Page 63 of The Robber Knight
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Ayla tried to be angry with him as she leftthe bedroom and ran to the kitchen to get some water. She reallytried—but she couldn't. She was just so overjoyed to see him alive,to see that stupid, arrogant, devilish grin on his face and seethose steel-gray eyes twinkling as they looked up at her.
The last night had been one of the worstnights of her life. She had been working ceaselessly over Reuben,hoping against hope that he wasn't going to slip from her grasp anddisappear into the darkness. More than once, when his breathing hadbeen labored and the sweat had streamed down his face in rivulets,had she believed her efforts would be in vain. And even in momentslike these, no, especially then, she could not stop noticing howincredibly handsome Reuben's face was, longing to touch it justonce without a cold linen in her hand, without the thought ofimpending death in her mind.
She had really believed that he was going todie.
But somehow, he had survived. She didn't knowhow, and she didn't really care. He was alive, and he was withher.
Before that unseemly thought could take root,she pushed open the kitchen door and grabbed one of the pitchers ofwater that was left over from her efforts in the night.
Returning to Reuben, she knelt beside hisbedstead and held the pitcher out to him.
“Can you hold it yourself?”
He lifted his hand and tried to hold thepitcher, really tried. You could see his jaw working and themassive muscles in his arms bunching—but it was no use.
“No,” he growled.
“It's no problem, you know. I can hold it foryou. You're sick. Just because you're too weak to hold a pitcherfull of water, you are no less of a man.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “Will youjust get on with it?”
Obviously, he didn't quite share her opinion.He didn't like that she had to hold something for him because hewas too weak.
Smiling with silent satisfaction, Ayla putthe pitcher to his lips with one hand, while with the other, shesoftly gripped his neck from behind and pushed his head up.
Reuben's eyes flew open in surprise.
“You don't need to hold me,” he protested.“I'm no infant that can't move on his own!”
“Of course not. Just humor me, will you?” shesaid, smiling at him, stroking the back of his neck with herthumb.
Heopened his mouth—and no protest came. “All right, get on with it,”he sighed. “If only this were honey wine,[42]then it wouldbe worth all this trouble.”
“Oh, water can be sweet too, after you getused to it.”
“Which I hope never to accomplish.”
“Drink already, will you? I haven't got allday.”
He did as she asked, and she grinned down athim, triumphantly. “Sweet enough for you?” she asked.
Instead of answering with one of his usualsarcastic remarks, Reuben fixed her with a gaze that felt as thoughit would make her melt inside. Quickly, so quickly she wasn't evensure it happened, he raised a hand and stroked a strand of her hairthat was hanging into his face. “Yes, sweet enough,” he said.“Without a doubt.”
She flinched, and his head slipped from hergrasp, thudding onto the bedpost.
“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!” Hurriedly, she putthe pitcher away and bent forward to examine his head.
Reuben let out a theatrical, pained groan.“You really are?” he wanted to know.
“Yes, of course I am!”
“Well, in that case... I guess you can getrid of that water and get my wine now.”
She stopped examining his head. He couldn'tbe hurt too badly. Everything seemed to be working just asbefore.
“I was talking about letting go of your head,not about the water!”
