The Robber Knight's Love

16. Standoff and Climbhigh

Reuben's sword froze in mid-air, an inch from an enemy's face. The soldier who had been about to have his head cut in two paled like a corpse and staggered back. The few of his companions who remained alive and standing followed suit. They all crowded together around the beefy man who now faced Reuben with a superior smirk on his face.

Reuben's eyes narrowed. Never had anyone dared to smirk at him in that manner and lived to see another day. Yet he had to admit with a shudder, that the man had good reason to feel superior.

His hand held a knife.

And the knife lay at Ayla's throat.

Ayla's sapphire eyes were wide and round as coins and stared at Reuben with an unfathomable expression. Sadness? Courage? Fear? It might have been all of those, or none. Whatever she was feeling, it did not really matter. Reuben forced himself to take his gaze off her eyes and to where it belonged: to the hairy hand which held the knife.

“Well, well,” the man sneered. “Not so quick with your sword now, are you?”

Reuben didn't answer. Having assured himself that Ayla's neck was completely unharmed at the moment, his eyes moved from the man's hand to his eyes. The hand would deliver the blow, but in the man's eyes Reuben would see the action before it began. They were dilated with fear. For all his bravado, this was a man in fear for his life.

As well he should be.

Right at this moment it would only serve to make him more dangerous, though. More unpredictable.

“Let go of your sword,” the thick-set mercenary snarled.

“No, Reuben, don't!” Ayla's voice was breathless and hardly audible. “Don't! Go! Just go and...”

“Keep your mouth shut, you fly-bitten harlot!” the mercenary growled and tugged on her hair so hard she let out a little whimper. Reuben had to call on all of his powers of self-restraint to remain immobile. In his head, he distracted himself with a list of things he planned to do with the beefy man once he got him away from Ayla. It was not a pretty list, but a rather long one.

“Drop your sword!” the man repeated. “Or do I have to cut her?”

Reuben's fingers loosened. There was a moment of indecision—then his sword fell to the floor with a lout clatter.

“The dagger too!”

Reuben hadn't even noticed that, during the fight, he had drawn his dagger as well. The blade was bloody, so it must have been of some use. It too dropped to the ground. It was of no matter. The man could make him drop his sword and dagger—but he could not make him drop his fists. More than that Reuben would not need once he got within range.

“Let her go and I promise you safe conduct out of the castle,” he lied, his voice as cold and hard as flint.

“Ha, yes! Safe conduct out of the castle so that Sir Luca can chop our heads off when we get back, hm?” The beefy man spat on the floor. “No dice!”

“What then?”

“I'll tell you what then! We're going to take your precious lass here and out of the castle straight to our master.”

“No!” The word that came out of Ayla's throat was half-growl, half-whimper.

“Didn't I tell you to shut your mouth?”

Again, the thick-set man tugged on Ayla's hair. She didn't let that deter her though.

“Reuben, please,” she whispered. “I'd rather die! Please! I'd rather die than fall into the hands of these...” She couldn't finish the sentence but rather ended in a strangled moan.