The Robber Knight's Love

65. Helpful Horse Romance

Reuben watched Ayla in silence as they rode out of the castle gates. The beautiful valley of Luntberg lay beneath them: a velvet cloak of forest, slowly taking on the colors of autumn, wrapped around a beautiful river which glittered in the light of the sun. Reuben hardly saw any of it. His eyes were fixed on the girl that rode beside him.

He knew very well what she was going to ask. What he did not know was whether he was going to give her an answer.

For a moment, he closed his eyes and it all came back in a storm of images: the cheering crowd, the rush of speed, the splinter of wood, the screams, the pain. Unimaginable pain. Once, just once, and then never again. He remembered getting up. He did not remember staggering through the dark, from where the dead were kept to where the living vultures were yelling, arguing over scraps. But he remembered their faces when he came in. Over all the years, this memory alone had given him satisfaction: the horror on their faces as they realized their mistake. Especially in her face. How the wench had paled at his sight! Ah, how joyful it had been after being betrayed, that he was now the terror of those who had forsaken him.

Now, though, that memory no longer gave him joy.

He opened his eyes and looked at Ayla again. What if she would look at him with the same expression of terror on her face? Well, that was unlikely. He knew her by now, and knew she wasn't likely to be terrified. If he told her the truth about himself, she wouldn't run away, screaming. She might call her soldiers and have him thrown into the dungeon or burnt at the stake, but she wouldn't run or scream.

And a lot of good it will do your smoldering remains, he thought, sarcastically.

But then, hadn't she told him she loved him? Yes she had. He didn't know a lot about this thing called "love", but usually, people who felt it for each other didn't burn each other alive, right?

Maybe I should tell her. If she truly loves me...

But that much? Enough to ignore what he was? Enough to ignore what no god-fearing woman should ignore?

*~*~**~*~*

Reuben didn't ask what Ayla wanted to discuss with him as they rode down the path into the valley, and Ayla was incredibly grateful for it. She needed to gather her courage to say what she had to say. They rode in companionable silence past the path to the village, past the enemy's camp, where they waved to the men at work dismantling everything, and onto a sunlit meadow with a single apple-tree at its edge.

Ayla cleared her throat. It felt as though it hadn't been used in a very long time.

"People drive their flock here often," she remarked, reigning in her horse and looking over the meadow. "It's good grazing. I used to come here often as a child. I used to climb the apple tree over there, and eat as many apples as I could, and feed the rest to the animals."

"You? Climbing trees?" Reuben raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to have seen that. Especially from below, if you were wearing a skirt."

Ayla felt one corner of her mouth lift. "I might have let you."

"How unladylike of you."

Ayla smiled. "I was quite wild when I was young. You know, with mother dead, and father falling ill, Burchard really was mother and father for me."

"And you just have to look at his giant moustache to know he is so motherly! He must have done a good job."

Ayla's shoulder's shook. "Oh, do be quiet!"

"Did he ever put on an apron and try to teach you how to sow and spin wool?"

The mental image was too much for Ayla. She broke out in a fit of laughter.