CHAPTER TEN
Rory was feeling like a criminal on the run. She and Kieran found a pub not far from the hospital, nearly void of customers, which was a good thing since Kieran was a sight in his green scrubs and seemed to have little tolerance for those who stared at him. Sitting him in a secluded booth and ordering a drink from the bartender, she found a payphone by the lavatory.
She had a bird’s-eye view of Kieran as she rang the Parkwood, watching as he examined the ashtray, the table, the picture on the wall. She was so involved with her observations that she was genuinely startled when Bud’s urgent voice came over the phone.
“Hi, Bud,” she said softly. “It’s me.”
“Christ!” he exclaimed. “Rory, where are you?”
She paused, watching as the bartender brought their drinks. Kieran sniffed the liquor, drank it, and made a face. “I… uh, I’m all right. I guess I just lost track of time.”
“Tell me where you are,” he demanded. “I’m coming to get you. Hell, I knew I shouldn’t have let you go alone. What happened at the hospital?”
“Something wonderful, I think,” she replied, noting that Kieran had cornered the bartender and was pointing to his obviously inferior drink. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, ok?”
“Like hell!” Bud exploded. “Dammit, Rory, tell me where you are!”
“I’m fine, Bud, really,” she repeated. “Please don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?” he snorted. “It’s two o’clock in the morning and you’re wandering around the city alone. How can you ask me not to worry?”
“Please Bud,” she whispered into the phone, using a sweet tone that could coerce him into buying her the world if she wanted it. “Please don’t ask me anything else. I’ll have more to tell you tomorrow. Please?”
There was a pause on the line. “Christ, Rory,” he muttered. She could literally see the torn expression on his face. “For God’s sake, please tell me where you are. I can’t let you run around London by yourself. I’m sorry for all the things I said and I promise I won’t bring it up again. Please, honey?”
She felt badly for him, knowing how worried he was. But it also reinforced her determination to keep him out of what was happening until she understood it herself. “I’m not alone, Bud. I ran into an… old friend at the hospital. We’re having a nice talk and I promise I’ll call you in the morning.”
The chill on the line was evident. “A friend? I thought you’ve never been to London.”
“I haven’t.”
The line went silent again and over her shoulder, Rory could see that Kieran had secured a huge schooner of black liquor from the bartender. He was heading in her direction and she made haste to end the conversation.
“I have to go,” she said quickly. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“A male friend, Rory?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Bud.”
She ended the conversation, hanging up the receiver just as Kieran opened the door to the phone booth. He seemed far more interested in the phone itself than in who she was talking to.
“How does this work?”
He was pressing her against the glass and she could hardly breathe with the heat and closeness of his body. Turning slightly, she indicated the coin drop.
“Here. You just put a quarter in and you can make a call.” When he still appeared perplexed, she attempted to describe the telephone on his terms. “It’s like… like if you wanted to send a missive. But instead of writing it down, you pick up this device and simply speak with the person you want to communicate with.”
Kieran put the receiver to his ear, upside down. “I hear nothing but a strange noise.”
“A dial tone.” When he raised a questioning eyebrow, she simply shook her head. “I’ll explain later. Let’s go sit down.”
Although still curious about the phone, he graciously escorted her back to the table. Rory sat on one side of the booth and Kieran pushed her over, seating his massive frame beside her. When she looked strangely at him for wanting to sit so close considering they had an entire booth to themselves, he merely smiled.
“I must be able to protect you,” he explained. “A man will think twice about molesting you with my threatening presence by your side.”
She cocked an eyebrow, collecting her ale. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking it, but somehow, she needed it. “Look around, Sir Kieran. I would hardly call these drunks the molesting type.”
“They are thinking wicked thoughts nonetheless,” he said, taking a healthy quaff of his drink and smacking his lips. “Passable. Not the best, but passable.”
She eyed the black lager. “What is it?”
“Something called Winter Ale. Would you care to sample the flavor?”
She did. It tasted like lighter fluid. Shuddering in disgust, it somehow made her own drink less palatable and she pushed it away as Kieran continued to down the ale. She watched him, looking entirely odd in his green scrubs, stubbled face and dirty hair. But the more she stared at him, the more amazement and wonder she felt with the entire, crazy situation.
“Now,” she began softly. “I guess we have a few things to talk about.”
He nodded faintly, smacking his lips with the first taste of liquor in over eight centuries. “Indeed we do. But first I must ask a question.”
“What’s that?”
He looked up from his dark drink, his brow furrowed with thought. “You must understand… I realize a significant amount of time has passed, but it is important that I know what happened after… after….”
“After you died?”
“Aye.”
Rory pondered her reply carefully. “Acre fell and King Richard returned to England a hero.”
“When did Acre fall?”
“In July 1192.”
Kieran drew in a deep breath, absorbing this information. For him, the events of centuries ago had literally happened yesterday and a smile creased his lips. “Then our armies were indeed victorious. I had little doubt, of course. It was only a matter of time. And you say Richard returned to England?”
“He did. Well, after a few minor adventures.”
“Adventures? What does this mean?”
“He was kidnapped by Henry Augustus and Duke Leopold of Austria and held for ransom. But England paid and Richard returned home, safe and sound.”
Kieran’s eyebrows rose in genuine outrage. “The bastards. But I am not astonished by their treachery. They envied Richard his power, his wealth. Everything he had, they wanted for themselves. And more.”
Rory observed him as he pondered the events of history while he had slept. In fact, he seemed quite disturbed and she decided to veer the subject away from the pitfalls of King Richard. “As I said, he returned to England and finished his reign.” She didn’t dare go into the rebellion of Prince John and how the remainder of Richard’s reign was spent battling his brother. “Now I have a question for you; like, who was this alchemist and what, exactly, did he do to you?”
Kieran drained the last of his schooner in one huge swallow. Ordering another, he turned his attention to Rory.
“I do not recall his name,” he said, shrugging off the outrage of Leopold and Henry. Eight hundred years later, there was little place for his fury. “I came to the man believing he was a physic. I had been wounded and….”
He suddenly began fumbling with his shirt, as if he had just remembered the wound that had nearly claimed his life. Rory watched as he revealed the puckered scar, running his fingers over it in wonder.
“I know,” she murmured in response to his awed expression. “I’ve seen it. You should have seen the clothes we found you in. Stained brown with blood. That’s why we knew this injury had killed you. Or, at least, we logically thought so.”
“I thought so too,” he said softly, touching it even as his gaze sought Rory. “By all rights, it should have. But the alchemist… he gave me a potion that, as he explained, suspended my bodily functions. And then he gave me a series of subsequent potions he claimed would heal my wound. I did not believe him, of course. I believed I was as good as dead.”
Rory was leaning on her hand, listening to him with incredulity. “Are you telling me that eight hundred years ago they possessed the technology to heal a wound without conventional skills? We don’t even have that kind of knowledge today.”
The bartender brought over another drink. Rory ordered coffee. When the man was gone, Kieran took another healthy swallow of his ale.
“I do not know what sort of knowledge the man possessed. Suffice it to say that he was true to his word.” His gaze came up from the drink, resting on Rory. “You seemed to be remarkably receptive to my story, my lady. Do you actually believe what I am telling you?”
She smiled faintly. “I wasn’t remarkably receptive at first. You seem to forget my screaming fit.”
He met her smile, a delicious gesture of deep dimples and straight teeth. “I have not forgotten, I assure you. My ears are still ringing.” He paused, taking another drink. “Then tell me; why were you sleeping on me?”
She lowered her gaze, her smile fading. “As for believing your story, I don’t think I have much of a choice.” She was obviously unwilling to answer his question. “I removed you from your grave, Sir Kieran. I saw your lifeless corpse and now I see a man who has come to life. As unbelievable as all of this is, I suppose there isn’t an explanation I would find too incredible at this point. Even so, I’m still half-expecting to wake up from this tomorrow morning and discover that it was all a dream.”
His gaze was soft. “You still do not believe me to be real?”
She shrugged, toying with her mug of disgarded ale. “Real enough, I guess. Four hours ago you were stiff and cold and I was crying all over you because I thought I’d never seen you again. I never left that room, I never heard anyone enter or leave, and suddenly you were alive. If you’re a zombie, then you’re like nothing I’ve ever heard of.” She shook her head, putting a weary hand over her eyes. “Oh, hell, maybe I am dreaming all of this. Or maybe I’m just insane.”
His brow furrowed faintly, still focused on the earlier part of her statement. “What is this zombie?”
She smirked. “Other than the worst drink you’ll ever taste in your life, a zombie is a walking corpse supposedly possessed by demons.”
Kieran’s brow relaxed, a faint smile creasing his lips. “I am not possessed. At least, I do not believe so.”
Rory studied him, their eyes meeting. She knew the man she had extracted from the earth, the lines of his face and the emotions of his heart. And this living, walking being was most definitely that man. It was the most incredible thing she’d ever witnessed and her wonder, her enchantment, was a perpetual experience.
“I don’t think so, either.”
His brown eyes glimmered in the weak light. “You are a sensible woman, Libby.”
She laughed then. “You’re the only one who thinks so. Everyone else who knows me thinks I’m a nut.”
His brow furrowed again. “A nut?”
She nodded, still grinning. “A kook. You know, eccentric?”
He understood the last word. “Why would they think this?”
Rory’s smile faded as the bartender brought her coffee. The drink was hot and strong and she took a large swallow. “Because I go where angels fear to tread.” His liquid gaze was focused on her as she took another drink. “That’s how I found you, Sir Kieran. I was looking for….”
“For what?” he asked gently.
She stared at him. Really stared at him. Careful, she thought. The man died for his beliefs and there’s no telling how he’ll react to your admission. But as she continued to gaze at him, she realized that her most fervent wish had come true; from the moment she had read his journal, the need to ask him what he knew of the crown had been a major yearning.
But she had also resigned herself to inevitable. That she would never know the truth. And throughout this entire happening, the thought of bombarding him with questions hadn’t occurred to her until this moment. There had been too much going on for her to even think about the very relic that had brought them together.
“I was looking for something but I found you instead,” she said softly, glancing to his empty schooner. “Would you like another ale? Or maybe you shouldn’t. How about something to eat?”
He was still staring at her, deep in thought. “Mayhap later. I would like to know what you were looking for when you found me.”
She refused to meet his gaze but she could sense something in his tone. The brutally honest, highly intelligent man she had come to know through the pages of his journal was demanding truths. And coming to acquaint herself with the man as she had, she had little doubt that he would not let the subject rest. If there was one thing she had learned about Sir Kieran Hage, it was that he was a determined man. And he usually got what he wanted.
And it was obvious he wanted to know what had led her to his grave. Maybe if she approached the subject carefully, she could either abandon her questioning or delve into it more deeply. But her decision would depend on his response.
She took a deep breath for courage. “When we found your grave, Sir Kieran, your possessions were buried with you.”
He nodded. “As you have indicated. Somehow the alchemist must have retrieved them. I can only imagine it was he who buried me to hide the body from… well, it does not matter. Please continue.”
His odd statement peaked her interest, but she ignored it for the moment as she proceeded with her own line of thought. “We found your sword, your armor, and other effects. Including your journal.”
Kieran didn’t change expression. “My journal?”
Rory nodded slowly. “It was found with your purse and other items. I read the entire chronicle.”
“And?”
She was encourage by his reaction; no tense body language, no facial expressions conveying distress. In fact, he seemed unconcerned and she decided to press her point. “At the end of the journal, you wrote a small passage that caught my eye.” She took another deep breath. “‘Forgive me Lord Jesus that my mission in Thou’s name hath been thwarted. The diadem of Thou’s sacrifice entrusted into my hands is forever sealed, hidden so that no man can pilfer Its beauty or omnipotence. Until such time that I can safely transport It to the land of my birth, Its whereabouts will remain my knowledge alone.’”
She paused, gauging his reaction. There was none. After a moment, she leaned forward on the table as if to drive home her real meaning. “This diadem you spoke of. Did you really mean Christ’s crown of thorns when he died on Mount Calvary?”
One moment he was staring at her. In the next, he was moving from the pub with such speed that Rory nearly lost him. Leaving a ten pound note on the table, she collected her purse and raced after him. Out into the cold night, she didn’t have any difficulty following his bright green scrubs. Onward he marched, crossing a major street without looking and Rory narrowly avoided being hit by a car as she pursued.
He was jogging slowly by the time he reached the curb, entering a small street as Rory raced behind him, calling his name. Turning the corner, he ended up in a dead-end alley and Rory came to a stop several feet behind him, panting with anxiety and effort.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gasping for air. “Please, I didn’t mean anything. It’s just that….”
He whirled around, upon her in two strides and Rory found herself in a grip more powerful than anything she had ever experienced.
“Did Simon send you?” he demanded through clenched teeth.
Eyes wide with fright, Rory shook her head. “No, he… ouch!” He had squeezed too hard. “Let go of me!”
His brown eyes, soft and liquid only moments earlier, were like blazing coals of fury and Rory was truly frightened. “Not until we establish something here and now,” he growled. “If Simon has sent you, confess this instant and I shall be merciful. But if you intend to play me for a fool, know my punishment shall be severe. Make your choice.”
Rory realized that her intention to probe him for information had backfired miserably. She should have known that a man willing to die for his cause would be more than willing to kill for it, too. And if he viewed her as a threat, she was in serious trouble.
Calm down! she told herself inwardly. Think!
“How could Simon have sent me if he died eight hundred years ago?” she asked, her voice husky with fear. “I read of him in your journal, but I don’t know him nor do I care to. He sounds like a jerk.”
Kieran’s expression was as hard as stone. But his grip relaxed somewhat and Rory nearly collapsed with relief. But not entirely.
“He is the one who tried to kill me.” His voice was equally raspy, far softer than the snarling he had been doing moments prior. “Were it not for Simon, I would have lived a long life and died within the peace of my own time.”
“I realize that,” she said, noticing his grip had slackened further and iron-like fingers were suddenly caressing the very spot they had bruised. “Look, Sir Kieran, I’m not a threat to your holy mission. In fact, I want to help you, but you’ve got to help me understand the situation. Did you really have the crown of thorns in your possession?”
He continued to stare at her, hesitance in his eyes. It was obvious that he was having difficulty with the concept of confessing his knowledge when it was still instinct to protect his mission. Still, he was not unreasonable. And he had no reason not to trust the oddly-speaking woman who had loved him enough to rouse him from centuries of sleep.
“I did,” he whispered.
Rory nearly swallowed her tongue, struggling to respond to what she had known all along. “Where is it?”
He gazed to her, wondering why she was asking questions if she had read his journal as she had said. To a woman with her education, surely it would have been a simple thing to have deciphered the crown’s location and he wondered why she had not done so. Or had been unable to do so.
Confusion deepening, he released her and ran his fingers through his hair as if debating whether to answer her question. Was there a reason why she had not decoded his script? Even if she was his only link to his resurrection, mayhap he was being foolish in trusting her without question. Trust that, at one time, had led to a sword in his gut.
“Far away,” he said after a moment. “In the land of my burial.”
“Nahariya?”
He nodded faintly. “Providing it is still where I left it, I fully intend to retrieve it myself.” He turned to look at her then. “You see, my lady, that is why God has permitted me to awaken from my eternal sleep; my task is not yet complete and the time has finally come for me to finish what I had started. Have no doubt that I shall retrieve the diadem, as I was always meant to do. And I shall do it alone.”
Her first reaction was to argue with him, bitterly, but she bit her tongue. He was showing signs of exhaustion, the energy surge following his awakening rapidly fading. Putting their conversation aside for the moment, it was apparent that he needed to recover from his experience. And Rory was exhausted, too. In more ways than one.
“Whatever,” she said quietly, turning her back on him and glancing the way they had come. She was too tired to fight about it now. “Maybe the bartender knows where we can find a room for the night. I’ll go back and ask him if you want to wait here.”
Behind her, Kieran sighed heavily and began to walk. Silently, they retraced their steps back to the pub.
*
At precisely five-thirty in the morning, there was a knock on Bud’s door. Thinking it was Rory, he flew from his chair and opened the panel. But his hopes were dashed when he found himself staring into piercing blue eyes.
Steven Corbin was less than friendly. “Where is your colleague, Dr. Dietrich?”
Bud’s jaw clenched. “This is all your fault, you bastard!” he seethed. “You took Sir Kieran away and now she’s running all over this city doing God only knows what. I haven’t seen her in hours!”
Corbin cocked an eyebrow. “I did nothing but claim the Hage Family’s rightful possession. Which, in fact, now happens to be missing.”
Bud scowled, punchy and exhausted from worry and the lack of sleep. “I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?”
It took all of Bud’s control not to slug Corbin in the mouth. “I said I didn’t. So what in the hell do you want?”
“I want to talk to Dr. Osgrove,” Corbin said evenly. Bud noticed two other men hanging in the hallway; the door to Rory’s room was slightly ajar, but he controlled his outrage as the lawyer continued. When the man was finished, then he would slug him in the mouth. “You see, Dr. Dietrich, the morgue at Middlesex Hospital was burglarized last night and Sir Kieran’s corpse was taken. Do you sincerely mean to tell me that you know nothing about this?”
Bud forgot his fury. He stared at Corbin, the color draining from his face. After a moment, he turned away and wandered toward the window. Corbin followed him into the room.
“Then you did know something,” he stated.
Bud shook his head. “No, nothing about… oh, hell, she threatened to do it, but I never thought she was capable.” He sat on the edge of his bed, his ice-blue eyes glazed with disbelief. “You took the corpse away so quickly that she never had a chance to say good-bye. And she was obsessed with saying good-bye. I let her go to the hospital thinking she would simply forget about the idea when she saw it was impossible to gain access to the morgue. But now you’re telling me the morgue was actually broken into?”
Corbin nodded, his goons coming to stand just inside the door. “The glass was smashed and we found traces of blood. But we can’t figure out how she removed the corpse. She must have had help.”
Bud shut his mouth then, thinking of the phone conversation they had shared earlier. I ran into an old friend, Bud. Something wonderful has happened this evening. He closed his eyes against the shock, the pain, wondering if she had allowed her obsession to get the better of her by delving into something too bizarre to comprehend. He cursed himself for having allowed her to go to the hospital alone. This was all his fault.
He looked at his hands. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. It wasn’t me if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all. The landlady said you returned to your room about nine-forty and haven’t left since. The police estimate the morgue was broken into after the basement floor security guard went off-duty, sometime after ten o’clock.”
Bud cast the man a long glance. “So now you’re checking up on me, too?”
Corbin’s arrogant manner didn’t waver. “A very valuable piece of property has been stolen, Dr. Dietrich. It is my duty to help the police follow up any and all leads.” His piercing blue eyes roved the room, coming to rest on the phone by the bed. “Have you spoken with Dr. Osgrove tonight?”
Bud looked him straight in the eye. “No.”
Corbin met his gaze, knowing he was lying. The landlady had already told him that Dr. Dietrich had received a call a few hours earlier. But he would not press the point; even if Dietrich wasn’t directly involved, it was obvious that he was protecting his beautiful associate. And Corbin suspected, at some point, the good doctor would go looking for her.
And Corbin would be waiting.
“If you speak to her, will you let me know?” He tossed his business card on the bed. “I promise, Dr. Dietrich, I simply want to talk to her.”
Bud didn’t answer, turning away as Corbin left the room with the stealth of a stalking cat. When the door closed, he went to the window facing the street, waiting a minute or so as Corbin and his henchmen climbed into a black Mercedes 500 SEL and drove off. Immediately, he went to the phone and placed an overseas call. To Nahariya, Israel.
Hello, Dave? Brace yourself, pal; you’ll never guess what’s happened….