by Robert Thier
But…
But…
But Ayla would probably not be very pleased. Satan’s hairy ass!
Taking a deep, calming breath, he lowered his sword.
“Tie them up and lock them away,” he growled at Ayla's soldiers, pointing at the pale, wounded mercenaries. “Then go help your comrades clean up the rest of them down in the Killing Fields. If any surrender—” he clenched his jaw tightly, “—take them captive, and do not kill them, no matter how much you would personally enjoy it.”
“Yes, Sir!”
One of the Luntberg soldiers bowed. Reuben didn't wait to see whether he and the others would be executing his order. He had already turned and had only eyes for one: a slim figure in a bloodstained woolen cloak, with golden hair spilling over her shoulders down almost to her waist.
His heart pounded faster even than in battle. Finally! It was over! She was safe!
A devilish smile spread across his face. Well…not really safe, as such. After all, she was his now.
He took a step forward.
Aftermath
Ayla started running. Grinning triumphantly, Reuben opened his arms—and she rushed right past him. For a moment, Reuben stood there, taken aback. What could possibly be more interesting for any, indeed for any female on this earth, than his magnificent self? Satan’s hairy ass!
All of a sudden, he heard strange cooing noises from behind him, such as might originate from a young mother hen. Turning around, he saw that Ayla had gathered up the girl Fye in her arms and was pressing her face into her shoulder, protecting her from the sight of the carnage around her. It was no easy job. Fye seemed to be quite determined to get another good look at the carnage. The helmet of Sir Luca, with the head still inside it, seemed to hold particular fascination for her.
Ayla, however, would have none of it. She held the girl pressed tightly against her chest, cooing to her in a reassuring tone. “Don’t worry! Everything will be all right now! You’ll be safe!”
Reuben cleared his throat. “She probably knows that. After all, she made sure of it herself with a good, hard stick.”
Ayla threw a glare at him that would have made a king quake in his boots.
“What did I do wrong now?” Reuben wanted to know.
“You have to ask that, you blockhead? You beheaded a man in front of a five-year-old!”
“Well…it helped win the battle and kept us from getting killed,” Reuben pointed out.
“That's no excuse!” Ayla snapped. “She will have nightmares for the rest of her life!”
“No, I won't,” Fye mumbled her protest into the linen of Ayla's gown, struggling to get free. “I'm perfectly fine!”
“Shh, girl, shh,” Ayla muttered, stroking her hair and looking at her with loving eyes. The look in her eyes when they returned to Reuben was quite different.
“Couldn't you have done something different?” she demanded.
“Well, I could have stabbed him in the stomach.”
“Reuben!”
“That would have been slightly messier, you know, with all the guts and fluids spilling out…”
“Reuben! Shut up!”
Quickly, Ayla clamped her hands over Fye's ears. “You don't need to hear this, sweet. Just think of a fine meadow in the spring. You'll soon feel better.”
“Meadows in the spring make me sneeze,” the girl protested. “And I'm perfectly fine.”
“No, you're not,” declared Ayla with a determination Reuben just had to admire. “You've just witnessed a terrible ordeal that no child should have to witness!”
“I'm all right, really.”
“No, you're not!”
“You can trust her on that,” Reuben advised the little girl. “Ayla knows her healing. She knows when somebody is fine and when they aren't. And, if they should happen to be fine in spite of her pronouncement…well, she has a wicked slap.”
Ayla shook an accusing finger at him. “And that coming from a man who beheads people? I like your cheek!”
“He was your enemy,” Reuben said grimly. Then, his lips twitching into a smile, he added, “And I know you like my cheek. You can show your appreciation of it with the soft caress of your sweet lips whenever you want.”
“The soft caress of my knuckles, more like!”
Reuben was just about to say something else when a scream echoed across the wall and a woman rushed out of the tower towards them, her hands flailing in the air. Who the hell was she? Reuben dismissed the question from his mind. There was only one important thing right now: from the way she was screeching, it was obvious the woman was crazy. Quickly, Reuben put himself between her and Ayla, raising his bloody sword, ready to strike the dangerous madwoman.
“Get out of the way, you big oaf!” Ayla hissed from behind her. “That's Margaret, Fye's mother!”
“Oh.” Reuben shifted. “And she isn't crazy?”
“No, of course not. She's just concerned for her daughter! Get out of my way.” Ayla marched past Reuben and held Fye out to the woman, who gathered her little girl up in her arms and pressed her to her chest, weeping. Apparently, Fye didn't much appreciate this. She put up a good deal of resistance, even more than with Ayla.
“Dear Lord in Heaven!” the woman cried, pressing her daughter against her chest with iron strength. “Fye! My dear, sweet, harmless, innocent, little Fye!”
Reuben regarded the woman and child with interest. Was she talking about a different Fye? Somehow, the woman's description didn't match what he'd seen of the girl's character so far. But then…she was her mother. She deserved a few delusions.
“I was so terrified when I noticed she was gone,” the woman wept. “I only realized it when we were in the cellars under the keep, safely away. I know I should have kept better watch, but there were so many people milling around, and there were my other children to watch, and I had told her to follow me and not go outside! Why would she come up?”
With mounting curiosity, Reuben looked on as Ayla took the woman in her arms and muttered senseless platitudes like “it's all right now” and “shh.” This seemed to be something intrinsically female. It didn't seem to matter to Margaret that Ayla made no attempt to answer the garbled questions which kept streaming from her lips. Reuben would have tried to answer to the best of his ability—after maybe dumping a bucket of cold water on the woman to calm her down a bit. The screeching and weeping was really starting to get on his nerves.
Finally, the woman freed herself from Ayla's grip.
“She is all right, isn't she?” she asked tearfully. Shaking with fear, she held up her daughter to examine her. “Nothing happened to her, did it?”
“On the contrary,” Reuben felt it his duty to point out. “She fended for herself amazingly, giving the enemy commander a tremendously impressive whack on the ass.”
Apparently, this was not what the woman had been wanting to hear. Ayla managed to catch her just in time before she keeled over backwards along with her child.
“Very helpful indeed,” she told Reuben in a voice that told him that, though the battle might technically be over, the hard part of the night was still to come. “Dilli!” Ayla cranked her neck in all directions. “Somebody fetch my maid Dilli! This woman and her child need to be taken into the keep and properly cared for! Now!”
Three guards nearly fell over themselves attempting to be the first to fulfill her command. Soon after, Margaret had been entrusted to Dilli's care, and the door of the tower closed behind her. Ayla remained on the wall with Reuben, the soldiers, and the wounded. Reuben watched her. She stood at the door of the tower, having closed it after her maid. She didn't turn around, and a part of Reuben was grateful for that. He didn't fancy his chances of survival in the coming battle.
*~*~**~*~*
Mad anger boiled in Ayla. She was sure that it would soon boil over and spill in all directions. She didn't yet know what she was going to do to Reuben, but it was going to be bad. Really bad. Her hands clenched into fists she turned fro
m the door to face him.
And then, she met his gray gaze…soft, forceful, and burning all at the same time.
Her breath caught in her throat. Had there been something she had been going to say? Yes, she was sure. But, for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was. Suddenly, it struck her that both he and she were still alive. Against all odds, they had survived everything. The siege was over. They were free. They were together. They were safe. And maybe, just maybe, they might have a future.
So they stood there, silently gazing at each other. Ayla looked into Reuben's eyes. Reuben looked into Ayla's eyes. Then, finally, after a long time, Reuben's eyes wandered down, towards the somewhat ravaged neckline of Ayla's dress. Before, the child had been in the way. But now, Ayla realized, he saw all there was to see through a dress that had lived through a battle and suffered several revealing tears.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “Hmm…I like it. Is this how you're going to dress every day from now on?”
Ayla stared at him, open-mouthed. Slowly, a devilish grin spread on Reuben's face. Without meaning to, Ayla started towards him, step after step. She was drawn to that devilish smile of his, like a moth to the flame. She simply could not resist.
Coming to a stop right in front of him, she stood on her tiptoes, leaned forward, and whispered in his ear, very slowly and clearly:
“Not. A. Chance.”
Reuben's arms came up around her waist, grabbing hold of her roughly and sweetly. “Really? Not even if I tried to…persuade you?”
“No!”
His eyes flickered down to her neckline again. “Well, then I'd better enjoy the view while I still can.”
“Oh Reuben!” She threw herself into him, around him, and hugged him tightly, more tightly than she could ever remember hugging anybody or anything. She didn't care that everybody was watching, she didn't care that his armor was biting into her skin. She just wanted to hold him tight and never, ever let go.
“You're too close against me. I can't see the view anymore,” Reuben complained.
“Shut up!”
“Yes, Milady.”
“I love you!”
“I'm gratified to hear it, Milady.”
There was a short silence.
“And?” She demanded, looking up with tears in her eyes.
“And what?” he asked innocently.
“I just told you that I love you! Have you nothing to say to me in return?”
“You told me to shut up, remember?”
“Reuben!”
“All right, all right. I suppose then…I love you, too.” He made a face. “It sounds so mushy-gushy if you say it out loud.”
“I don't mind,” she sniffled.
“Glad to hear that.” She felt his grip tighten. “Neither do I. And as for you—” Letting go with one arm, Reuben raised his sword and pointed at the bloodstained guards surrounding them. “You aren't here. You didn't hear or see anything!”
Most of them nodded energetically. Some seemed to think that even a nod was too much, since, after all, they weren't here and hadn't heard anything. Oh no, they definitely hadn't. They just turned and made off in as non-existent a way as possible.
“You love me?” Ayla asked, tears in her eyes, a chorus of birds flying and twittering around her heart. “You really, truly love me? It wasn't just a pretense?”
“Yes. I love you.”
“And we're both still alive?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Good.” She sniffled again. “Just wanted to check.”
“If you want,” he whispered into her ear, “I can prove to you right away how alive we are. We just have to find a quiet room somewhere.”
Ayla considered for a moment.
“All right.”
Never in her life had she seen Reuben so utterly floored as in this moment. His mouth popped open, and his eyes went wide.
“A-all right?”
“Of course!” She raised an eyebrow, stepping back from him. “The wounded will need a quiet room to recover. Since, as you point out, you are still alive and on your feet, you can help me carry them and care for them. I think you'd make an excellent nurse—if you can keep your mouth shut and follow orders.”
Reuben blinked. The expression of surprise on his face was slowly replaced by one of outraged disbelief.
“You didn't…you didn't just…”
“What?” Brimming with joy, Ayla batted her lashes at him. “Might I have misinterpreted your meaning, Sir Knight? However could that have happened? What else could you possibly have been referring to?”
Reuben closed his mouth.
And opened it again.
And closed it again.
Finally, he shook his head. His eyes were burning with grey fire. As Ayla bent to grab one of the unconscious men on the battlements by the shoulder, he reluctantly followed her example and gripped his ankles.
“I'll get you back for this,” he growled. “Just you wait! Nobody has bested me yet!”
Ayla felt a delicious shiver run down her spine.
“There's a first time for everything, isn't there?” she whispered.
“Not for this! Just you wait, Milady. Just you wait…”
Inflamed Buttocks and Fiery Threats
The morning after the battle, the sun rose in a glorious halo of red and gold. It was a beautiful morning—or, at least, so the maid told Reuben when she burst into his room at the crack of dawn, a serving plate with breakfast in her hands. Reuben, who had been up all night carrying and bandaging people, was not inclined to agree and expressed his opinion to the contrary by throwing one of his boots at her. Luckily, his eyelids were still glued shut, and he missed by a wide margin. Even in his befuddled morning state, Reuben was enough himself to suspect Ayla might not like him giving one of her maidservants a black eye.
Once he had pried his eyes open, his outlook on life improved significantly. He found that the maid hadn't dropped the serving plate with his breakfast but had placed it on the table before she ran.
What a clever girl! Maybe I’ll be so generous as to not throw a boot at her the next time she comes in.
Hauling himself out of bed, he grabbed the bowl off the serving plate and began to stuff bread and sausage into his mouth with both hands. When he was finished, he licked his fingers and treasured the last remnants of the salty taste of the sausage. Being a knight who had lost his title and honor really had some advantages—such as not having to care about table manners.
But…if he stayed at the castle, he would have to pretend otherwise, at least in public, wouldn't he? He scowled. That was a heavy sacrifice. But for Ayla, he would make it.
Oh well. He could always work his bad mood off on somebody else. Delighted by that idea, he left his room and strode down into the courtyard.
“Let’s see what my minions are up to,” he murmured to himself, a devilish smile curving his lips.
There was no guard at the inner gate, just as he had suspected. Stepping into the Killing Fields, which now truly deserved their name, considering the blood spattered all over the ground, he saw that there was no guard at the outer gate either. Having seen all he needed to see, he made his way directly to the soldiers' barracks.
Silently, he let the door glide open and regarded the peacefully snoring soldiers. Doubtless, they had earned a day in bed. It would be only humane to let them sleep. In fact, it would be quite diabolical to disturb them. Reuben’s smile widened. He had forgotten how much fun being a commander could be.
He took a deep breath.
“To your feet, you idle misbegotten sons of maggots!” he roared in his best battlefield voice. “The sun is shining golden! The early bird catches the worm! And, if you won't be the early bird, you'll be the worm, and believe me, you won't want me to catch you! Up! Up, I say, and if you're not up in ten seconds, I'll do more than say it. To your feet! Are you soldiers or snorers? To your feet this instance or I'll light a bonfire under your bastard buttocks!
Chop, chop!”
One of the soldiers raised a lazy eye. Maybe he expected it to be Sir Waldar or Captain Linhart or some of his other familiar commanders. When he saw who it was that stood in the door, his other eye flew open. He rammed his elbow into his bunk neighbor and sprang to his feet. The bunk neighbor rolled over and groaned, “What is it, Ka—”
Then he spotted Reuben.
He was so quickly on his feet that Reuben was surprised his toes didn't catch fire. In two or three minutes, all the remaining fifty-five soldiers of Luntberg had stumbled out of the barracks and were arrayed before Reuben in a more or less straight line.
“Listen up,” he bellowed, his voice easily carrying over the wall and towards the keep. “Past commanders may have tolerated your sloppy ways, but I will not! I don't care if you fought in a battle all night! I wouldn't care if you fought in battle three nights in a row! You never know when the next attack will come, when the next enemy will spring out of the shadow!”
To illustrate the point, he sprang forward, grabbed a soldier by the throat, and shook him until he had turned blue in the face. Thinking that he had probably gotten his point across, he let go, and the soldier collapsed into a crumpled heap on the ground, coughing.
Raising his hands to point at four wide-eyed guards, he called, “You and you! Guard the inner gate. You and you, guard the outer gate. If anybody wishes to leave, tell them the castle is under lockdown till the surrounding land has been scoured and found to be clear of mercenaries!”
“Um…nobody could leave anyway,” a timid voice dared to venture. “I mean, since the portcullis is down and the rope is cut.”
“That's where you're wrong, you puny little codpiece,” Reuben grinned. “We can't have our defensive mechanisms damaged, can we? You there! Find me a good, stout rope! Any of you who know the mechanism of the portcullis, go start repair work! The rest of you…well, let's just say there's plenty of other work to be done. We have a mess to clean up!”
When somebody from the keep joined him half an hour or so later, Reuben was proudly surveying his troops while they scoured the outer courtyard with brooms and wet cloth. About half of the bloody mess was already gone.
