48. On the Wall

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Distant thunder disturbed the quiet of the night. Ayla shivered in the cold wind that was blowing clouds in from the east, and stepped nearer to Reuben to be closer to his warmth.

“Tonight, a storm is coming,” she muttered.

“Yes.” Reuben nodded grimly. “But then, we already knew that, didn't we? After all, we're the ones who've set it loose.”

Ayla shivered again, though this time it wasn't from the cold. Of course he was right. There was another storm coming, besides the one in the sky, and that one would be by far the more ferocious one. And the first lightning bolt had already been lit.

There he is!

With trembling hands she watched as the lone figure of Hans crossed the courtyard, a flaming torch in hand. At the gates, he paused a final time to turn around and look up at the wall.

Was he looking at her, she wondered? It was nonsense to think so of course! He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t see anything up here on the wall, as dark as the night around them was. But she could see him.

She would dearly have liked to know what thoughts were going through his mind. Would he do as he had sworn to do? A part of her laughed at her naiveté. He was a traitor! Why should he care about sworn oaths? Another part of her simply hoped.

“If that miserable little worm betrays us again I'll chop him into a hundred pieces,” Reuben growled, and a smile flitted across Ayla's face. Of course, there was always a third part in her that was too busy thinking of Reuben to do anything else.

“He won't,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

“Oh really? And how do you know that?”

“I'm just sure.” Though she wasn't. Not really.

“We could have been sure,” he said, harshly. “We could have made sure he would do as we told him to do, if you'd only listened to me. If we'd used the three as—”

“No!” Ayla cut him short in a tone of voice that would brook no argument. Amazingly, it actually worked. Reuben shut his mouth. “I will not have women and children taken hostage in my castle, even if they are the family of a traitor. It is barbaric!”

“It is a tried and tested tactic of war,” he mumbled, defiantly.

“Then tactics of war are barbaric.”

Reuben looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. “Of course they are! They're about war, which means they are about killing people!”

Ayla raised her chin, meeting his incredulous stare head-on. “I still won't condone it.”

Reuben growled with frustration. Then he suddenly swept his arm up and drew Ayla close to his side.

“You are the most wonderful woman on earth!” he snarled into her ear. “If anybody ever says different, tell me. I'll cut their throats where they stand!”

Ayla felt a warm glow grow inside her that was more than sufficient to chase the cold away. She clung to Reuben, desperately seeking to prolong their contact when she knew that soon, he had to leave and she might never see him again.

“I figure you'll have your share of throat-cutting to do soon enough without my help.” She smiled up at him sadly.

“That's true.” He gave her a thoughtful nod. “It's going to get very bloody soon. I might stain that beautiful handkerchief of yours.”

Raising his arm, he showed her the blue piece of cloth tied around his wrist, and the warm glow inside her intensified. Her token! He was wearing her token! “Are you sure you don't want me to take it off, so it doesn’t get dirty, Milady?”

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