The Robber Knight's Secret

48. Happily Never After

Do you want to marry me?

The short, concise, beautiful question echoed in Ayla's head like horns in the alps, like the biggest of church bells, like the trumpets of Jericho. She felt her heart jump and the blood rush to her face.

Then, before she'd had the chance to answer, she saw Reuben's eyes widen at her blush.

"You do, don't you? What nasty little devil put that crazy idea into your head?"

Ayla's hammering heart screeched to a halt. That question pretty much dashed any hope she might have harbored that this was supposed to be a romantic proposal.

"Crazy idea? What is that supposed to mean?"

He raised an eyebrow, as if this was perfectly obvious, and she was being very daft not seeing the problem immediately.

"Well, after all, I told you I loved you, didn't I? So why the hell would I want to marry you?"

Ayla blinked, not sure she had heard right. The words made all sense individually, but put together like that, she was unable to puzzle out their meaning. Moving her lips, she silently repeated the sentence, trying to figure out what the heck he was talking about, but she might as well have tried to spear a boar with a knitting needle.

"Because... because that's what people do!" she sputtered. "When two people love each other, they marry, so they can spend the rest of their lives together."

Reuben was already shaking his head before she was half finished, an expression on his face that told her he thought she was very naive.

"Wherever did you get that idea from? People marry for political and social advantage, don't they? Powerful nobles forge alliances and extend their lands by marriage. If the bride is particularly ugly, it's most likely she will marry because of her large dowry, if she has one. If she is pretty, someone will marry her because he wants to get under her skirts. But love? Nay. That has nothing to do with it."

He flashed his devil's smile at her, and despite herself, Ayla felt her knees grow week. The angels curse him! How was it that the bastard could make her ache with longing for him even while he was busily engaged in braking her heart?

"Trust me," he said, patting her shoulder, "You don't want to marry me. I've known plenty of married people, and they spend most of the time biting each other's heads off. If there ever was any love involved in the matter, it vanishes at 'I do'. And the more terrible the character of the groom, the worse the situation afterwards. I really wouldn't make a good husband. You might not have noticed, but I'm really rather a clapper-clawed son of a bitch, most of the time."

"You don't say?"

"Yes."

Narrowing her eyes, Ayla jammed her forefinger into his chest. "And, how, if I may ask, do you come to know so much about marriage? Have you tried it out yourself?"

"Of course not, Milady! It's just common sense. Marriage and love don't mix. Just listen to any of the great love ballads. Tristan and Isolde, Lancelot and Guinevere..." He grinned again. "All about women having elicit affairs with dashing strangers they are most definitely not married to. So, take my advice, Milady, let yourself be seduced and have a mind-numbing, marvelous, deliciously sinful affair with me. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

His words made Ayla shiver all over—not with fear, but with anticipation. This was one promise on which she knew he would deliver, if she only said yes. Fighting down her sinful instincts, she raised her chin in proud defiance.

"My parents married for love!"

He shrugged, as if this were of little importance. "Well, if that's the case I suppose I can't blame you for your warped view of life. Don't worry, I won't hold it against you. It's not really your fault that your parents were a bit crazy."