by Robert Thier
THE ROBBER KNIGHT'S LOVE
Special Edition
By
Robert Thier
Copyright © 2016 Robert Thier
All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Revelation of Wrath
Two Hating Hearts?
Memorable Robbing
Improper Ideas
Miniature Betrayal
What Rats Cannot Climb
Down, Down, and Away
Surrounded
Surprise, Surprise
Commanding Confusion
To Shoot or not to Shoot
Rewards of Bravery
Horseplay and Evil Plans
Wakeup Whisper
Ladynapping
Standoff and Climbhigh
Blood on the Cobblestones
Swordplay
Firehand
Reunion
The Question of How
The Rathole
Sir Reuben the Coward
Coming Out
The Duel
Visions of the Past
Flying Death
Headless Flight
A Nice Fork in the Ass
Racket
The Deadly Fear of Cooking Pots
Sleepless Nights
Sleepfighters
Silent Oath
Secret in the Dark
The Last Honor
Sweet and Bitter
Terrible Truth
Milk-Concealing Kitten
The Duties of a Lady
Unguarded Guard
The Two Sides of a Traitor
Sworn Bond
Justice
Love and Disemboweling
Behind Closed Doors
The Mercy of Impending Slaughter
On the Wall
Thunder and Lightning
Down in the Dungeon
The Cage Closes
One Army, Deep-fried, please
The Killing Fields
Red Beast
Sudden Bravery
Swords, Lies, and Shadows
The Most Fearsome of Foes
Aftermath
Inflamed Buttocks and Fiery Threats
Newfound Discipline
To Ride Over Ashes and Meadows
Burned
The Enemy's Postmortem Gift
Shocking Parts of Goats
Helpful Horse Romance
Under Attack
Embarrassing House-Building
Meeting of Knights
To Rob the Maiden
Iron Tidings
THE FALL OF SIR REUBEN, PART TWO
Old Bottoms and Fresh Faces
The Robber Knight
Love
Angel’s Fall
Dedication
About the Author
Other Books by Robert Thier
Upcoming Titles
Endnotes
Revelation of Wrath
Anno Domini 1234
Reuben heard the light footsteps of a girl hurrying up the castle stairs and breathed a sigh of relief. He would recognize that patter of slender feet among a thousand others, and never had he been so glad to hear it.
Ayla! She was alive!
He threw a glance out of the window of his tower bedchamber. Outside the castle of Luntberg, the valley was swarming with mercenaries. Their torches glinted evilly in the night, their triumphant cries carried up all the way to the castle. They had won a victory, all right. But Ayla had brought her people to safety. The Margrave's men hadn't gotten to her, and she was safe.
And she was hurrying back to him. Surely a good sign, considering he had told her that he loved her less than an hour ago.
He heard her run along the corridor and almost involuntarily started towards the door himself, past the old knight, Sir Isenbard, who still hadn't woken from his unnatural sleep. Outside, she appeared to pause before the door for a moment—then thrust it open.
There she stood: a slim, white figure, golden hair tumbling down to her waist, eyes blazing like sapphires, even in the dim light of the lonely oil lamp that illuminated the room. She was just as lovely as ever. Reuben felt his heart swell with his love for her—and she apparently felt exactly the same. For the moment, she caught sight of him, her cheeks flushed the most adorable shade of red, and she rushed towards him, raising her arm as if to embrace him.
Reuben smiled. There was nothing that he wanted more than to feel her arms around him.
“Ayla,” he said. “Oh, Ayla, I'm so glad you're…”
It was only then he noticed that her arm was aimed slightly too high for an embrace. It was also moving a bit too forcefully for such a tender purpose. In fact, if he hadn't known better, he would have said she was aiming for his face.
SMACK!
Reuben blinked down at her in surprise, while his hands went up to his cheek where she had hit him with all the force her slender arm could muster. Curious. Was this how all women reacted to a declaration of love?
The courtly love ballads he had heard the minstrels sing at the court of the Emperor had never mentioned anything about slaps on the face. Kisses and tender caresses, yes, but slaps on the face? Definitely not.
Well, he had been alone on the road for years, during which time the established customs of romance might have changed.
Ayla glared up at Reuben in a none too romantic manner and hissed, “Where's Eleanor?!”
Reuben frowned. Besides omitting the slaps, the love ballads had also never mentioned nonsensical babbling, either. Eleanor?
“Who is Eleanor?” Reuben asked, bewildered. “I don't know any Eleanor.”
“Really? Well, I suppose you weren't properly introduced. Eleanor is the name of my mare. The horse you stole from me a couple of weeks ago, when you robbed me and abandoned me in the forest!”
Ice flooded through Reuben's chest. No. No, no, no…
The customs of romance hadn't been turned upside down since he had last checked, nor had Ayla suddenly gone insane. The truth was far worse.
She had discovered his secret.
*~*~**~*~*
Ayla could see comprehension and truth flicker in his eyes for one single moment. He concealed it well, but she had been looking for it, hoping against hope she wouldn't see it, hoping against hope her suspicions would prove false.
They had not.
“How could I have been so stupid?” she whispered, staring up into Reuben's ruggedly handsome, hard face, into his stormy gray eyes.
She remembered it well, that day—riding through the forest in a desperate attempt to save a family from marauding mercenaries, and on the way back, being waylaid by a devil of a robber knight in blood-red armor.
This robber knight.
The man she had fallen in lov—No! She mustn't finish that thought! She mustn't, or she would break.
“Tell me,” she said. Or was it really her talking? It sounded like the voice was coming from very, very far away. “Tell me what happened to Eleanor.”
Reuben's gray eyes were fixed on her. They were cold, devoid of any emotion. Certainly devoid of the love she had dared hope to see in them whenever they had lately turned towards her.
“After I relieved you of your horse and other possessions,” he said in a harsh voice, “I ran into a company of Falkenstein's mercenaries. They had order
s to take anybody they met prisoner.”
“So why didn't they take you?”
“Because,” he said, his eyes flaring, “I killed them to a man. Well, except that bastard who ran and shot me in the back.”
“Three arrows,” Ayla heard herself whisper.
He nodded. “That is how you found me, and how I came to the pleasure of being your guest.”
“Why didn't you have your armor, though?” How she wished he had had his blood-red armor. Then, she would have recognized him for what he was: an enemy. Then, she would have known what to do.
“That fly-bitten scut[1] who shot me took it.” Reuben's jaw flexed, and he cracked his knuckles menacingly. “He'll get what's coming to him. He doesn't know it yet, but he'll get what's coming to him. You don't steal from Sir Reuben Rachwild and live.”
Ayla shivered. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she asked herself how she could have ever swallowed his tale of being a merchant set upon by robbers after she had found him in the forest. Just now, as he stood towering over her, his fists clenched, his strong, muscled body tense and coiled to spring, he looked nothing like a merchant. He looked like the most deadly killing machine imaginable.
But fear couldn't long preoccupy her. Anger was taking up far too much space in her mind right now.
“You lied to me,” she hissed.
“Yes.” Reuben's face was still as cold as steel. “Quite a wise policy, in my opinion. I didn't think you would be over-enthused to take in and heal a man who had just robbed you of all your possessions.”
“You stole from me.”
“Indeed I did. I think I already mentioned that. And?”
Ayla felt her temper rising even higher. How could he be so cold, so distant? Deep inside she knew how and why: he had never really cared for her. It had all been a pretense to save his neck.
“You haven't answered my question!”
“Which one, Milady? You seem to be rather curious this fine evening.”
“Where. Is. Eleanor?” Ayla had to fight to keep her voice steady. Her beloved mare. Her only childhood friend. What had he done with her?
Reuben shrugged. “How should I know? I didn't particularly pay attention to what happened after I got shot. Being unconscious can be quite distracting, you know. I suppose the surviving mercenaries took the horse, along with everything else of value they could find.”
His words hit Ayla like a blow in the stomach. Falkenstein! Falkeinstein's mercenaries! Her archenemy held Eleanor in captivity. She could feel her eyes growing moist, but she willed herself not to cry. Not now. Not in front of him!
“You… you…” she stammered, simmering with rage.
“Yes?” Reuben raised an eyebrow. “Are you looking for some insults to throw at me? Search well, I beg you, Milady. You will have to be quite original to come up with something I haven't heard before. I have a large and varied vocabulary.”
“You…blaggard! You pock-marked villain!”
“Oh, surely you can do better than that. I've never had the pox.”
“You wayward pignut!”
“Oh, please…”
Ayla couldn't take it anymore. She slapped him once again, then turned and ran to the door, endeavoring to conceal her angry tears.
At the door, she turned once again and raised her hand, pointing at Reuben, who stood leisurely in the middle of the room, a lascivious smirk on his face.
“You…you…I never want to see you again in this world or the next, you miserable worm!”
Then she rushed out, slamming the door behind her with an almighty crash!
On the bed, Sir Isenbard's eyes jerked open. “What is happening?” he demanded in a sore voice. “Are we being bombarded?”
Two Hating Hearts?
Reuben managed to keep the smirk on his face for about two seconds after she had left. Then it disappeared, and he staggered back.
She knew. She finally knew.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Reuben was aware of the fact that he should feel pain. Yes, he definitely should. He was in love with this girl, after all, wasn't he?
He decided that he probably would feel pain—but later. Not now.
Instead, all he felt now was…efficiency. He was in enemy territory again. And he had lived too long as an outlaw under the Emperor's rule not to know that outlaws and robbers who didn't watch their backs died quick and painful deaths.
“Are we being bombarded?” the old knight on the bed demanded to know again. But Reuben hardly heard him.
With two long strides, he was at the door. Ayla hadn't locked it behind her. That could be a good sign. Maybe she still didn't think of him as an enemy and a prisoner.
Or maybe she has left it open for her guards to fetch you, said a nasty little voice in the back of his mind. That voice had often kept Reuben alive before. Now, he didn't like the sound of it very much.
You should have killed her on the spot, the voice told him. You would have, in earlier days, before you became so soppy. Maybe she hasn't told anyone about your little secret yet. You could have escaped without anybody being suspicious.
Didn't like it? No, he hated that voice right now. Anyway, what it said wasn't quite true. He might be able to escape the castle. But there was that small matter of an enemy army building siege fortifications all around its walls.
Reuben chuckled darkly to himself. He was in quite a unique situation. Knights like him had to deal with castle sieges often enough. But most of the time, the enemy was either inside and you had to get in, or he was outside and you had to get rid of him. It wasn't often the case that the enemy was both inside and outside and you didn't know where best to go so as not to lose your precious head.
Carefully, he pulled the door ajar and peered out into the corridor. There were three guards posted at its end. Were they just the normal number of guards posted throughout the castle, or were they placed there for the express purpose of guarding him?
“What in God's name are you doing?” the old knight demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I'm not in the habit of doing anything in the name of God,” Reuben replied, absent-mindedly.
From what he knew of Ayla, the latter was probable. She wouldn't let any residual feelings she still had for him interfere with her duty to safeguard her people.
With a bitter smile on his face, Reuben drew back and closed the door.
Residual feelings? Whom was he trying to fool? Now that she knew the truth, she probably had more feelings for the ugliest bedbug in the castle than for him. Her words had made that pretty evident.
“Are we being bombarded?” the old knight persisted, glaring at Reuben.
“No,” snapped he. “We're not.”
“Then what was that noise? That slamming noise?”
The image flashed in front of Reuben's inner eye: Ayla slamming the door shut in his face. Forever?
“The sound of my death sentence, maybe,” he growled.
“I have not the pleasure of understanding you, Sir.”
“Then don't! What do I care?”
Sir Isenbard's mouth dropped slightly open at that. He closed it quickly, collected himself again, and continued: “And what were you doing just now, peering out of the door like that?”
“That's none of your fobbing business!”
The eyes of the old knight narrowed indignantly. “You are very rude, Sir.”
“Yes, I am. Get used to it.”
His fists clenched, Reuben turned away from the door. Her words, oh, her final words, just before the door slammed shut…
I never want to see you again in this world or the next, you miserable worm!
You couldn't be much clearer than that, now, could you?
She had to really hate him to have said that.
*~*~**~*~*
Why did I say that? was the question that kept beating on the door of Ayla's mind like a battering ram. Why did I say that when there's nothing I want as much as to be in his arms right now and to hear him
tell me that he loves me?
Well, that wasn't quite correct. There was one thing she wanted more: having him put in the stocks[2] and pelted with rotten cabbage for what he had done to her and Eleanor. This was so confusing. She loved him, didn't she? Or did she hate him? Maybe both? Or neither?
Tears ran down Ayla's cheeks in rivulets as she ran through the nocturnal castle. No one noticed her distress—they all had to deal with far too much of their own. The castle was swarming with refugees from the village, carrying small packs with their few personal belongings on their shoulders, leading children behind them, or just holding each other, trying not to think of what the merciless mercenaries out there in the night were doing with their homes at this very moment.
Ayla leaned against a wall and took a deep breath. After a few more sobs, she shook herself, bit her lip, and managed to steady her breathing.
What was she doing? Hundreds of people were all around her. Her people. People who had lost far more than a horse in the course of the last few days. They had lost their homes, their hearths, their fields and trees that were their only means of survival.
Were they also to lose hope?
No, she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't show weakness in front of them. She was Ayla von Luntberg, and she had a duty to fulfill.
Even if the pain was enough to bring her to her knees. She clenched her hands into fists and her breath quickened again as she remembered how heartless he had been. She had hardly been able to believe that this man who stood in front of her like a terrible enemy was the same Reuben who, only a few hours ago, had pledged his love to her.
Lies. All lies.
A bit too convincing for lies, wasn't it? a small voice in the back of her mind said.
No. It had to be lies. He had lied to her all the time. He had stolen from her. He was her enemy. He should be taken to the gallows and—
She stopped her thoughts right there.
No.
She didn't have time to deal with this right now. Later. He was under guard and wouldn't escape, she had seen to that. She would deal with him later.
Now she had to attend to the needs of her people. Again, she steadied her breathing and, with the sleeve of her dress, wiped the tears from her eyes.
She had to rationalize this.
It couldn't hurt, right?