It took them almost half the night, but eventually they were able to put the fire out. Ayla wasn't there. She was later told that Captain Linhart, Burchard, Sir Gregor and Theoderich had acquitted themselves courageously in the fight against the flames. She herself saw none of it. She was too busy to care about such little details as her home burning down.

"Roll those barrels away! Get me some hay from the barn, and spread it on the ground. And blankets!"

"We... we don't have any blankets," one of the guards who anxiously crowded together at the door of the small store building, dared to object. "They're all in the keep and it's, um... well, you know, on fire."

"Then get me some horse blankets! Or is the stable on fire too?"

"No, Milady! Right away, Milady."

The man hurried off, and the other ones quickly set about following her instructions. Only the four men carrying Reuben and her father between them remained standing where they were. Ayla hardly dared to look at Reuben. She had only caught a brief glimpse of him before he had collapsed and they had brought him here, into this store house, far away from the flaming keep. But one glimpse had been enough. And as for her father...

Ayla swallowed, hard. Oh, well, she would have to do it sooner or later, so why not get it over with?

She turned towards them. For just a moment, a shudder went through her body. Then she had herself under control.

"Here! Your hay, Milady!"

The soldier reappeared in the doorway with three helpers, carrying a heavy load. "And your horse blankets!"

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Spread everything there, on the ground. And then put them on the blankets. Be careful! Don't hurt them, or I'll have your guts for garters!"

Sir Reuben and Count Thomas were put down very, very, very carefully. But it didn't matter, really. No matter how carefully they were treated, the harm had already been done.

"Oh God..."

Ayla knelt first by her father's side. His thick, warm woolen clothes had protected most of his body. His face had gotten the worst of it. His once proud beard had burned down to a few chared remnants. There were angry red patches all over his cheeks and around his eyes.

"Water!" she yelled at the guards. "Quickly, get me some cold water! And linseed oil! And Eggs!"

"Eggs, Milady?"

"Yes, eggs! Are you deaf? And linen bandages, too!"

"Yes, Milady."

Shuddering, Ayla turned away from the sight of the wounds on her father's face. It was a mistake. Because next, her eyes fell on Reuben.

"Oh God...!" Rushing forward, she bent over him. The smell of smoke invaded her nostrils and nearly made her choke. "Oh my God, Reuben, I'm so sorry!"

Reuben opened his reddened eyelids. "Why?"

"Oh my God, Reuben! You're awake!"

"Apparently," he croaked. His voice crackled like drie autumn leaves. Ayla felt tears starting to stream down her face.

"You shouldn't be awake! You're supposed to be resting!"

"Probably. But when have I ever done what I'm supposed to do?"

"Never! You idiot!"

"Thank you for the compliment, Milady."

"Oh, Reuben... I'm so sorry."

"For what?" He tried to chuckle, and almost coughed his lungs up. Ayla knew she probably shouldn't be doing it, but she clutched him tightly anyway. "It's only one scar, Ayla. And not even a very big one. It would be a pity if I came away from this little war of yours without one scar to show for it."

He coughed again. Ayla wished she could just wave her hands and make his wounds go away. She'd sell her soul to the devil for that.

"Besides, I think it looks rather dashing, doesn't it?"

"You're a brain-rotten fool!"

He gave her the soot-blackened remnant of a smile. "You're full of compliments today, Milady, aren't you?"

"I love you!"

"I love myself, too."

"Then why?" She grabbed him at his burned collar, pulling him up towards her. "Why did you do something so insanely brain-rotten stupid?"

"Because I love you more."

Ayla could hardly keep from throwing herself at him right then. She only managed it by closing her eyes and pretending he wasn't there—for about two seconds, until his seductive voice penetrated her defenses. "Kiss me."

Oh, that voice of his... She shook with the effort to resist. "I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I'm worried I' might hurt you!"

He gave another cough-laugh. "That's the best joke I've heard in years!"

"It's not just about the pain, stupid! The skin on your lips might very well come of!"

"It'll be very well worth the sacrifice."

"Reuben...!"

"Besides, I always wanted to be a part of you. I can't wait for you to eat me all up."

"Reuben! That's..."

"Romantic?"

"Disgusting! I was going to say disgusting!" She turned her face away from him. "And a little bit romantic, too."

"Kiss me, Ayla," Reuben growled. "Now."

Ayla felt heat flood her face.

"Guards!" she shouted in desperation. "Where's that hot water? I need it, now!"

*~*~**~*~*

Reuben didn't stay long at the improvised nursery. After only a few days, he was up on his feet again, although parts of his feet—the blackened parts—threatened to fall off threatened to fall off. He had been wrong: he hadn't just one scar. One foot was badly burned, and he had a wound on his thigh where a splinter of falling wood had pierced his clothes.

All of this put together should have been more than enough to keep any men abed for at least a week. Ayla was of the opinion that her patient should stay horizontal for at least double that time, considering the severity of his injuries. But unfortunately, there was the tiny problem of his not being able to feel a single one of the aforementioned injuries.

"I feel fine," Reuben proclaimed, marching up and down the tiny room like a caged tiger, and leaving bloody marks all over the floor as his food oozed various bodily fluids. "I should be on my way."

"On your way? What in God's name do you mean? You're going nowhere like this!"

"I already am," he pointed out. "I'm going in circles. And it's damned annoying."

"Then lie down!"

"That would be even more annoying. And boring and stupid besides. I've got work to do!"

"Work? You can't do anything! You're sick!"

"I'm perfectly fine," Reuben growled. He coughed, and a few puffs of soot erupted from his mouth.

Ayla raised an eyebrow. "Perfectly fine?"

"Well, maybe there are still some minor problems. But nothing that won't take care of itself. I shouldn't be lying lazily about. I should be getting on with things!"

They'd had this conversation over and over and over again. Ayla was surprised that he didn't just beat the door down and leave. The only reason why he didn't, probably was that he didn't want to damage one of the last intact buildings on her lands. Finally, when for the third day in a row he had refused to lie down, instead marching around and around her in a way that was enough to make anyone crazy, she lost her temper.

"Why in God's name do you need to go so urgently? What do you have to do? We've won the feud, haven't we? We're safe!"

The stare he sent back at her was full of dark promise. "Not as safe as we could be, Milady. I'm going to finish this!"

Ayla didn't know what exactly he meant by that, but she let him go anyway. The set of his jaw told her he wasn't going to be persuaded to stay for long, and she really, really wanted to keep this building with an intact door and without any holes in the walls. And keeping him here by force? Ha! There wasn't a man in the castle who would dare to try to hold him down against his will.

In any case, she was confident that he was out of mortal danger. When Reuben rode off later that day with an escort of over two-hundred armed men, telling no one where he was going, she was pretty sure that he would come to no permanent harm. And that was more than she could say about her father. Much more.

"My throat... water..."

"Oh my God, Father! You're awake!" Dropping the bowl of salve she had been mixing onto the table, Ayla rushed over to his side. "I've been worried sick! You've been unconscious for over three days!"

"U-unconscious?"

"Yes. I think your head got knocked against a wall on the way out. There's a big bruise on your left temple."

And much worse-looking things, she could have added, but didn't. His cross was already heavy enough to bear without knowing what the fire had done to him. She was just happy that he was awake. Somewhere deep inside, she had feared that he might never wake up. Another part, though, was glad he had been unconscious. The pain he would have suffered if he had awoken right away would have been unindurable. Even now, the brave face he was putting on for her sake didn't fool her for a minute. He was in pain.

"Water... please..."

"Of course!" Quickly, Ayla picked up a pitcher and held it to his lips. "Here, careful, don't drink too much in one go."

The count sipped, swallowed—then coughed, splattering the water all over his tunic. It left blackish stains behind. Ayla didn't look at them, not wanting to think about the amount of pestilential fumes his lungs had breathed in. She was patient, and eventually managed to make him swallow a couple of mouthfuls. But in all other ways, he remained still as the dead. Even his eyes remained closed, he was that tired.

"So..." he rasped, when she finally put the water jug aside. "I'm alive."

"Yes." Ayla caressed the tattered remnants of his beard. "That you are."

"And I have a certain someone to thank for it."

"Um... yes."

"A very fine young man, you've got there, Ayla."

Ayla's hand froze in mid-motion. "He's a very capable vassal."

The Count gave a snort, and coughed again. "Vassal my foot! Don't you think you can fool me, young lady! I've been around far too long for that."

"What do you mean?"

"He wants you, doesn't he?"

Yes, he wants me. But in his bed, not as his wife.

Ayla didn't think it would be wise to mention that particular fact to her father, though. So she kept her thoughts to herself, and asked instead: "You've talked to him?"

The Count gave another snort. "I don't know whether I'd call it a talk, exactly. All the while, when he was carrying me down the stairs and through the fire he kept cursing at me like a whole battalion of fishwives. He mentioned a name a few times."

"Oh yes?"

"Oh yes. Yours. And if I'd been in any better shape, I'd have given him a good cuff on the ear for the terms he used. I heard enough to gather that you were the reason he had risked being burned to death." The Count's voice took on a hint of humor. "You don't really need to ask a man's intentions when he does a thing like that."

"Oh." Ayla looked down. Her hands were folded in her lap now, twisted tightly together. "I didn't think of that."

"I didn't think you would."

"Do you really think...?"

"Trust me." Another cough racked the Count's body. When it was over, he smiled a weak, but nevertheless very present smile. "I know."

"And... what do you say?" Ayla couldn't believe her ears. Had that really just been her own voice? Had she asked her father's permission to marry Reuben? Never mind the fact that Reuben didn't seem to have the slightest interest in marrying her, oh no! Good God, what was wrong with her?

"Hm..." The Count's cracked lips twitched. "You're taking advantage of a sick old man's weakened state to achieve your goals. Very unladylike of you."

Ayla smiled, although she knew that he couldn't see her with his eyes still closed. "I've got to take my opportunities as they come."

"Very wise. Well, let me think... He hasn't got a single Thaler in his pocket, I suppose?"

"No."

"Any noble titles, or lands to inherit?"

Ayla bit her lip, casting her mind back. Had he ever said anything about lands to inherit? A small castle somewhere? Perhaps a town house? Anything that could make a father see him as an eligible bachelor?

"Not that I'm aware of."

"But then... he did save you that time when those mercenaries tried to kidnap you."

"Yes! Yes, he did."

"And he saved my own life."

"Definitely!"

"And the life of everybody in this castle, now that I come to think of it. We have won, haven't we?"

"Yes, we have! Reuben killed the Margrave in a duel."

"Did he, now? Hm. He seems a handy person to have around."

"Absolutely!"

"And you like him?"

What are you doing? Ayla's voice of caution screamed at her. That red-armored blaggard has said nothing about wanting you forever! You can't say something like what you're going to say! Not to your father!

She said it anyway.

"I love him."

"Well, Blessed Virgin Mary.... Well, well, well... I suppose he's an able-bodied young fellow?"

"You should know that for yourself."

"True. Besides his extensive vocabulary, he also has very strong arms."

"Yes." Ayla closed her eyes for a moment, smiling.

"You're thinking about being in his arms, aren't you?"

"No!" Ayla felt guilty red flood her face. Thank the Lord he couldn't see it! "Of course not!"

The Count cough-laughed. "And I thought a dutiful daughter would never lie to her father."

"Well... maybe I was thinking that. A tiny bit."

He must have heard the smile in her voice. Because it was when he turned his head to smile back at her that he finally opened his eyes—and Ayla's breath caught.

"Father! Your eyes!"

"What about them?" he asked, his smile not fading from his face.

"They... they're milky white, and gray and... and..."

"And what? They look exactly what they're supposed to look like."

"But... Your eyes always have been blue, like mine!"

"That," Count Thomas von Luntberg said, quietly and calmly, "was before I went blind."

The words hit Ayla like an axe. For a moment, she couldn't believe her ears, although her eyes were telling her the very same thing. No! This couldn't be true! It just couldn't! Her father was already stricken by so many evils! Not this, too!

"No," she murmured, leaning over him to pull him close. "You can't be blind! It can't be! It simply can't be true!"

"Yes, it can."

Tears threatened at the corners of Ayla's eyes. She held them back, not wanting her father to see her cry like a weakling. Then she realized with a jolt of pain that he wouldn't see her, that he'd never see her again. So she let the tears spill over and flow freely.

"But that's not fair!"

"Well, I'm sure the Good Lord had his reasons."

Through her tears, Ayla glared down at her father. "How come you're so infernally calm about this?"

The Count chuckled, roughly. "Do you think I didn't feel the flames burning my eyes when we ran through the fire? This isn't news to me. I knew before the darkness took me, somewhere deep inside the keep, that I would never see the light again."

"That can't be! It can't be forever! I'm a healer! I'll think of something, I'll... I'll..."

"Sh. Ayla, you can't and you know it. Only one healer could give the blind back their sight, and he won't be seen on this earth again until God's judgment comes. As the Good Book says: The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

"To heck with what the Lord wants!"

"That's dangerously close to blasphemy, daughter."

"I don't care!" Pulling him closer towards her, she buried her face in the linen fabric of his tunic. "I want you to see again!"

"Well, I'm afraid we don't always get what we want." He sighed. "If we did, the castle cook would stop serving me tasteless porridge for breakfast. It's really not fair, you know? Just because I'm old and toothless—"

"What's wrong with you?" Ayla sobbed, pushing herself away and glaring down at his serene face. "You've just lost your eyesight, and I'm the one who's crying! You shouldn't be comforting me! You should be whaling, or raging, or pounding your fists against the walls!"

"I'm in much too good a mood," he told her with a smile. "My people are save from danger. My daughter has found herself a very fine young man, and she's going to be very happy. What more could a father want?"

"You're impossible!"

"I know."

"And you're an old fool!"

"I know."

"I love you!"

"I know that, too. Shh... Ayla, don't cry. I'll be all right. Come here. Tell me a little bit more about this fellow Reuben, will you?"

*~*~**~*~*

It took Ayla two days to stop crying every time she looked at her father's ruined eyes. The thought of him being even further crippled, after how his sickness had already wrankled him and made him feel weak, was like a dagger to her heart.

If only Reuben were here! Then he would take her into his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right. He was so much better at lying convincingly than she was at lying to herself. But the Red Robber Knight, along with his escort, remained conspicuously absent from the castle.

The enemy army had vanished, too. Probably it had disbanded. With the gates firmly closed and and vigilant guards on the wall, Ayla wasn't too worried about the possibility of their return. No, there was only one return she constantly thought of.

Reuben.

Where was he? What the heck was he doing? What could be more important than being with her right now and letting her cry on his shoulder?

Of course, Ayla told herself, that was slightly unfair, because he couldn't know she had any urge to cry on someone's shoulder. But still... He should have known somehow!

He didn't. There was no sign of him, and Ayla had to cry alone, or on Dilli's shoulder, which was much too soft and insubstantial. Dilli cried with her, and so did Theoderich, the young squire, who often came to pay his respects to Count Thomas. Ayla even saw Burchard shed a grumpy tear or two.

Amazingly, the one who still didn't seem very perturbed about the whole thing was her father himself. Ayla couldn't fathom why. Not until he called her into his infirmary one day, that is, bearing a very serious expression. Ayla could feel it in the air. Something was coming.

"Ayla?" His blind pupils searched the room in vain for her.

"Yes, Father? You wanted to speak to me?"

Abruptly, his eyes jumped to the source of her voice. "Yes. Sit down, Ayla. There's something I have to discuss with you."

Wearily, Ayla took a seat on a footstool next to his improvised sickbed. She didn't like the sound of this.

"What is it?"

"Well, as you know I'm getting on in years..."

"Not that much!" she protested. "You're only sixty years old!"

"Only?" The count's lips twitched. "My dear, most men are long dead at that age."

"Well, yes, but..."

"But what?"

"But you're my father!" she almost growled at him. "And I don't want you to be dead!"

"Well, personally, I don't intend to leave God's green earth just yet, either."

"Then why are you talking like this? Why?"

"Because, while I do intend to stay on this earth for a while longer, I can no longer walk on it, or see it. I can no longer fight, build, ride, or do any of a dozen other things that a liege lord is supposed to do."

Ayla felt tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. No! She had just managed to stop crying every time she looked at him. She wouldn't start again!

"You're doing fine!"

"That," the Count said in a kind but firm voice, "isn't true."

"But we won the siege! The castle is being rebuilt! Everything will be just fine!"

"Yes. But that doesn't mean that I am doing fine. It means that you are."

Ayla looked away, blushing.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself. He's blind! Why are you avoiding his eyes? Why are you blushing? He can't see any of it!

"I help here and there," she murmured. "A little."

The count smiled again, wider this time. Ayla wished he'd stop doing that! He was supposed to be distraught! This incessant happiness was beginning to unnerve her.

"Do you think that just because I'm blind I'm also deaf? No, daughter, I hear the servants and guards talking. I hear what they say about you, their brave lady who has healed dozens of them, who has led them in battle..."

"Stop! Don't!"

Her father had no mercy.

"Whenever you're not in here, mollycoddling your cripple of a father, you're out there, running after people who don't do their work right, coordinating the cleanup of the keep, controlling the guards on the walls, caring for the other sick and wounded, judging squabbles among the villagers..."

"Please! Please stop!"

"...In short, you're doing exactly the things that a liege lord or lady is supposed to do. And let's face it: you have been doing it for months. Who listened to the Margrave's ultimatum? You. Who made the decision to bring our people into the castle and save their lives? You. Who fended off two successive attacks of vastly superior armies? You."

"That was mostly Reuben's work," Ayla felt obliged to protest. "Without him, I would never—"

"And who managed to ensnare young Sir Reuben with her charms and secure his help?" The Count inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

Ayla went ten times as red as before, and this time didn't care that it didn't make sense to blush in front of a blind man.

"Ensnare him? I didn't ensnare him!"

"Well, it's not because he's desperately in love with me that he defended the castle, is it?"

"Um... probably not."

"So, who is he in love with? Who do we have to thank for this victory, really?"

Ayla didn't answer. But her silence seemed answer enough for the count.

"Exactly." He nodded. "It's time that we made official what has been in practice for quite some time. I called Burchard in here, earlier. He's going to make an announcement in a few hours, but I wanted to tell you before everyone gets to know: I am relinquishing my authority as liege lord of Luntberg, in favor of my heiress and only daughter."

"No, no, no..."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes.

"But... no! You can't."

"I'm liege lord here, am I not? I'm in charge, so I can do whatever I want."

Ayla wrecked her brain, desperately. "So... you want to make me liege lady?"

"Yes."

"Ha! That means I'll be in charge. So I can give everything right back to you!"

"In which case I'll give it back to you."

"And I back to you!"

Her father's lips twitched.

"Stop it!" Ayla protested, unable to keep a smile off her own face. "This is no laughing matter!"

"Not really, no." The Count sobered. "Ayla, we can play throw the responsibility back and forth for weeks if you want, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm unsuitable for the position. Not just unsuitable, I'm tired. The next generation needs to take the helm."

"But..." Desperately, Ayla tried to find some objection. It wasn't that she thought she couldn't do the work. She knew she could. It was that the thought of replacing her father, of taking away the position that had filled him with pride and joy for years, was abhorrent to her. "But I can't simply usurp your position as liege lord!"

"You're not usurping it. I'm giving it to you, freely and gladly." Reaching out, he found her shoulders and grasped them tightly. "I need you, Ayla. Our people need you. I'm entrusting them to you, and I know they couldn't be in better hands."

She wanted to protest again, but something he had said stopped her.

Our people need you.

This wasn't just about her, or him, or any one individual. The position of liege lord was not just an honor. It was a burden you had to bear for the benefit of others. Swallowing down her objections, Ayla met his blind eyes. It was almost as if they could still see her.

"You really want me to do this, father? You need me to do this?"

"Yes."

She raised her chin. "Then I accept."

Her father didn't say anything in reply. He just raised his gnarled old hand and placed it on top of hers, squeezing gently. That one gesture told Ayla more about the emotions roiling inside him than anything he had said so far. And the most overwhelming emotion she felt emanating from him as she held his warm, gentle hand was his relief.

Suddenly, she realized why he was so calm: before, he had always been worried about not being able to do his duty to his people as a sick man. Now, he had no more duties to fulfill. He was free. He was at peace.

"I may still occasionally ask your advice, may I not?" she asked, smiling down at him, knowing he could hear the smile in her voice, even if he couldn't see. "I'm still new at this, and it might not be easy, being responsible for everything."

He nodded, and smiled back at her. His smile was more serene than she had ever seen it. "Of course." He cocked his head. "But it's not as if you'll be alone, is it? You won't need me. I fancy you will have plenty of help. I definitely know one man who will always be by your side."

"Um, of course, Burchard will..."

Count Thomas cocked his head a little farther. "I didn't mean Burchard, and you know it."

Ayla blushed.

*~*~**~*~*

Ayla threw herself into her new and old responsibilities with a vigor that would have impressed the most strenuously laboring reform-monk. Within a day, all the burnt debris was carried out of the keep's burnt-out shell, and Ayla immediately set the maids on cleaning up the lower floors.

"The roof will need repairing," she told Burchard, gazing up at the top of the keep, her hand shading her eyes. "We'll need to send men out of the castle to cut wood. Send out scouting parties to see if there are any enemy soldiers still in the vicinity."

"Yes, Milady."

"And have them check what's left of the enemy camp. Maybe we can salvage something from there that will be useful."

"At once, Milady."

With a bow, Burchard turned and left in the direction of the soldier's barracks. Ayla, too, turned away from the keep. Her steps led her down towards the outer gate. A provisional barrier had been erected there, blocking all but a two a three foot wide gap of the open gate. The portcullis lay not far away, under the inspection of the castle smith, who was going to have his work cut out fixing it. The wooden gate was irrevocably damaged. It would have to be replaced—another reason why they needed to cut wood as soon as possible.

"How were things last night?" Ayla asked the sergeant in charge at the gate. Every night since the victory, the entire castle population had withdrawn into the safe inner wall, the gate of which was still intact. The outer gate was left under the watch of a detachment of thirty guards, who had orders to raise alarm at the slightest sign of trouble.

"Peaceful and quiet, Milady," the sergeant said with a bow. "The enemy hasn't shown hide nor hair of themselves."

"Thank you."

"Milady..." The soldier hesitated. "There's only one thing."

"Yes?"

"Late last night we lifted the portcullis to remove the Margrave's remains."

Ayla stiffened. "And?"

"Well, we lifted it, and we removed the remains all right, and put them aside somewhere where he could be buried, only..."

"Only what, soldier?"

"We couldn't find all of him, Milady."

Ayla's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"His, um, head was gone, Milady."

"It was torn off by the falling portcullis?"

"No, Milady. Someone cut it off with a blade, helmet and all. One hell of a blow that must have been, if you'll pardon my saying so, Milady."

Ayla thought for a moment. "Well... keep searching."

"And what if we don't find it, Milady?"

Ayla didn't know. They couldn't bury a man without his head, could they? If she did, on judgement day he would climb out of his grave to face the judgement of God headless. Ayla had hated the Margrave while she was alive, but she wouldn't wish that kind of fate even on her worst enemy.

"Just keep searching, will you? I'm sure it'll turn up eventually."

"Yes, Milady."

The mysterious disappearance of the Margrave's head was the only unusual event that disturbed the new peace at Luntberg. When the scouts first dared to peek out of the castle, they didn't catch a glimpse of a single enemy soldier. They became more daring, and over the next few days, the scouts ventured to the nearest patch of trees, and even to the enemy camp.

"Completely abandoned," the first returned scout gave his breathless report to Ayla, who had set up her temporary headquarters in the guardroom of the outer gatehouse. "They seem all to have completely disappeared, and left anything behind that was too heavy to carry. That includes stacks of firewood, ropes, building materials for siege weapons, barrels of pitch and lard, and a host of other things."

"Really?" Deep in thought, Ayla tapped the armrest of her chair. "And is it still usable? The material they've left behind, I mean?"

"Definitely, Milady."

"Then bring everything here," she decided. "We can't afford to waste anything right now. Besides, a lot of the materials we need to build a new gate might be among what you've seen. Take a dozen men with you, and the smith, and a carpenter, too, so you're sure to get everything we need."

"Yes, Milady!"

The scout returned again not long after, with a dozen heavily-laden men in toe. They carried more than enough firewood for the whole castle, which was a relief, for the evenings were getting increasingly chilly. They also brought back other much-needed necessities, and what they didn't find in the enemy camp, they found in the countryside once they had begun to venture farther: wild berries, deer, rabbits, apples: the countryside around Luntberg was still as rich as it had ever been, and soon, their stocks for the winter were growing.

"Heeve-ho! Heeve-ho!"

It was a few days after the first hunting party had ventured outside that the carpenters reported the completion of the new gate. The entire castle population gathered to see the massive piece of woodwork put in place.

"Heeve-ho! Heeve-ho!"

With pulleys, one wing of the gate after the other was lifted into place and then lowered into the massive metal hinges which the smith had already repaired. When the second wing settled down with a thump, a cheer went up from over four-hundred men, women and children.

Safe, Ayla thought. We're finally safe again.

Over the following days, complete control over the outer castle was re-established. The outer courtyard was searched for hiding enemies, every bent weapon and severed body part collected, every stain of gore washed away. Meanwhile, the keep, too, was being restored to its original glory. Work had already begun on repairing the roof. Ayla had no intention whatsoever of spending this winter with snow decorating her private chambers.

Neither had she any intention of going hungry during the winter, or letting her people suffer a similar fate. So she sent one of her most loyal soldiers westwards to the nearest city, to inquire after the price of grain. She was lucky: harvests had been plentiful this year, and grain was cheap. The people of Luntberg would not starve this winter.

Everything was going marvelous. By the end of that week, the lower chambers of the keep were inhabitable again, and Ayla returned to her home, cheered on by a madly enthusiastic crowd who didn't seem to care at all about the liege lady's protestations to please be quiet and stop making such a fuss.

Yes, everything was going marvelous, indeed.

Except for one thing.

Where the heck was Reuben?

"He should have been back a long time ago!" Ayla was pacing up and down in her temporary audience chamber, the former downstairs pantry. She was pacing up and down a lot, lately. Particularly when her thoughts turned towards Reuben. "Where in God's name could he be? Do you know what he said to me before he left, Burchard? 'I'm going to finish this'! What did he mean by that? Finish what? The Margrave is dead! The feud is over!"

Burchard stood in the corner, listening patiently, although one could tell from the way his mustache twitched that he didn't find Reuben's absence particularly alarming and would have preferred it to continue indefinitely. You could tell a lot from the way Burchard's mustache twitched.

"That dankish, crook-pated cox-comb! What the heck did he mean by simply riding off like that I ne— I mean we need him here!"

"Yes, Milady."

"When he comes back, I'll have his head on a platter!"

"Yes, Milady."

"With salt and pepper!"

"Yes, Milady."

A knock came from the door, and Ayla stopped in her pacing. She turned to see who had come, and a guard stuck his head into the room.

"Excuse me, Milady, a scout has returned from one of his rounds and wishes to speak to you urgently. Shall I let him in?"

"Yes, do."

Taking a seat in her father's chair—no, her chair now—Ayla assumed her most regal position.

"I still say we should have used a different room as your audience chamber," Burchard growled.

"This one was the largest and most convenient."

"Yes, I know, but... a pantry? What if another noble visited us to discuss an alliance? We would have to discuss state matters in a room that smells of cheese and salt pork!"

"I like salt pork. Maybe the noble would, too."

"That's not the point!"

"Be quiet, Burchard. I want to hear what he has to say."

The "he" Ayla was referring was the scout who had just entered the room. He went up to Ayla's chair and knelt.

"Rise. Tell me, what is so urgent that you needed to see me immediately?"

The scout took a deep breath. "We've found the tracks of the enemy army, Milady."

Ayla sucked in a breath.

"I beg your pardon that it has taken us so long to find them. We assumed the soldiers would leave our lands straight away, and head home towards the Margrave's lands by various routes through fiefdoms of nobles friendly to the Margrave, but..."

"But?"

"But instead they have been marching brazenly across Luntberg lands in a straight line. We picked up their trail a few hours ago, just by accident. We would never have thought to look on the direct way back to Falkenstein lands."

Ayla sat ther, absorbing this information. The scout hovered, biting his lip. Ayla looked at him more closely.

"Is there something else?"

"Yes, Milady."

"Go on."

"We assumed that the enemy would be scattered, split up into small groups, and demoralized because of the loss of their liege lord."

"But they are, aren't they?"

"No, Milady. The tracks show that they're marching in tight formation. They're clearly under the thumb of a skilled commander. And they have been marching at a breakneck pace—at least twenty miles a day. No scattered remnant of a host could manage that. The enemy army is still clearly very much in operation."

Ayla felt a cold tingle go down her spine.

"But they're moving away from us?"

"For the moment, yes, Milady."

"I don't like this," Burchard growled.

"I don't either," Ayla admitted. "But for the moment, I don't see what we can do except double the guards on the walls and be vigilant."

And, she added quietly to herself, pray for Reuben to return.

*~*~**~*~*

It was three days after that little chat with the scout that the shout from the walls came.

"Falkenstein!" a guard bellowed so loudly that even Ayla in the inner courtyard could hear. "The banners of Falkenstein are approaching!"

Ayla was at the building site of the new stable when she heard the shout, and so was Eleanor, tethered to a ring in the keep wall not far away. Ayla was on her beloved horse's back faster than you could say Hail Mary. Snatching her surgical knife from her belt pouch, she cut through the leather strap holding Eleanor to the wall. No time for fumbling with knots now!

God, she prayed, God, let me have heard wrong! Please, let my ears have deceived me!

Already halfway to the inner gate she was met by a mass of people rushing about and yelling that told her she hadn't been mistaken. Falkenstein's men were coming back. He was haunting her even from the grave!

"Lady, what should we do?"

"Please, Lady Ayla..."

They were grabbing at the reins of her horse, trying to hold onto her from right and left. Ayla desperately wanted to stay with them, to sooth them, but she couldn't. She had to ride.

"Out of my way!" she yelled. "I must get on the wall! Out of my way! And get your crossbows!"

That did it. People turned and rushed towards the arsenal, where most had stashed their crossbows after the siege had ended.

Or at least we thought it had ended! Ha! How could I be so naive? Why would fate be so kind to me now? It was never before.

She galloped around the corner of a building, and the inner gate came in sight. The guards were looking the other way, out towards the enemy. All very right and proper, but not convenient for a rider hurtling at the closed gates with breakneck speed.

"Open the gates!" she yelled. "In the name of your liege lord, open the gates now!"

They whirled around and stared at her for just a moment before they hurried forward to pull the wings of the gate open. Ayla didn't slow down, even for an instant. The gap in the massive wooden barrier was only a few feet wide as she hurtled towards it, the guards still straining to pull the doors farther open. It was just wide enough for her to slip through and outside, into the outer courtyard.

"Milady!"

The shout made her look up. It had come from Linhart, high atop the outer wall, positioned between the two gate towers. He had to have been watching out for her, having spotted her the moment she came through the gate. That alone told her how bad things stood. There were few situations Linhart didn't think he could handle on his own.

"Milady, come up here! You have to see this!"

Ayla galloped down the mountain, only pulling on the reins a few yards away from the foot of the left gate tower. Gravel and dirt sprayed into the air as Eleanor pawed at the ground with her hoofs, trying to keep purchase. Sliding off her horse's back, Ayla threw the door to the tower open and started to take the steps, two at a time.

When she finally reached the battlements, fifty soldiers and villagers were already arrayed up there, armed with spears, axes and crossbows. Linhart stood at the center, gazing out over the countryside with an expression on his face somewhere between horror and disbelief.

"Look, Milady, look!"

Ayla followed his outstretched arm with her gaze. Yes, there they were: black banners with the silver hawk and cross. The late Margrave's troops, without a doubt. But...

Ayla's brow furrowed in confusion.

"That can't be right! They're approaching from the north! Those are Count Siegfried's lands! He'd never let the Margrave's men through! He doesn't let anyone come within a day's ride of his borders."

"Never mind what direction they're coming from! Look at the host, Milady! Look at it!"

And for the first time Ayla really looked at the army, not just its banners. Her knees grew suddenly week, and she clutched the breastwork in front of her for support.

"But... that's at least a thousand men!"

Beside her, Linhart nodded grimly. "Indeed, Milady."

"When they left, they were only a few hundred!"

"Well, it appears they've gotten reinforcements."

Anxious mutterings came from all around. Without looking, Ayla knew the terror that was written all over the faces of the men and women on the wall. They were just fifty. How could fifty, or even a hundred if all the others got her in time, stand against the might of one thousand?

One thousand men at arms.

Ayla could hardly bear the thought. It was as if all those long weeks of the siege had been for nothing. They were back were they had started, a hugely superior army outside the gates, and no help in sight. Only this time, she had just a hundred instead of over three-hundred fighters. This time, their supplies were depleted and the castle was damaged. This time, Reuben wasn't here.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords and Ladies,

We now have a release date for "The Robber Knight's Love - Special Edition!" It'll be officially shipped on October 17, 2016. For those of you who haven't heard yet, you can already preorder it: The  Paperback is available from Amazon as well as Barnes & Noble. The ebook you can get from Smashwords, iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Kobo!

Have fun with the extra chapters! :)

Farewell

Sir Rob