Page 43 of The Robber Knight
When shelooked at Dilli, the maid's features were similarly glowing withrelief and happiness. Of course! Everybody in the castle knew thatsound, had known it ever since they were little: thehorn[37]of Sir Isenbard.
“He has come!” Ayla cried. “Dilli, he hascome! My things, quickly! I have to get down there! We haven't gota moment to lose!”
“Sir Isenbard is here,” Dilli sighed, as shehelped her mistress into her clothing. “Now we are safe.”
So much for herbelieving I could handle things—the thought shot throughAyla's mind. But she immediately pushed it aside. There were moreimportant things at hand than battling her own silly insecurities.They needed to get that barricade up before the Margrave's troopsarrived. Plus, being busy would help get her thoughts offReuben.
She ran towards the door, hesitating thereand turning back. “Dilli?”
“Yes, Milady?”
“Go to the captain of the guards and tell himto post a man in front of the kitchen at night, will you?”
“The kitchen?” Dilli looked confused, butnodded. “As you wish, Milady.”
Ayla turned to the door again and rushed out.It couldn't have been Reuben last night. No, it couldn't havebeen—but better to be safe all the same.
*~*~**~*~*
Reuben lay in his room staring at theceiling, once again. The view hadn't improved much in comparisonwith yesterday. A spider had expanded its web in the upper leftcorner a bit, and the morning light threw different shadows on theuneven stone—other than that, he supposed it looked quite the same.Yet he didn't really notice or care. His thoughts were on somethingcompletely different. Or rathersomebody.
Slowly, he reached up and touched his cheek.His battle-hardened hand was almost as rough as the stubble on hisface. Her touch had felt completely different. Soft, and warm, andgentle, and tender...
Tender? Aye, fat chance! She was just a crazyminx; that was all.
Get a hold of yourself,Reuben, he told himself.What's thematter with you? She probably touched you for the same reason thatmade her ride around with a horseshoe and a leather puppet in hersaddlebags: because she's weird in the head!
Taking a bite of his black pudding, he triedin vain to think of something else. The girl was soinfuriating!
Come on,whispered a little voice in the back of his mind.We know that you're not really angry at her—you're angry atyourself, for what you did last night, or rather for what youdidn't do last night.
Reuben knew it was true, though he hated toadmit it. Last night, he should have killed the girl. He thoughtshe was coming to kill him, and he should have killed her first. Asit turned out, he had been wrong, but that didn't change the factthat he hadn't acted when he should have. In essence, he had riskedhis own life to preserve another's. He hadn't done something sostupid since... since... well, not for a very long time.
Her bewitching eyes had been the problem!Bewitching in the real sense of the word, sparkling like sapphires.And that wasn't just any old metaphor. He had stolen enoughsapphires to know how they sparkled. Through her eyes, he was sure,she had laid some kind of spell on him. She must have! She mustreally be a witch—there was no other explanation for hisfoolishness!
Angrily, he jumped to his feet and startedpacing up and down. Dammit! If he didn't need to recuperate, hewould already be on his way out of here. He should get as far awayfrom Ayla as possible. He was furious that he couldn't leave, andeven more furious that some part of him was glad he couldn't. Whyshould he want to stay here, where his life was in danger? It mustbe this castle. He hadn't been in a place like this since the olddays, a place that felt comfortable and welcoming.
It is allillusion, he reminded himself.Thisis not and can never be your home. If the people here knew who youare, they'd hang you from the gallows in the blink of aneye!
Voices from outside his room distracted him.Shouts—a girl's voice. No, not a girl.Thegirl. Ayla. She sounded excited, and Reubencouldn't detect what kind of excitement: the “I just got awonderful present”-kind or the “I knew I'd heard his voicesomewhere! Hang him!”-kind. Quickly, he grabbed a big, metal candleholder from the table and positioned himself behind the door. Ifshe had finally come to take his life, he wouldn't go down withouta fight. He would give them a battle to remember!
But the voices rushed past his room.
“He has come,” Reuben heard Ayla's voice fromoutside. “Burchard! Get your behind down here! He has come!”
With curiosity, and also a twinge ofannoyance he didn't quite understand, Reuben asked himself which“he” had managed to elicit the delight that was evident in hervoice. Whoever he was, he must be someone special, for her to bebubbling over with joy like that. Perhaps her betrothed?
Reuben realized that he could easily satisfyhis curiosity. His room afforded a beautiful view over most of thevalley and the only path up the woody mountainside towards thecastle. Before he knew it, he was standing at the window, peeringdown on an impressive sight.
A columnof soldiers was approaching the castle from the west: twenty orthirty men at least, marching with the disciplined ease of hardenedwarriors. At the head rode a tall knight in a surcoat[38]and chain mail, his banner fluttering in the wind behind him: agray wolf, just as gray as the massive stallion the man was riding.Reuben thought it a bit odd for guests to arrive at Ayla's castledressed in chain mail, but he had noticed the way the man heldhimself in his saddle. This was a man that was always ready forbattle.
As the rider approached, he pulled off hishelmet and put a horn to his lips. A deep tone echoed all aroundthe valley. Cheers broke out inside the castle, and the gate openedto welcome the visitors, yet Reuben didn't notice.
He didn't notice because, even at thatdistance, he could see that the man was old—very old indeed. Hisangular features were unmoving, his skin crinkly and tough like oldleather. He had to be at least sixty, maybe seventy years of age.And this was to be Ayla's husband? That could hardly be the case.Reuben knew, of course, that young girls were often married toelderly men. It was an established custom among the nobility.Nevertheless, he found the idea of Ayla having to marry such an oldman simply repugnant!
Surely, she would too? The visitor must besomebody else—perhaps a family member, a favorite uncle arrivingfor the planned festivities, to whichhehad still not been invited.
Then it occurred to him the preparations hehad seen might very well be for a wedding feast.
