Page 102 of The Robber Knight's Love
“Captain, I shall leave it to you toestablish a guard that patrols the bank of the river night and day.If the enemy should attempt another crossing, you know what to donow. With the Lord's help, we will destroy them!”
Her eyes fixed on the burning debris and thedead, she added, in a low voice: “Fire andsulphur rained from heaven and destroyed them all.”
The captain rose, a new determined lightshining in his eyes. He may not have been familiar with much of theBible in his mother tongue, but he was able to recognize the wordof the Lord when he heard it.
“As you command, Milady,” he said, his voicereverent. Then he raised his arm. “Three cheers for our LadyAyla!”
Ayla's mouth dropped open as a cheer went upfor her. And another. And another. Soldiers were cheeringher, as their leader. It was anoverwhelming feeling, one that she had never expected toexperience. And she hadn't missed the significance of what thecaptain had said: Not “yes, Milady” or “as you wish, Milady” but“as youcommand, Milady.” She was acommander now. And all these men had accepted that, placing theirlives in her hands. Even Sir Waldar was cheering along, though hischeering was interrupted by loud bursts of laughter. They believedin her ability to lead them through the coming battles.
Mary, mother ofGod!What was she going to do?
MisusedCandlesticks
Though her horse had collapsed on the ride down tothe bridge and had by no means recovered yet, Ayla had no problemgetting back to the castle: she was carried up there on theshoulders of a cheering crowd. It was sweet, and wonderful, and soterribly embarrassing! She longed to tell the people that it hadn'tbeen her idea, that somebody else deserved the credit for savingtheir lives, but she couldn't. If she told them that they owedtheir lives to the crazy ideas of a feverish merchant instead ofthe wisdom of their mistress, they would lose their morale, andvery rightly so. Ayla herself felt like losing her morale, and hermind and temper along with it.
What drove her nearly crazy was the question:How on earth had he known? How hadReuben, the merchant, managed to come up with a functioning battleplan revealing a knowledge of tactics and weaponry possiblysurpassing even that of Sir Isenbard? It was infuriating!
Yes, he had, of course, saved her life in away, but that was no reason why she couldn't be angry with him, wasit? She was going to get the truth out of him if it was the lastthing she did!
It took her quite a while to get away fromthe crowd and into the keep, mostly because people wouldn't stopbowing and cheering.
Finally, she managed to slip up the stairs ofthe keep and shut the doors behind her. With a sigh, she leanedagainst the old wood, closing her eyes in relief. Outside, peoplewere still chanting her name.
How could they cheer her for this? Forsomething that hadn't even been her idea? And worse still, forsomething that should not be cause for cheers? To kill themercenaries had been no glorious or great deed—it had beennecessary, but that was all. Behind her closed eyelids, she couldstill see the boats burning, hear the screams of the dying men.These were things she knew would haunt her unto her dying day.
And it hadn't even been her idea. It had beenhis.
After a brief respite, she opened her eyesagain and proceeded up the stairs. Reuben was going to tell hereverything!
*~*~**~*~*
When the cheering started, Reuben knew thatall was well. Not because of the cheering itself—all soldierscheered after a victory, whether friend or enemy. No, it wasbecause ofwhatthey were shouting.Whomthey were cheering.
“Lady Ayla! Long live Lady Ayla!”
“Huzzah! Huzzah!”
“Three cheers for the Lady of Luntberg!”
They were cheering Ayla. They were cheeringtheir victorious lady. Reuben felt his entire body relax. Sir Lucahad lost. She had triumphed over that bootless beetle-headedhaggard! Abruptly, he felt a swelling of pride in his chest. Hetried to suppress it. Why should he be proud of her? She hadnothing to do with him. She was just some girl.
No, she isn't. Not toyou, he thought, shaking his head.And you know that perfectly well.
Hewasproudof her. His beautiful girl had done the impossible and beaten anexperienced commander in battle. She had to be a witch, in a way,to accomplish that. She didn't just put him under her spell, buteverybody.
Yet the fact that she had won this timedidn't mean that he was ever going to let her do something asdangerous as this again. Oh no, as soon as he was back on his feetshe would stay nicely at home in her big castle with its solidwalls and he would take care of that puking malt-worm Sir Luca whohad dared to steal his armor. He would take care of every dangerfor her.
Carefully, Reuben flexed his muscles. Hewasn't strong enough yet, but he soon would be. All of his rage anddetermination—and he had plenty of both—were focused on burning theillness out of his body. Even if at the moment he still had to liehere, that didn't mean he had to stay idle. He could practice. Itwould do him good, take his mind off things.
He gripped a cloth that was lying on thefloor beside him. With a flick of his hand, he whipped it around soit caught on a candlestick standing on the only table in the room.The candlestick was catapulted off the table, rotating through theair. Reuben's arm shot up with almost all its usual dexterity andcaught it. Ah, excellent! Some strength seemed to be returning tohis arms, at least, if not yet his legs.
Placing his left hand at his hip, he held thecandlestick out from him as if it were a sword and turned it fromside to side. It was a poor replacement for a real blade, ofcourse, but it would have to do, for now. Creating an imaginaryenemy in front of him, Reuben let his arm dart upwards. It movedwith a fluid grace belying his still less than perfect state ofhealth. His airy enemy blocked the strike, and Reuben moved to theside to duck and deliver a pommel strike to the man's chin. Then,in a swift left-to-right move, he cut right through the middle. Hadhis enemy been real, he would just have suffered a fatal blow tothe gut.
In his mind's eye, the appearance of hisenemy was indistinct. Reuben didn't know yet what this Sir Lucalooked like. He would have to ask. You needed to know things likethat if you wanted to kill somebody.
Or perhaps he would just go after the redarmor.Hisred armor. The fiend hadit now—but he wouldn't have it for long. Reuben repeated his attackon the air, his teeth clenched and his moves increasingly ferociousas he imagined cutting Luca into a thousand pieces.
He was just in the middle of a particularlycomplicated move when, suddenly, the door swung open.
