The Robber Knight's Love

30. Racket

“Ayla, I think we had better go see what Sir Isenbard wants,” Reuben said.

All right. That was definitely not what she had been hoping for. It was so infuriatingly prosaic, cold and... true. After all, she herself had advocated the same course of action not two minutes ago. Dang!

But that had been before she had dared to believe, for the first time in days, that he’d repeat his confession of love! No one could expect a young lady to have the same priorities while a man as mind-bogglingly beautiful as Reuben stared fixed her with those fiery gray eyes of his...

She shook herself.

War, she reminded herself. We’re at war. Think about chopped off heads, not about how soft soft Reuben’s lips felt on your skin.

Sometimes, life was really hard.

“All right.” Sighing, she slid out of his grasp—but took hold of his hand. He wasn't going to get away from her as easily as that!

“Stay with me?” she asked, peeking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Always,” he said in a tone as immovable as granite. It sounded like a promise. So why, why hadn't he told her that he loved her once again? Why hadn't he taken this opportunity to rebuild her broken beliefs?

*~*~**~*~*

Sir Reuben felt frustrated. No, to be honest, the word frustrated didn’t quite capture how he felt. Raging in hell, pounding on the iron walls of his dark soul, fed up to here with life and love—yes, that would describe it more accurately.

For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why she hadn't told him she loved him just now. Everything had been right: they were close, emotional, alone—well, maybe not quite alone once the guard had arrived, but still—pretty perfect conditions for a confession of love. He had almost sensed it, almost felt what she was feeling for him.

So why, by all nine circles of hell, hadn't she told him she loved him?

He didn't need to say it, of course. He had already told her once, and repetitions were so bothersome and completely unnecessary, weren’t they? She could hardly have forgotten his confession, after all. A girl forgetting his declaration of love? Preposterous!

She knew all right. It was her turn now. So why hadn't she said anything?

And then all those little gestures—like not letting go of his hand, for instance. Why did she send him all these confusing little signals? It was just like the time when he had first confessed his love for her. It had been a very inspired and romantic confession. Staring at her with that intense look that made women melt, and using all of his considerable charm.

And what had she done?

She had just sat there, and said one word. One teasing little word:

Thanks!

That had been it. Then, she had run off. All right, there had been a battle imminent at the time, but still. The way she never committed, never told him her actual feelings made him wonder if perhaps she didn't love him, but simply encouraged his feelings to have an additional protector by her side.

He glanced down to his right, where she walked beside him, his strong hand clasped tightly in her smaller one.

Well, if that was her game she was playing it infernally well.

Yet when he held her in his arms, looked into the depth of her sapphire eyes, he could almost sense the force of the feelings emanating from inside her. She had to feel something for him, didn't she?