by Robert Thier
Ayla didn't know why exactly, but she didn't just care for Reuben's wounds, she had also taken to discussing her problems with him. Perhaps it was the strangely insightful advice that he always seemed able to give about military matters, or maybe it was because he was one of the few people in the castle she didn't feel she had to prove something to. Or maybe it was the fact that he was insanely handsome and she wanted to spend every single minute of her time in his company.
She didn't know what it was, but she found herself telling him more and more about the enemy, their odds of survival, her hopes and fears.
And he listened. Listened kindly, while she unloaded all the terrible things that were weighing heavily on her heart.
*~*~**~*~*
“...six hundred men, maybe seven hundred. They outnumber us ten to one, Reuben. Even if Isenbard's continued absence from the battlefield doesn't make such a terrible difference as I thought it would, yes even if he wakes up, I don't know how we're going to survive this,” she told him, dejectedly.
“So you're in a pretty grim situation?” Reuben asked softly. He could see the fear in her eyes and wished there were something he could do. But there wasn't. Not yet.
Ayla sighed and nodded in answer to his question. Then, though the situation appeared to Reuben to be anything but humorous, a grin spread across her face and she giggled. “Well, unless Sir Reuben comes to my rescue.”
Reuben's eyes widened in shock.
*~*~**~*~*
Ayla saw Reuben blanch and his eyes widen, and couldn't help it. She laughed out loud. “Look at you! You look like you’re actually taking me seriously!”
“You... are not serious?”
“Please!” Ayla rolled her eyes. “The day I wait for you to rescue me will be the day the clouds drop from heaven!”
Then she explained about Fye, and the dolls, one of which she had named Sir Reuben, and her chat with the girl.
He tried to hide it, but Ayla could see it clearly: the self-satisfied smirk on Reuben's face.
“So she thought I looked like a knight in shining armor, did she?”
“Yes. Poor child. Her parents must really see to it that she gets some sense before she grows up.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Really? She must have had a reason to think I was a knight.”
“Yes, indeed. She thought you look strong and handsome.”
“And what do you think?”
*~*~**~*~*
The question was out of his mouth before Reuben knew, and then it was too late to recall the words.
Damn! Damn the fool that he was!
Reuben saw her beautiful blue eyes widen and cursed himself for the foolish question. What possessed him to make advances to this girl? Yes, she was damnably beautiful, even if she was a bit young. Yes, if you got past her craziness, she was even quite... nice. But he couldn't start something with her, no matter how much he might want to! It was against all his survival instincts. She had threatened to hang him, for heaven's sake! What was wrong with his head?
Reuben shuddered at the possibility of what would happen if they got closer and she found out about him. He didn't want to contemplate it. And even worse: What if he wouldn't even have that chance? What if she found him repellant? After all, her taste in men might be as crazy as the rest of her, plus, he wasn't exactly in mint condition right now.
Best to cut his losses and withdraw while he could, wasn't it?
No, no! He wanted this girl, wanted her badly. He wasn't giving up. However, he thought, suppressing a wry smile, that might not be up to him. She might be the exception to the female rule and not find him attractive. She had been the exception to the rule in pretty much everything so far. Why not now? It was a painful thought.
But then, Ayla cast her eyes down and her cheeks blossomed apple-red. Without looking at him, she muttered: “Well, maybe Fye wasn't totally mistaken.”
At her words, a triumphant grin spread over Reuben's face and a thrill shot through his veins. He knew it! He knew all along that no woman on earth could resist his charms! She was drawn to him. Maybe not as much as other women up and down the country had been, not by a long shot, but she wasn't immune to his allure.
“Wipe that self-satisfied grin off your face,” Ayla mumbled, peeking up at him with her big blue eyes from under her lashes in a way that made Reuben's heart pick up the pace.
Reuben's grin only broadened in response. “Why? What's wrong with my grin?”
“Nothing. It's beautiful. That's the problem.”
Reuben's heart hammered even faster. Damn it, what was wrong with him? He had heard compliments like this hundreds of times from all sorts of women. It wasn't anything special. He knew they were simply telling the truth, after all, he saw himself in the mirror often enough. But when Ayla said it, the words made him feel... warm.
Well, he still had a fever. That was probably it.
“Beautiful, hmm?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, it's not the only thing in this room to which that adjective could be applied.”
Carefully, still not sure how much of his strength he had recovered, he raised a hand and lightly stroked Ayla's golden hair. If his ears did not deceive him, she sucked in a quick breath as his fingers touched the glimmering strands. A sign of fear? It was reasonable, he supposed. She didn't know him all that well. Was she afraid to be alone with him now that he had indicated his intentions? Would she leave?
Anxious to make the most of the moment before she was gone, he moved his hand from her hair to her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm. Warm? He still had a fever. How could her cheeks be feeling warm in comparison?
A delicious blush was suffusing her face and heating her cheeks now, that was how. Another sign of fear? Would she leave?
But instead of leaving, she sighed, leaning into his touch and briefly closing her eyes. When she opened them again, they were slightly unfocused.
Unable to hold it up any longer, Reuben dropped his hand.
She looked down at him with a slightly fuzzy, confused look in her eyes. “Why did you do that?” she asked.
He couldn't resist grinning again. “Well, you've fondled me quite a lot over the last couple of days. I thought I'd reciprocate.”
“I didn't mean the touching,” she said, softly. “I meant the letting go.”
This time it was Reuben who sucked in a sharp breath. He was about to try to come up with a witty response, when suddenly her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, as for the first time his words seemed to register with her.
“What do you mean I have fondled you over the last couple of days? I was attending to your medical needs!”
*~*~**~*~*
The insolent bastar— the insolent buffoon had the gall to wink at her! Ayla had never seen something as disarming and lascivious as that wink. Her face turned from pink to burning red.
“Yes, you did. And you enjoyed every minute of it,” he gloated. “Admit it.”
“I did not!”
“Oh yes, you did.”
“Did not!”
“You did.”
“No!”
He shrugged. “Well, I did.”
Ayla gasped at his insolence. Gripping a wet cloth from the table, she was about to slap him with it when he raised his hand in an imploring gesture.
“Please! I surrender! I'm no match for your skills with the wet linen, my fierce lady!”
He looked so adorable, so handsome in that moment, peeking up at her through his fingers which were spread in defense in front of his face, that she couldn't help it. She began to giggle. No matter how angry she was supposed to be at him, she just couldn't be. Not at Reuben. Not when he looked at her like this, his trademark devil's grin gleaming through the gaps between his fingers. Not when he had called her “my fierce lady.” Mine. His.
“You... you're impossible!” She giggled, dropping the wet cloth to the floor and supporting herself on his bedstead so as not to keel over from laughing.
After a moment or two
, he joined in and they laughed together. His deep, booming laughter was a joy to hear.
It took quite a long time for them to calm down again. Ayla hadn't laughed in days, and it was a cathartic experience. It forced all the tension, anxiety, and fear of the last few days out of her system and gave her a few precious minutes of bliss. Eventually though, they calmed down, and Ayla, her brain starting to work again, slowly realized what he had said.
Well, I did.
He had been enjoying himself. He had enjoyed her touching him. Was it just the relief of having someone there who cared for him in his illness, or was there more? Please, she thought, please, Lord, let there be more.
Gathering all her courage, she met his predatory gray eyes and asked, in a barely audible voice: “What exactly did you mean? Just now, when you said...”
Her voice dwindled. Her courage had run out.
He looked directly back at her, as if he found her eyes just as enamoring as she found his. Impossible, surely...
“I mean,” he said, “that you can touch me any time you want.”
Again, Ayla moved almost without knowing what she was doing, and stretched out her hand. His cheek was so close. Oh, how much she wanted to stroke that stubbly cheek of his, run her fingers over the high cheekbones, cup his face in her hands. And why not?
He has asked me. He wants me to.
The thought was dream-like. Almost unbelievable. Her fingers were only a few inches away from his face...
And then, from across the river, they heard the sound of the horns of the enemy, summoning the mercenaries to attack.
Hypothetical Arrows
Once more, the enemy's horn sounded. Then there came the defenders' horn, echoing the other one, sounding the alarm. Ayla's hand, only inches away from Reuben's face, suddenly froze—as did her heart. Frantically, she looked over at Isenbard. But time had run out. The enemy was coming, and Isenbard lay just as motionless as he had yesterday or the day before. There was nobody to help her.
She felt a strong hand grip her own and looked down to see Reuben grasping her fingers. All his weariness seemed to have vanished, and there was a fire smoldering in his gray eyes. It made a shiver run down her back.
“Help me up,” he rasped.
“What? Reuben, have you totally lost your mind?”
“Help me up! I need to get down there!”
“I think you have that slightly confused. I need to get down there. You need to stay here.”
She tugged her hand from his and it went easily, his momentary strength vanishing as he broke into a sweat and tremors shook his body.
“Stay where you are,” she yelled, jumping up and running to the door. “Don't you dare follow me down there, Reuben, or I'll swear I'll put you into the stocks for a day!”
For some insane reason, that made him laugh. “Oh please!” he gasped. “Can't you think up a worse punishment? You're not at your best today.”
“I'll think of something if you don't stay here, I promise you!”
“I couldn't get down there anyway,” he spit out between clenched teeth, all humor suddenly disappearing from his face again. “I... don't have the strength.”
“Good!” She threw open the door. Just as she was about to hurry out, she heard her name called behind her.
“Ayla!”
One final time, she turned and looked at Reuben. The intensity of his gaze nearly took her breath away.
“Survive,” he whispered.
She nodded, mutely. Then she dashed down the corridor, down the stairs, and out into the courtyard as quickly as her long dress would allow. Thanking God she’d had the foresight to order a horse to be ready and waiting for her at all times, she swung herself onto the animal's back and spurred it on.
Arriving at the bridge only two minutes later on a totally exhausted horse, she was aghast to find only two guards atop the barricade. Two! She had ordered twenty to be there at all times, and when an actual attack came, even more were supposed to rush to the defense! And now there were only two, and these two weren't even looking in the right direction. They were staring off to the side, totally oblivious to whatever enemy was crossing the bridge.
Quickly sliding off her horse, she climbed the barricade and grabbed the arm of one of the soldiers. “What's the matter with you, man? The enemy is ther—”
The words stuck in her throat.
From atop the barricade, she could see what had previously been out of her field of vision. She could see the meadow across the river, she could see the forest beyond, and she could see the bridge. There were no mercenaries on it. Not a single one.
“What's the matter with you?” she asked the soldier, breathless. “What possessed you to sound the alarm? There's nobody here!”
Wordlessly, the man raised an arm, pointing in the direction he had been staring the whole time, off towards the left, to the river. Annoyed, Ayla turned her head. What could possibly be on the river that could be of any interest?
And then she saw them. The sight hit her in the stomach like a fist of iron.
Boats. Dozens of rough, small, wooden rowing boats. Some of them had the marks of axes and bits of bark still on them. All of them carried soldiers, moving determinedly across the river, using rough wooden paddles. They weren't going very fast, but the river wasn't very broad, either. They would be across soon. And there were many. Too many.
Behind them, clearly visible on a small hill overlooking the river, the red robber knight sat on his stallion and watched the proceedings calmly. The deadly aura radiating off him was almost palpable.
“Shoot them,” Ayla yelled, pointing to the soldiers on the river. Was it only her imagination or did her voice sound slightly higher than usual? “Shoot them all! Now!”
Before all the words were out of her mouth, she spotted Waldar on the bank of the river beside a company of archers, his arm raised. Suddenly, the fat man didn't seem quite so silly to Ayla anymore. He had already given the orders. Now, his arm came down, and the arrows took flight.
The soldiers in the boats, however, had apparently just waited for this. Quickly, they discarded their paddles in favor of wooden shields, holding them up over their heads as the hail of arrows came down upon them. The arrows stuck in the shields or even bounced off harmlessly. Laughter erupted from the boats, and Ayla's eyes widened in shock.
Nothing! Their counter-attack had had no effect whatsoever. Her eyes darted towards the red robber knight. He still sat on his horse which hadn't moved an inch. He didn't need to shout commands or run about. He was master of the battlefield. Slowly, he raised his arm in her direction and held up his hand in the most threatening greeting she had ever seen.
Near tears, Ayla wrung her hands in desperation. What was she supposed to do now? Was there another way of counter-attack? Anything else her soldiers could do?
As if in answer to her silent question, Sir Waldar turned and saw her standing on the barricade. For once, he was not laughing or making jokes. Fixing her with his eyes, he shook his head.
That was it. He didn't know how to repel the soldiers. And Ayla? She had no idea. There were at least a hundred of them in the boats. Once they were across, there would be no stopping them. They had already covered a quarter of the way. Regardless of how many arrows Ayla's men fired, they would only distract their enemies, not destroy them. Soon they would come ashore, and then it would be over.
Ha! Bitter self-disgust shot through Ayla. She had played at being a leader for these last couple of days, but that was all it had been—a play. When things got dirty and bloody, she had no clue what to do. How could she? No one had ever prepared her for something like this. She was no commander.
Unlike the red robber knight.
There was only one person who could help her now. Only one person who could possibly know what to do.
Suddenly decided, she slid down the ladder and ran to her horse. The poor animal could hardly stand, but she swung herself into the saddle regardless. If she didn't do this,
they would all suffer the consequences. She, her people, even the poor animal panting underneath her as she drove it on towards the castle.
For that matter, they might still suffer—if God in his mercy didn't work a miracle today for the man she needed.
Please let Isenbard be awake, she prayed. Please let him be awake!
*~*~**~*~*
By the time Ayla arrived at the keep, her horse was half dead. It tore at her heart to have to hurt a faithful animal so, but she couldn't spare any thoughts on it now.
Jumping from the horse, she raced up the stairs to the front door and didn't slow down inside, making her way up the inner stairs and down the corridor in record time.
Exhausted as she was, she almost fell against the door and into the room. Next to Isenbard's bedstead, she collapsed onto her knees and began to shake the old knight by the arm.
“Wake up!” she shouted. “Wake up, we need you! Please!”
Isenbard's head rolled from side to side from her shaking. Other than that, nothing happened. He didn't reply, didn't even open his eyes. His unnatural sleep was as deep as ever.
“On your feet, Sir Knight!” She tried to keep back the sobs that were threatening to break through, tried to make her voice sound commanding. “We need you now! Please, wake up at least. I don't know what to do...”
No response. Isenbard's lined features didn't twitch. It was as if she hadn't spoken.
“Please, Uncle, I beg you.” There was no holding back the sobs; they forced their way out into the open. This was the end. If Isenbard didn't wake now, he would never wake again. It would be endless darkness for him, for her, for everybody.
Again, she shook him, although she knew it was to no avail. He wouldn't wake. The enemy had as good as won.
“Ayla, what is the matter? He's sick! You can't wake him and you shouldn't even try, you told me so yourself.”
For a moment, Ayla didn't recognize the voice coming from behind her. Then a set of warm, muscular arms enfolded her and she remembered. Oh yes. Reuben. Reuben was here.
