Page 18 of The Robber Knight's Love
“And you say no man could have inflictedthose wounds?”
Burchard snorted. “Well, he could have. If hewas half-crazy and didn't mind that his arm would be burning withpain like the very pits of hell after the second stroke. How can Iexplain it...? It would be like hitting a stone wall with your barehand. You could do it again, and again, and again—if you didn'tmind beating your own hand into a bloody pulp in the process.”
Ayla gulped.
“So yousee, anybody who did this,” Burchard said, jamming his thumb overhis shoulder, “would have to have been as wild with bloodlust asone of the Berserkers[25]of the Norsemen—more unholybeast than man. And yet, the blows were not wild and random, asmany blows struck in the rage of battle, but placed as preciselyand coldly as the strokes of a butcher's knife dismembering acarcass that was already dead and helpless before him. So no, LadyAyla. Whoever did this—I would not want them as an ally.”
The Lady of Luntberg Castle nodded slowly. “Iunderstand. I'm glad that he at least,” she pointed to the youngman on the stretcher, “escaped the worst.”
“Aye,” Burchard said with another frown. “I'dlike to know why both sides spared him, though.”
“Spared him? He has three arrows in hisback!”
“He's still breathing, isn't he?”
Ayla threw him a look. “You have an oddconception of mercy. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“I'll do that.”
“And now go and check on the guards that arescouting.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn't exactly impressed withtheir performance earlier. And because I'm the Lady of the castleand you have to do what I say.”
Burchard's suspicious gaze wandered betweenher and the young man on the stretcher. “I don't know. I don't likeleaving you alone with that fellow. We know nothing about him,after all.”
Ayla rolled her eyes. “We know that he's inpretty bad shape. My virtue is in no immediate danger. Now go,before I have to start yelling at you.”
“Yes, Milady!”
Ayla waited till Burchard was out of sight,then moved slightly closer to the young man on the stretcher andallowed herself a long look at his face. Just checking, she toldherself, just checking if he was worse. That was all. Carefully,she reached out and brushed a lock of his midnight-black hair outof his face. The scar on his forehead shone prominently, glintingwith sweat. He looked so innocent and vulnerable, lying there. Aylawondered what his name was. She also wondered what color his eyeswere. They were surely beautiful.
And then, suddenly, as if her wish had beenheard, his eyelids fluttered open and a pair of intense gray eyesstared up at her. She held her breath. She couldn't have imaginedthat he could exude even more attraction—but that was before shehad seen his eyes. They were brilliant, fiery, and of a gray asstrong as the storm-clouds of an approaching autumn gale.
The young man raised his head a bit and hislips moved. Ayla realized that he was trying to speak. Eager tohear what he wanted to say to her, she bent closer.
The voice coming out of the young man's mouthwas raspy. In a barely audible whisper, he said: “Oh God! Not youagain!”
Then his eyes closed, and his head slumpedback onto the stretcher.
*~*~**~*~*
The man in Italian armor was standing in histent, holding up a map of Luntberg, when one of his subordinateshurried in and fell to one knee.
“Rise,” the man said, lazily.
The soldier did as commanded.
“I suppose you've come to tell me that thepatrol is back?”
The soldier swallowed. “Not... as such,Sir.”
“Really?”
The man looked up from his map for the firsttime, a thin black eyebrow raised. “What then?”
“Only Conrad and a few others have returned,Sir.”
