The Robber Knight's Love

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..."