shot up, over the wall. And then? How do the people down there know it will catch on something?”
“They don't. If it slides back over the wall and falls, they have to throw again. And it's a quite dangerous way of climbing a wall, because you never know whether whatever your hook is holding onto will be strong enough to hold your weight. You can pull at it, test it to a certain extent, but, in the end, the rope might still give way, and you will fall to your death.”
Ayla shivered. “All right. Have that grizzly thing removed immediately. Is there any way we can prevent these from being used again?”
“Apart from keeping a closer watch? No, Milady, I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry, Uncle,” she told curtly. Saying that there was no need to apologize wouldn’t be any good. He wouldn’t believe her. Better work in the penance he thought he deserved. “Just make sure it never happens again. I hereby declare you fit to serve me again and reinstate you as commander of my guards. I am sure you will keep a good watch and prevent such a thing from reoccurring.”
The old knight bowed.
“As you command, Milady!” Then he hurried off, shouting orders to some nearby guards.
I will have to force him to sleep regularly, Ayla thought with a wry smile. But it was worth it. If I'll see another grappling hook in my lifetime, my name is Rumpelstiltskin.
She looked over the wall. It really was very high up—so high it was hardly credible that any human could have thrown that massive metal hook all the way up here. Had they used a machine? But there were no tracks of any such machine down on the ground. Squinting, she stepped closer to the breastwork. Suddenly, the distant ground seemed to move all on its own: it fled backwards, then rushed forwards again.
Reaching out to grab the wall, she missed and grasped empty air instead. She stumbled and grabbed again, just managing to get a hold on one of the crenels to steady herself. Burchard jumped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Milady! What's the matter?”
“Nothing. I just feel a bit odd… Maybe it's the height.”
“You've never been afraid of heights. What is really up?”
“Nothing, I…”
Her stomach rumbled, both interrupting and betraying her.
Behind her, she could feel Burchard stiffen. The hairs of his mustache tickled her neck as it bristled, dangerously.
“When did you last eat?”
“Err…”
“When did you last eat, girl?”
Maybe Ayla should have been offended at his address, but she suddenly felt like she was five years old again and being scolded for not finishing her dinner.
“Um…there was this apple…”
“When, exactly?”
“Two or three days ago.”
This time, the hairs of his mustache bristling tickled her so fiercely, she almost laughed. Almost. She did her best to suppress it. Showing levity right now would definitely be unwise.
“And,” he growled in her ear, “this apple that you ate two or three days ago, how big was it? Melon-sized? Because you better hope it was!”
“Um…now that you mention it, I didn't actually eat it. I gave it to Eleanor as a treat.”
“You gave it to…Good God above, girl, have you lost your mind? What were you thinking, trying to starve yourself to death?”
“We are besieged,” she defended herself. “We must ration our food!”
“There is a difference between rationing and starvation! In case you don’t know, the difference is that, after the former, you’re still alive. You're coming along with me right now and won't go out of my sight until you've got a good, square meal under your belt, understand?”
“Burchard, you're my steward,” she tried to assert her authority. “You can't just…”
He turned her around, and…Oh dear. His mustache was really bristling, like a cat’s tail in a thunderstorm. This wasn’t a good sign.
“Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes, Burchard.”
“So where are we going now?”
“To the kitchens, Burchard.”
“Exactly. Come along.”
*~*~**~*~*
There was a knock at the door.
“May I come in?”
Reuben sat up on his bedstead. He'd know that voice anywhere.
He knew it! A grin flickered at the edges of his mouth. He knew she’d come running! No woman on earth could resist his charms. Hmm…How long would it take for him to get her to change into her paradise costume?
Not long, probably. He could hear how weak her voice was. Obviously, his words out in the courtyard had done their work. She was ripe and ready to be plucked.
“Sure,” he said jovially. “It's your castle, after all.”
She opened the door and just stood there for a moment. “Yes, I know. But it's your room. I couldn't just come in without knocking. You might not have been decent.”
A grin spread over Reuben's face. “I'm never decent,” he whispered, laying all the innuendo into his words that he could summon. And he could summon quite a lot. “Dressed, maybe, but not decent.”
He expected a retort, or maybe a slap in the face, which could lead to more intimate contact—instead, she hardly seemed to notice his words. Blinking, as if concentrating on standing upright, she walked over to him, teetering every now and again.
Reuben frowned. She didn’t look like the lust-ridden creature he’d been expecting and hoping for. She didn’t even look remotely desiring or passionate. Instead, she looked rather queasy.
At his bedside, she hesitated for a moment. “May I sit down for a little while?” She swayed again, putting a hand on her stomach. “I…think I need to sit down. I feel a little full at the moment.”
“Um…sure.” Not quite sure what she meant by that, Reuben gestured to the space beside him. “It's your bed, too. By all means.”
“Thanks.”
She slumped down onto the bed beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes and groaning with relief. Reuben would have liked to believe the reason for the groan was her incredible, insuppressible sexual attraction to him, but somehow, he doubted it.
Still, things could always change. Carefully, he snaked his arm around her shoulders and held her. She didn't seem to mind. But she didn’t throw herself at him either. How disappointing.
Another groan escaped Ayla’s throat. “Have you ever been forced to eat an entire loaf of brown bread, six sausages, and one roasted chicken?”
“Can't say that I have,” mused Reuben, caressing her shoulder with a thumb. Her dress didn’t sit very tightly, there. Maybe he’d be able to work it off her shoulder if he was patient. “I have been forced to eat rats, once, though. Does that help?”
Her eyes flew open, and she jerked, pulling the shoulder of her dress out of his reach. God’s toenails!
“Rats? Real rats?”
He smirked. This had apparently impressed her. If she’d only let him impress her in other ways…“Well, they weren't imaginary ones.”
“Dear me,” she muttered, still looking dazed. “In that case, I guess I should feel lucky. If you don't mind me asking…how did they taste?”
“The rats?”
Slowly, he started moving his hand up towards her shoulder again. The strap there was still hanging temptingly loosely.
“Yes.”
He shook his head solemnly. “Sorry, I can't tell you.”
Ayla scowled at him and sat up straight. Again, the strap was outside his reach. God’s toenails, and fingernails, with all the dirt of a thousand years!
“And why not?” she demanded.
“Because I would have to use certain words in the description—words that, I've been told recently, are not fit for the ears of a lady.”
Her adorable scowl deepened, and Reuben was just beginning to have fun, in spite of her still being dressed, when her expression was replaced by one of pain.
“Why were you forced to eat rats?” she whispered.
Reuben’s hand stopped halfway to her shoulder. An image flashed in front of his mind's eye: dirty walls, rusted shackles, clotted blood…No! He didn't want to think of the dungeon. Not here, not now, not while he was with her. For the first time in days, she was looking at him without hatred and suspicion. He couldn’t shatter that with the darkness that was inside him.
“I've been in a lot of tight places,” he replied with an evasive wave of his hand. “Nothing to worry about now.”
She was about to contradict him—but he didn't want to waste their time worrying about troubles of the past. They had more than enough troubles of the present to deal with. Sighing, he let his hand fall away from her shoulder. Now wasn’t the time. There were things he needed to find out.
“So, tell me,” he asked, “have you found out how those bastards got into the castle, yet?”
“Yes. Captain Linhart came and showed me—” She suddenly broke off and glared at him disapprovingly. And he wasn’t even trying to take her clothes off right now.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“What did I tell you about using foul language in my castle?”
“Hmm…actually, I can’t remember.”
Her glare intensified, and she crossed her arms. But Reuben was not to be outdone by a girl. He glared back at her, knowing full well that his glare was ten times as potent as hers. All those years of intimidating people on the road into giving him their money with just a wink of his eye paid off now. He was not going to allow her to sidetrack him. Not when her safety was at stake.
“How did they get in?” he repeated sternly.
Ayla sighed. “Well, it’s like this…”
Reuben listened intently, while Ayla explained about finding the grappling hook. Even before she ceased speaking, he could feel worry creeping up in him. He had taken a close look at the castle wall. He always took a close look at anything connected with war and battle. What Ayla told him didn't quite add up.
Throwing a grappling hook up that wall sounded incredibly hard, if not impossible. Yet, if it wasn’t thrown, there was only one alternative. One he didn’t like to consider.
Satan’s hairy ass! Let me be wrong. Please, let me be wrong!