“No. Reuben did.”
“Oh?” There was real surprise in the count's voice. “How did he manage that?”
“He climbed out of the window, down the wall, and jumped on the man who was holding me.”
“Hmm…” Now, the Count's voice sounded thoughtful. Reuben couldn't keep a self-satisfied grin from spreading over his face—nor did he want to. Grudgingly, Ayla's father admitted, “Sounds like a resourceful fellow, this Reuben.”
“He is.”
“You seem to be quite fond of him,” the old man's voice stated cautiously.
Reuben could almost feel the warmth of Ayla's blush through the door.
“He…he is a valiant knight. We owe our lives to him.”
“Is that so? Well, we'll see. Go on.”
By the time Ayla’s story had reached the Battle of the Killing Fields and Reuben's plan that exterminated the enemy army, “resourceful” wasn't the word which Count Thomas used to describe him anymore. In fact, the count seemed to be lost for words altogether.
“Father?” Ayla asked cautiously after a few minutes of stunned silence. “Are you all right?”
There were a few more moments of quiet, then the count asked, “The entire army is really destroyed? Five hundred men?”
“Six hundred or more, if you count the men we killed in previous skirmishes.”
“Ah. I see.”
Again, the count lapsed into silence.
“Ayla?”
“Yes, Father?” Reuben could hear the anxiety in her voice. She had obviously not expected him to react like this. His strange calm and silence unsettled her. Probably she thought he was displeased for some reason, and clueless as to what would happen next.
To be honest, Reuben didn't have an idea, either.
“Why…”
“Why what, Father?”
“Why don't you bring this fellow Reuben in? I would like to meet him.”
*~*~**~*~*
Flushed with happiness, Ayla ran to the door and flung it open. Reuben was leaning against the wall at the opposite end of the room, his arms crossed, whistling to himself innocently. Ayla was a bit too excited to notice that one of his ears was slightly reddened, as if it had been pressed against a hard surface.
“Reuben!” She beamed at him, to show him everything was all right. He had to have been terribly nervous, waiting out here alone, with no clue what was going on. “Come on in. My father wants to meet you!”
“Does he?” A simile of delighted surprise appeared on his face. “Really?”
“Yes!” Her smile widened at his obvious relief. “Come!”
“I will, and be honored to do so.”
Touching her hand in passing, he went into the room. Ayla followed him, pride and anxiety twisting inside her. On the one hand, she was fiercely proud of Reuben: proud of what he had achieved, of how handsome he was, and that he had chosen to give his love to her alone. On the other, her father's heart worried her. From all the years of lying down because his bones were unable to support him anymore, it had grown weak and frail. A shock might very well kill him, and he had already had his share of shocks today.
Now he would get another. He would see Reuben entering the room.
Ayla remembered well her own reaction when she had first saw him: six foot seven of pure muscle, topped by a ruggedly handsome face with dark gray eyes so intense they could burn a hole into your soul. If she’d had a bad heart, she would have died the first time he looked deeply into her eyes.
Her father seemed to share her feelings. When he first caught sight of the huge figure in red steel that seemed to fill out half the tower chamber, his eyes widened in shock. Then they traveled to the sword at his belt which matched its master’s proportions. A bit of color drained from his wrinkled old face of the count, but apart from that, he bore it well.
His face was the image of noble courtliness when he finally gave a slow bow of his head to Reuben.
“Welcome, Sir Knight. Welcome. I realize you have already been here for quite some time, but since I have not been able to say it before, I shall say it now. Welcome to my castle. I am honored to have you as a guest in my halls, Sir Reuben von…?”
He let the sentence trail off, leaving a question at the end.
Ayla frowned. In all the time she had spent worrying about Reuben's dark past, she had never once thought to contemplate which part of the Empire he might be from and what his noble titles were. This was something she would have to rectify.
Reuben gave a rueful smile to the count and bowed, so deeply, elegantly, and with perfect courtly precision that Ayla's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He actually had manners stowed away somewhere in a dark recesses of his soul?
“I am overjoyed to make your acquaintance, Count Thomas. I regret to say that I have no homeland or hereditary title, having been deprived of both by the cruel fortune of war.” His face took on such a convincing expression of sadness that Ayla almost believed it to be genuine. Almost. “I am sure, with your recent experiences, you can understand that I do not wish to think too much of that time in my life.”
“Of course, of course,” the count agreed, sympathy entering his gentle eyes. A smile lifted the corners of his lips. Ayla watched in amazement as Reuben won approval in her father's eyes with a few well-chosen words that painted him as a fellow sufferer. They were probably all lies, of course, but impressively delivered.
Her father reached out and seized Reuben's hand. “I did not want to speak to you to question you, Sir Reuben, but to thank you.”
For a moment, he was silent, holding Reuben's eyes and hand. Then the old man continued gravely, “I owe you my life, my daughter's life, everyone over whom I reign, and everything I possess. Such a debt can never be repaid. If there is anything that is in my power to give you, name it, and you shall have it.”
Ayla saw Reuben pursing his lips thoughtfully. She was surprised, to say the least. Was there something he wanted that the count could give him? She hadn't thought there was anything particular he desired. But then, he was Reuben. He might just say something like, “Oh, if you would give me all your gold and silver, that would be appreciated. And if you don’t, I’ll cut your throat, you nasty old fart!”
However, that was not what he seemed to have in mind. His eyes traveled until they landed on her, where they stayed for a very long moment. Then he lowered his gaze from her face, and she could feel it on her hand.
Her hand? What would he want with her hand?
Ayla's breath caught as she realized the truth.
“Well,” Reuben said thoughtfully, “there might be something, actually.”
“And that would be?” the old man asked eagerly. He didn't seem to have noticed the direction of Reuben's gaze. “Name it. It shall be yours. What is it?”
Ayla had a good idea of what “it” might be. She felt hot and cold at the same time, excited and afraid, ecstatic and vulnerable. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. But of all those, the foremost was Ohgodohgodohgod! If he asks him, he's going to have a heart attack! I know it! He's going to have a heart attack.
Frantically, she gestured to Reuben to stop. He cocked his head, innocently raising an eyebrow, as if asking “What do you mean? I'm just asking for my well-earned reward for services rendered. You’re lucky I’m not asking for all his gold and silver, and the castle into the bargain.”
The scowl she gave him in reply could have scared off a dragon. Reuben shrugged his shoulders and, with a last smirk at her, turned back to her father.
“Well…maybe another time,” he said. “When you're well rested and your nerves are strong.”
The count blinked in surprise. Then he nodded and raised a hand. “All right. But you have my word that I shall reward you. Remember. Anything that is mine to give is yours to have.”
Reuben nodded. “I shall remember, Count. You have my word. It will definitely come in useful in the future.” He managed to give another graceful bow before Ayla forcefully dr
agged him out of the room.
“Ayla! What are you doing?” her father called after her, startled. “I should have liked to hear more of the worthy Sir Reuben's brave deeds.”
“There will be plenty of time for that later!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Right now, I need to have a word with the worthy Sir Reuben. And Father?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful what you promise him in future. He might just take you at your word!”
To Rob the Maiden
Reuben’s long legs carried him quickly down the stairs, and soon, he was around the bend of the stairs and out of Ayla’s sight.
“Reuben! Stop!”
She heard low, diabolical laughter drift up the stairs towards her and hastened her steps. He was waiting for her in the room at the bottom of the tower. Ayla had a well-thought-out speech prepared by the time she reached it—a speech that detailed exactly what she thought of Reuben for almost giving her father a heart attack. The speech was of impressive length, impeccable logic, and made use of several rhetoric devices.
The problem was that, when she stepped out into the room, he was standing there with that smile on his face, the smile that made her heart thud and her knees go weak. The speech just flew out of her left ear and fluttered out through the window, seeking the company of millions of other lost ideas among the stars.
What had she been about to say?
Ah. Yes.
Raising an admonishing finger, Ayla advanced on Reuben but stopped several paces away from him. She couldn't go near him. Not while he had that smile on his face. She didn't know exactly what she would do if she got close enough for him to touch her, but she definitely wouldn’t do what she needed to do right now: yell at him!
“You…” she said, shaking her finger at him from a safe distance. “You…”
“I what?” he asked, his grin widening a fraction.
“You were going to…”
“Going to do what, Milady?”
“Don't try to deny it!”
“Deny what exactly?” His voice was shaking now just a little. But not in fear of her threatening finger. He was laughing at her!
“You know what I'm talking about!”
He pursed his lips, as though in deep contemplation. “Just assume for the moment that I am very, very slow-witted.”
“You! You and my father! You wanted to ask him…to ask him to…”
To ask him for my hand.
But she couldn’t get the words out.
“You were going to ask him for you-know-what!” she finally spat out.
Suddenly, there was concern on Reuben's face. Ayla could almost have believed it to be genuine. “Do you think the request I had in mind was excessive?”
“I…I don't…I'm not…” She couldn't get out two words strung together. It was infuriating!
“Of course, I realize it might have been a bit much to ask,” Reuben mused, nodding. “I see that, now that you mentioned it.”
“I didn't mean…”
“After all, they are quite expensive to make. I'm not sure I should be asking something so costly.”
“I didn't…” Ayla stopped herself, as she realized what he had said. “What? Expensive to make? What are you talking about?”
“Gloves.” Reuben's eyes glittered with mischief. “You see, my gauntlets became rusty from the rain, and they have been damaged in the fighting anyway. And when your father offered to fulfill the deepest wish of my heart, I was looking at your hand and remembered. I thought that maybe he would pay for a new pair of gloves. After all, he said that I could name anything that was in his power to give.”
“Reuben…”
“But as I said, now that you have mentioned it, I see that I was excessive. Greedy, even. I should have thought of something more moderate. A nice handkerchief, maybe. Or a bottle of wine.”
“Reuben…”
She began to advance slowly on him. He just stood there, his grin widening even farther.
“Yes, Milady?”
“Wait until I get my hands on you!”
“I look forward to it very much. Which parts of me were you thinking of getting your hands on, specifically?”
“Reuben!”
“If you don't have any preferences, I have a few suggestions.”
She changed her course and, instead of attacking him, went right for the door and slammed it shut.
“Are you mad?” she whispered, leaning against the door. “Be quiet! Supposing somebody heard that!”
“Yes, you're right.”
He nodded and started towards her. “For what I have in mind, we definitely need privacy.”
“That's not what I meant!”
“Really?” He stopped only a short distance away from her.
“You know,” he said in a voice that oozed liquid seduction, “it occurred to me that, if I'm not going to ask a reward from your father, I might simply take one from you.”
“Me?”
Ayla dearly wished her voice wouldn't sound so small. But she simply couldn't find the right tone of voice while he was looking at her like that.
“Oh yes, you.”
He took another step forward. Now, only inches separated them. “After all, you are in charge here, so why not come to you? For one, I warned you the other day, on the wall, that I would get back at you for making me help you carry clumsy, wounded oafs and mix stinking salves. For another, I'm still owed my compensation.”
“You were never owed a compensation!” Ayla said, her voice marginally stronger. “Your story about being a merchant who was robbed in the forest was all lies, remember?”
“Oh yes, so it was, now that you mention it. But,” he added with a deliciously threatening smirk, “I might just decide to take my compensation anyway.”
I have to get away, Ayla thought desperately. If I don't get away right now, something is going to happen. And God forgive me, I might even want it to!
“What form of compensation were you thinking of?” she asked, her voice sounding breathless in her own ears.
Reuben leaned forward even more, until his lips brushed her ear.
“I think you know,” he whispered.
Ayla opened her mouth to reply that she had no idea…or maybe to do something very different with her lips than replying. But a knock from behind her stopped her. Knock? Who would knock against a wall? But…that wasn't the wall she was leaning against. She was leaning against a door, which meant…
“Somebody's outside!”
Quickly, she pushed Reuben away, straightened her dress, and tried her best to calm her breathing.
Nothing happened, she told herself. Nothing was going to happen. He was just talking nonsense as usual.
Really? Was he?
“Y-yes?” she called.
A servant entered, a steaming bowl in his hand. “Begging your pardon, Milady, I did not know you were here. I’m bringing Milord his supper.”
“Oh, you are, are you?” Reuben asked, eying the small servant with displeasure. The man shrank back. “Well, I'm going to remember your face. Be careful about when you bring supper next time.”
“Don't mind him,” Ayla told the servant who looked about ready to drop the bowl and run. “Just go up. I'm sure my father is waiting for the meal.”
Then she fled from the room without looking at Reuben.
*~*~**~*~*
Over the next few days, Ayla did her best to prevent a recurrence of what had happened—well, nearly happened—in the chamber beneath her father's tower. Not that she avoided Reuben, no. She simply made sure that, whenever they met, there were other people in the room with them.
He seemed to find this highly amusing. One day, when he was passing by her, he whispered in her ear, “You know I'll catch you sooner or later.”
The words sent a delicious shiver down her back.
What had happened in that room—indeed everything that had happened with Reuben since they met—had thrown Ayla into an agonizing, exciting w
orld of unexplored possibilities. In her younger days, as sole heir to her father, she had always expected to be married off to some noble one day, like so many other noble daughters. But then her mother died, and her father's sickness had struck, and arranging a marriage had been the last thing on his mind. Besides, he loved her dearly and didn't seem overly anxious to part with her. Still, she had expected to make a marriage of convenience some day. All the things to do with the desires of the body, the things the priests preached so vigorously against, were, of course, to come after marriage, as every virtuous man and woman knew.
And then Reuben had arrived, the living antithesis of virtue in a wild, hard package. The way he looked at her had flooded her with heat from the beginning, and now she slowly began to realize that, when he looked at her, he was imagining things far beyond what she could dream of. Things that were exciting, pleasurable, and probably very sinful.
Well, if he made any improper advances on her, she would just have to tell him no. She was an honorable young maiden, with her own code of morals, and could make her own decisions.
Like you made your own decision in the tower the other day? A small, mocking voice in the back of her head asked. If the servant hadn’t knocked…
She ignored it.
Fortunately, Ayla had plenty to keep her busy and keep her mind off Reuben. Work on the first village houses progressed quickly. One day, Bardo visited Ayla, and a few hours later, several carts with what Ayla preferred to think of as “building material” left the castle, heading towards the village. Ayla personally oversaw the departure, although she made sure to stand upwind from the carts.
She went to visit Fye when the girl wasn't busy whacking things with sticks and made a mental note about giving her mother an extra food ration. The poor thing looked rather worn. She also went to visit Isenbard's grave regularly, both to pray for the soul of her Uncle Ironbeard and to ask for advice. Answers seemed to come to her more easily there. Sometimes she cried, but they were not bad tears. Isenbard had died the way he wanted to, and that soothed her pain at his passing.
Not infrequently, she also ventured into the part of the orchard far behind the grave, where there she found another kind of peace, with all signs of human beings, dead or alive, out of sight. More and more apples were hanging from the trees now. It was late in the year, and she enjoyed to be outside as long as she could.