CHAPTER ELEVEN
The hotel recommended by the bartender was close to the British Museum. The landlord had eyed Rory and Kieran strangely at first, a very tired-looking American and a massive man in green scrubs, but Rory hastily explained that their luggage had been lost by the airline and her… uh, husband was a surgeon visiting from abroad. The story sounded weird even to her, but the landlord didn’t seem overly suspicious. Having little cash, Rory charged the room on her American Express card.
It was a small room with a small window and a very large bed. As Kieran poked around, examining everything from the doorknob to the rugs, someone rapped on the door. The landlord’s wife, a round woman with well-lacquered hair, held two bathrobes and a variety of personal products and Rory thanked the woman graciously.
Locking the door, she realized Kieran had discovered the tiny bathroom and the light switch all at the same time. Between the running water and the annoying on-and-off of the lights, her irritation was pushed to the limit as she snappishly pulled him from the water closet and shut the door. He appeared displeased with her behavior, but more disappointed that she had spoiled his fun.
But Rory had little concern for his discovery of the modern world. She was still lingering on the fact that he was determined to retrieve the crown alone. Embittered and exhausted, she ignored him as he opened the bathroom door again, flipping the light off and on but a good deal more discreetly. Kicking off her shoes, she fell asleep on the comforter.
When morning finally came, she awoke to Kieran’s beautiful face. But he wasn’t looking at her; he was peering at the hurricane lamp beside the bed. Rory stared at him a moment, viewing him in the bright morning light and realizing that she could get used to awakening to him every morning. The very real sight of her living, breathing crusader.
Her thoughts were warm as she gazed at him, but just as quickly her manner turned hard and defensive. Still angry from the previous night, she rolled away and climbed from the bed. Moving to the bathroom, he crowded in behind her before she could close the door.
“What is this room, Libby?”
His sensual voice startled her more than the presence of his massive body. He was without the scrub shirt, clad only in the green pants, and his magnificent torso was distracting her from her anger. Refusing to look him in eye, she fumbled with the faucet.
“It’s called a bathroom.” Her tone was decidedly unfriendly.
He was still wedged behind her, his hand coming over her shoulder to turn on the shower. Rory shrieked when the cold water sprayed her arm.
“Quit that!” she demanded, turning the knob off. “Now, go. Shoo. I need a moment of privacy.”
He didn’t budge. Still, she refused to look at him, gazing at the mirror only to discover that she looked terrible. Her mascara was under her eyes and her cheeks and lips were devoid of any color. Groaning, she pushed past him and went to find her purse. Returning to the bathroom, she set it on the sink.
“I asked you to leave,” she said, looking at the mirror once more. His massive reflection nearly filled the glass and she tried hard not to make eye-contact with him. “Will you please go?”
Instead of leaving, he crossed his arms and Rory had to close her eyes against biceps as big in circumference as her waist.
“Why are you so angry with me?”
She remained stubbornly silent, grabbing some tissue from the roll. Wetting it and using a little soap, she began to rub at the black smears under her eyes. When she didn’t reply, he simply moved closer.
“You will answer me. Why are you angry?”
She could feel his heat against her buttocks, the back of her legs. Swallowing hard, she struggled to form a reply before he took her over his knee for her refusal. And from what she had witnessed at the emergency room, she had little doubt that he could, and would, do it.
“What would you have me say?” she said after a moment, wiping at the blotched makeup.
“I would have you tell me the truth.”
She paused, feeling her anger rise. So he wanted the truth, did he? She turned around, looking him in the eye for the first time that morning.
“Fine. If you want the truth, here it is. You see, Sir Kieran, I was searching for the crown of thorns Jesus Christ wore on Mount Calvary when I came across your grave. Ancient manuscripts I have been studying for the better part of five years pinpointed Nahariya as the location of the crown. But instead, I found a crusader with a journal indicating that he had been in possession of the precise relic I was looking for.” She watched as his gaze grew guarded and it only served to fuel her fury. “I didn’t want you, just that damn crown. And last night you have the audacity to tell me that you will retrieve it alone. After I risked everything to raise you from the grave, you show your thanks by shutting me out like a disinterested bystander.”
His nostrils flared and she angrily tossed the tissue into the toilet, the dam of emotion bursting forth. After all, he had asked why she was angry and she would do him the courtesy of answering. Tearing off more tissue, she whirled to the mirror once more and began cleaning her eyes with a vengeance.
“Don’t look so perturbed.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm. “You asked why I was angry and demanded the truth. So there. Now you have it. You’re acting as if you have sole claim to the crown, like it’s your private possession. And it’s not.”
He simply stood by the door, arms crossed and brow furrowed. Rory cleaned what she could from her eyes, going to work on her cheeks.
“Who hired you to find the diadem?” he finally asked, quietly.
Rory splashed water on her face. “No one. I’m a Biblical Archaeologist and exposing ancient relics is my job. I told you last night that I go where angels fear to tread. Even more than conventional bone-diggers, Biblical Archaeologists are considered dream-hunters, trying to prove correlation between the Bible and known historic periods and events.” She grabbed a towel. “I took on the greatest hunt of all when I came across cryptic references to Christ’s crown of thorns, buried somewhere along the pilgrim trail. Eventually I was able to pinpoint Nahariya, which is where you came into the picture.”
He didn’t reply. Rory finished drying her face and dug in her purse for her makeup. She tried not to look at him as she put on a bit of concealer to cover her dark circles, or when she applied warm brown shadow and dark liner. He continued to remain silent as she brushed mascara onto her long lashes and when the silence grew particularly uncomfortable, she dared to steal a glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was watching her.
“What is an archaeologist?”
His voice was soft, without tension or strain. She sighed, wondering if he had understood even half of what she had said.
“A person who goes to school for year studying history, the knowledge of which is eventually applied to field sciences. Although my degree is in Biblical Sciences, my special area of expertise happens to be the Crusades.” When he looked puzzled, she sighed again and picked up her blush compact. “In order to decipher the annals of man’s history, archaeologists go out and dig up ancient cities and bodies and other stuff. We can discover how people lived and worked, and we come to understand ourselves better.”
He watched her as she brushed on a pair of rosy cheeks. “And would locating Christ’s diadem help you understand yourself better?”
She paused, turning to look at him with a lip pencil poised in front of her mouth. “What do you mean by that?”
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes roving her wonderful face flattered by the strange cosmetics she was applying. “What is it you seek, my lady? The crown to enhance God’s glory, or do you seek it to fill a void in your own life?”
She stared at him, her anger all but vanished. Just as in the pages of his journal, the wisdom of Sir Kieran Hage was a remarkable thing. As if the gem-clear brown eyes could look deep into her soul and know everything about her. But as beautiful as the eyes were, they were unnerving as well and she returned her focus to her mirror. Lining her lips, she applied rose-tinted lipstick.
“I want to find the crown simply to lend support to Biblical legends,” she said quietly. “It’s a marvelous piece of history revered by millions of Christians. Just like Noah’s Ark, or the Holy Grail. People these days are looking for a little bit of extra faith in this crazy world.”
“But faith is having belief in something you cannot see or hear or touch. It is a feeling, a matter of conviction that fulfills the soul.” Kieran uncrossed his arms, leaning against the door jamb. “If you locate the crown, you are in essence forcing mankind to believe in the reality of God with the tangibility of your proof. Isn’t faith something that should be freely given rather than be forced upon?”
Rory put her makeup back in her purse. “I’m not forcing anyone to believe anything. And what’s wrong with hard evidence to support the greatest story in the Bible?”
He gazed into her eyes, his guarded expression faded. “Look deep inside yourself, Libby. You do not seek to support the glory of Christ. You seek to fill something within yourself that you have always lacked. You seek to become whole under the pretense of doing God’s work.”
“I never said I was doing God’s work.”
“Then whose work are you doing?”
Rory lowered her gaze, bewildered by his gentle question. After a moment, she sat on the toilet lid, gazing up at his marvelous face.
“Let me ask you the same question. Whose work were you doing when you came into possession of the crown?”
“I shall answer your question if you will answer mine.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment. Since there was no use in lying, she decided to be truthful. “I guess you could say I’m doing my own work for my own reasons. So why are my motives any worse than yours? Can you honestly tell me that the crown was in your possession because you sought to glorify His name like some sort of holy envoy?”
He drew in a deep breath, looking away from her and out into the small bedroom. Rory drank in his profile, thinking how completely gorgeous he was. Even dead he had been beautiful, but it was nothing compared to his living aura.
“What I did, I did for the good of thousands. My reasons were not selfish, nor were they to support God’s Word. They are entirely different from your motives.”
Rory observed his movements, sensing distress in his manner. She thought a moment on his journal and the words therein. Suddenly, she cast him a long, curious glance.
“A peace offering?”
He looked at her with a neutral expression she was becoming accustomed with. “What do you know of this?”
She shook her head, rising from the toilet seat and facing the mirror once more. Her hair was a disaster, limp and unruly, and she ran her fingers through as she considered her reply.
“Nothing, really,” she said softly. “It’s just that I read something in your journal about a Christian offering of peace that I understood to be linked to the crown of thorns. The ink had been blurred, though, and it was difficult to read much at all. You mentioned Saladin, though, and a man named El Hadid, I think.”
“El-Hajidd,” he corrected her softly.
Her gaze found him in the reflection of the mirror. He sensed her attention, looking up from the doorjamb he had been studying with distraction. “Why do you look at me like that?”
She appeared to be groping for words as she turned from the mirror. “I don’t know…,” she murmured, her mouth working as she struggled to explain herself. “It’s just that with everything that’s happened over the past few hours, I’d nearly forgotten the very real fact that you actually fought with Richard the Lionheart. As I stand here looking at you, I can hardly believe that you were one of the thousands to have served in the great quest. I mean… my God, it’s a mind-boggling concept.”
He scratched his head, a modest gesture. “I do not know this ‘mind-boggling’, but I can guess. And as for simply fighting for our king, I was more than a soldier. I was a friend.”
“That’s what you said in your journal,” she said, her anger with the man forgotten as the glory of his past took hold. “When I read your journal, there were so many questions I wanted to ask you. So many things I wanted to know. Now I don’t even know where to begin.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You already have. With the diadem.”
She smiled for the first time all morning. “Apparently, it doesn’t mean the same thing to both of us. But it’s no less important to me than it is to you. I want it to strengthen my profession, but you… I still don’t know why you want it.”
“My interest is far more significant than yours.”
“Why?”
He paused a moment, deliberating just how much to tell her. But if she had read his journal as she had obviously demonstrated, then she knew a good deal already. The natural instinct to protect his mission was still a powerful force, but he realized that it was foolish to maintain his defense against her. Any threat to his task had passed into dust eight hundred years ago and the lady before him was clearly not a hazard. Selfish and demanding and petulant, but certainly no threat.
“Because…,” he began quietly; still, it was difficult to form the admission. “Because you were correct when you interpreted it to mean an offering of peace.”
“Peace for what?”
He snorted softly, pushing himself off the doorjamb and wandering into the bedroom. Rory followed.
“A truce to end the siege of Acre, of course,” he said, moving to collect his giant green shirt. “El-Hajidd was an envoy representing several Muslim generals under Saladin’s command. Without Saladin’s knowledge, for the man was reluctant to surrender his fortress, El-Hajidd arranged a secret meeting with myself and several other knights to propose a truce, extending the crown of thorns as an proposal of good faith. I accepted the crown by Richard’s authority and gave El-Hajidd my word that our king would do everything in his power to end the siege peacefully. But I never had a chance to prove my honor.”
“Why not?”
“Because several of my fellow knights turned against me, as their leader,” he said quietly, fumbling with the ungainly garment. “They didn’t want peace, only the satisfaction of complete victory over Saladin. Even as I carried the Muslim offering to Richard, my men were plotting against me.”
The pieces of the journal were falling together and Rory was enthralled. As Kieran finished with the awkward shirt, she sat on the edge of the mussed bed, her hazel eyes wide with anticipation.
“The betrayal you wrote of?”
He nodded, scratching at his stubbled chin. “Men I trusted turned against me. Even my best… friend.”
“Simon?”
Again, he nodded. “We fostered together. I thought I knew him as well as I knew myself, but I was wrong. Men from Henry Augustus’ army convinced him that there would never be a peaceable surrender and persuaded him to take the crown from me and dispose of it, forever erasing all peaceful intentions the Muslims had offered.”
Rory could see the heartache in his expression, coming to understand a great deal of the writings in his journal. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together. Lying on her stomach, her chin rested in her hands, she watched Kieran pace about, lost in thought. Lost in an ancient world that had betrayed his altruistic intentions those centuries ago; still, the pain of betrayal was fresh.
“Why didn’t you just go to Richard with all of this?” she demanded softly. “He knew about the meeting in the first place, didn’t he?”
He nodded weakly. “Of all of our commanders, he was the only man who had been contacted by the Muslims. The lesser of the evils, I suppose. He was wary of the enemy’s intentions and sent me to discover the truth of their word. ’Twas his hope that when I returned with the diadem of Christ, he would be able to propose a truce to Henry Augustus and Barbarossa and the rest, using the peace offering as proof of Muslim honor.”
Rory was stunned. “So the Muslims proposed an armistice before Acre actually fell?”
Kieran had moved to the window, gazing out over a London he no longer recognized. “You mentioned that Acre fell in July 1192. My meeting with El-Hajidd was in December of the previous year. But no one would ever know the results of our rendezvous; when I did not return, forced to flee from those I had once trusted, I am sure Richard assumed the Muslims had killed me. He never knew it was not the enemy who could not be trusted, but his own men driven to destroy the hated insurgents rather than accept a peaceful surrender.”
On the mattress, Rory pondered his shocking revelation. But in the same breath, she recalled Bud theorizing nearly the same happening and realized with little surprise that he had been right. Then again, Bud was always right.
“Amazing,” she said after a moment. “Think of the lives that could have been saved had the crusading armies accepted the peace proposal. And with the Christians willing to lay down their arms, there was no way Saladin could refuse to do the same if he wanted to preserve his honor. With his men literally plotting behind his back for peace, he wouldn’t have had a choice.”
Kieran nodded, turning to look at her. A woman he had known a matter of hours, yet a woman he felt more comfortable with than he had ever felt with anyone. And considering the betrayal he had experienced in his short life, trust was not an easy thing to come by.
“I kept the crown, or course, realizing that I would most likely not be able to make it to Richard intact, but hoping I could at least return to England.” He rubbed his left side, the location of the puckered scar. “I made it as far as Nahariya. I knew Simon and his cutthroats were closing in on me, so in desperation I hid the very object they were looking for. When the assassins finally found me, it was to my satisfaction that they did not find the crown in my possession. Fools that they were, they stabbed me before they had their answers.”
Rory smiled at his cleverness. “They killed you before they discovered you didn’t even have the crown. And with you dead, they would never know where you had hid it.”
“Precisely.” His voice was quiet as he thought of the encoded location in his journal. Wondering if, by some stroke of magic, his enemies had managed to decipher the writing and further wondering if the crown was where he had left it. The need to know was nearly overwhelming. “I managed to kill my assassins and make my way to a man I believed to be a healer. But, as you can see, he was not a healer.”
Rory raised her eyebrows in agreement. “He was some sort of miracle-worker.” Kieran continued to linger half-way between the bed and the window, his brow permanently furrowed. He looked rather distressed, in fact, and she sat up on the bed. “But it’s all over with now. I mean, the crown is safe and you’re, uh… alive. That’s what matters, doesn’t it?”
His gem-clear eyes moved from her face, focusing once again on the world beyond the window. “I would like to think so. But now that I find the shock of my rebirth diminishing, I wonder of the world I am now a part of. Last eve, the cars, the ele… ele… the box that moved, the device that you spoke into… I am discovering myself overcome with it all. ’Tis an amazing, alien world that I find myself in.”
“And you’re afraid?”
He shook his head. “Nay, lady, not afraid. But I am wary. How would you feel if you woke up in my time, alone and disoriented and misplaced?”
Rory pondered his question a moment. “I would think I was dreaming. Or crazy. And then I would be afraid.”
He smiled at her honestly. “I did think I was dreaming when I awoke to a beautiful woman draped across my body. Even as you find my resurrection an event of awe and disbelief, I find it the same. And I wonder if I made the correct choice, allowing the alchemist to work his magic on a man who was meant for death.”
She sat on the end of the bed. “Are you thinking you were better off left in your own time, maybe? Dying for a cause you believed in?”
He cast her a glance, his smile becoming an ironic gesture. “At least I understand my time. I do not know if I want to understand yours.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged vaguely, turning away from the window. “You will not even tell me what a bath-room is. Is it so mysterious that I will not comprehend?”
She laughed softly. “I apologize for that. Would you like a demonstration?”
He grinned. “That, my lady, would be appreciated. And this lever that gives and takes light. You will explain that, too.”
*
Breakfast had been an interesting experience. The landlord and his wife served a simple but plentiful fare, scrambled eggs with tomatoes and cheese, ham slices and toast with homemade jams. Still in his green scrubs, Kieran ignored his fork and wolfed down at least a dozen eggs with his spoon as Rory and the hotel proprietors watched in wonder. Tea was served, something Kieran was unfamiliar with, and Rory prepared it for him with milk and sugar as the English drank it.
He loved the tea. In fact, he loved everything set before him and Rory was rather embarrassed by his enormous appetite. Considering the man hadn’t eaten in eight hundred years, she suggested he go slowly but he scoffed at the idea. Her breakfast finished, she sat back with her tea and watched as Kieran polished off several slices of raisin bread, glancing about the table as if looking for more to eat.
When his searching gaze came to rest on her astonished expression, she burst into laughter and he demanded to know the source of her humor. Giving him the orange off her plate, which was also very new to him and quite delicious, he finally seemed satisfied. At least, for the moment. But she had to admit, she was dreading lunch.
The day was progressing as they went back to their room. Rory knew she had to contact Bud but was reluctant to do so considering she still wasn’t sure how she was going to break the news to him. She continued to ponder the dilemma as they entered their room, moving for the phone by the bed and wondering if she was brave enough to make the call.
Seated on the edge of the mattress, she glanced at Kieran as he picked at the green scrub ‘shoes’ on his feet, her focus turning to the fact that the man was in a sorry state of dress. All thoughts of Bud aside, there were more pressing matters in need of attention.
“We’ve got to get you some clothes,” she said. “You can’t continue to walk around looking like the Jolly Green Giant.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “The last person to call me a giant met with an unfortunate accident. My fist accidentally met with his jaw.”
Rory giggled. “I meant it as a figure of speech, Sir Kieran. I wasn’t openly insulting you. Although….”
He held up a warning finger. “Tread carefully, lady. My size is not to be trifled with.”
She went to find her purse. “Good Lord, no,” she exclaimed softly, removing her wallet and digging through her credit cards. “Although you must have been a sight in your day. As large as two men put together. Oh, here it is.”
She pulled forth the piece of green plastic she had used to pay for their room. He peered at the shiny square with the strange writing. “I find it amazing that your small card was able to pay for our lodgings. Is it somehow like a signet ring, insuring faith that you will pay the proprietor his money at a later time?”
“Sort of.” She put the card at the front of her wallet and put the wallet back in her purse. “It represents a credit account. The hotel owner bills the credit card company, and they bill me. I pay them, and… oh, hell, this is confusing. But trust me, this is as good as currency.”
His brow furrowed as he digested her words. “Coinage? Plate?”
“Not really. We use paper money these days. Each piece of paper represents a certain amount of hard currency. Gold. It beats having to carry around a lot of heavy coins and jewelry.”
He nodded in understanding. “Indeed. Then if you have paper currency, what exactly is this American Spress Card?”
She grinned. “American Express. It’s really just a credit card named after the country with the greatest debt ratio in the world.”
He was back to his puzzled expression. “Since I would assume you do not mean Express, where is American?”
“America,” she corrected him again. “It’s where I’m from. Didn’t you notice my strange accent?”
He shrugged. “I merely assumed it was another bizarre aspect of this age you live in. But I must say that sometimes you are very difficult to understand. You speak very quickly.”
She laughed, turning away from him as she began planning their day. “I’ll try to remember to slow down. But now, we’ve got to find a department store.” Heading for the door, she motioned him to follow. “Well, come along. Those scrubs aren’t going to stay in one piece for much longer. Besides, they make people stare at you. And we don’t need to attract any more attention.”
He held the door as she walked through, taking a moment to flip the light switch on and off a couple of times. He was still fascinated with light bulbs. “Where are we going?”
“Shopping.” She grabbed his hand, forcing him to give up the light switch and close the door. Walking down the hall toward the stairs, Kieran enfolded her hand in his massive palm.
“Will we eat again when we are finished?”
She had to chuckle. “Yes, we will. Is that all you care about? What about the fact that you don’t have any clothes to wear?”
They descended the stairs. Rory saw the landlord’s wife in the den and was preparing to ask the woman the location of the nearest department store when Kieran squeezed her hand gently.
“You will take care of me, my lady,” he said softly. “I suspect you have been doing so now for several days.”
His smile melted her to the core.
*
Fortnum and Mason was a top-notch department store near Piccadilly Circus, not far from their hotel. It would have been close enough to walk but Rory wanted to get there as quickly as possible; Kieran was attracting quite a bit of attention in the daylight with his bright green clothing and Rory was desperate to get him into something less conspicuous. Taking the bus line the short jaunt, she tugged him inside the store as he gapped at everything from the bus they had ridden in to the punk-rockers with bright purple hair.
Rory suspected that she was going to have quite a bill on her hands before all was said and done. Finding the men’s department, she kept a tight grip on Kieran as she found a stack of jeans and began searching for what she hoped was the correct size. As Kieran touched the shirts, commenting on the terrible style and lack of quality, she found several pairs of jeans and shoved him into the nearest dressing room.
She tried to keep the salesman away from him as she went in search of a shirt. She was terrified that the man would do something in his attempt to help a man who would undoubtedly consider being cornered in a dressing room a challenge to his personal safety. So she pulled the salesman with her, asking that he help her select a few shirts for her, uh, husband. While the salesman was busy finding shirts that would complement Kieran’a massive frame, Rory heard a hissing noise from the dressing room.
Kieran was waving her over, trying to hide himself in the process. Rory went to him, concern etched on her face, when he suddenly reached out and pulled her into his stall. Closing the door, he turned to face her.
The fly of his jeans was unfastened and Rory’s cheeks immediately grew hot. But he didn’t notice her chagrin, instead, indicating the very area she was trying to avoid.
“These hose….” He struggled with the button-down fly. “They are unlike anything I have ever seen. How do I…?”
Rory maneuvered past him, no easy feat in the tiny dressing room, and opened the door. “I’ll find you ones with the zipper-front,” she said, trying to note the fit of the jeans without catching sight of his bulging manhood. “Uh… how do they seem to fit?”
“Well enough.” He shifted around in them; they were supposed to be relaxed fit, but his waist was so small and his legs so massive that they ended up fitting him snuggly. In fact, they looked rather good and Rory turned away, hoping her blush wasn’t too obvious.
“I’ll be back,” she muttered as she closed the door. “And with some underwear, for Heaven’s sake.”
It didn’t take long to collect everything she had come for; briefs, two pairs of socks, three shirts, a belt, and an expensive pair of American-made blue jeans. The sale was more than she had intended to pay, but having no choice she charged it all on the American Express. Kieran thought his new clothes were rather nice, different than what he was used to, but nice all the same. Once he learned to work the zipper on the jeans, he didn’t seem to mind the odd clothing in the least.
Finding the shoe department was the next step in her long string of excessive charges. Entering the large section that smelled of leather and new carpet, Rory knew the knight presented a strange picture; new clothes, unshaven, spikey-haired, running around in his socks. Nonetheless, the saleslady in the shoe department sold him a moderately-priced pair of work boots, of which he seemed to admire more than the new clothes. And the steel-toe in the boots had his undying admiration.
Purchases complete, they passed through the fragrance department on their way out but the lure of a free duffle bag with purchase caught Rory’s attention. Charging the Italian designer aftershave, she collected her free duffle bag and struggled to get out of the store before the total on her account reached four digits. But Kieran, dressed in his jeans, a collarless shirt made of burgundy cotton, and his new work boots, stopped at every counter they passed. Perfume, jewelry, handbags… nothing escaped his curiosity.
So Rory humored him, explaining the concept of costume jewelry and glass diamonds, hosiery that was nothing like the hosiery he knew, and cash registers that beeped and printed out marvelous slips of paper. And the light bulbs, too; all of the wonderful light bulbs had him fascinated like a kid at Christmas.
She somehow managed to maneuver him away from the hanging light fixtures and toward the exit when they passed through the junior miss department. Alternately appalled and intrigued by the collection of short summer dresses on clearance, he scowled at Rory when she showed interest in a particular garment. But he quickly changed his mind when he thought of her in it.
So she bought the dress. And a few other things she didn’t need, but Kieran had shown interest in them and she somehow found the will to spend the money. Besides, he looked so unbelievably great in his new clothes that she felt it necessary to keep up with him. And the fact that she wanted to please him was a contributing factor as well, whether or not she was willing to admit it.
Rory was carrying all of the packages herself by the time they reached the exit, nearly out the door when she realized she was alone. Searching frantically for Kieran, her gaze came to rest on him as he wandered among the racks of fine lingerie several feet away. With a blustery sigh, she went in pursuit.
“Now what are you doing?” she demanded quietly.
He was examining a see-through nightie closely. “What are these things, Libby?”
“It’s called lingerie,” she said with limited patience. “It’s for women. To sleep in, to have sex in, or whatever. Now, can we go?”
He moved to the next rack in response, coming across a beautiful white nightgown with a matching robe. It was sheer, sexy, and cost eighty-five American dollars.
“Hmm. This is lovely,” he commented softly, holding it up to gain a better look.
“Yeah,” she said shortly. “Lovely and expensive. Can we please go now?”
He continued to examine the finery. “Do you have such a garment?”
There was something in his tone that cooled her irritation. As much as the man fascinated her and as much as she had professed her love for him, the thought of intimacy frightened her. Her love for him had nothing to do with sex, but more to do with emotion. Still, as the reality of Kieran’s living presence deepened, it was difficult not to ponder the eventuality of physical contact.
“No,” she said, turning away. “I don’t have any use for something like that.”
He followed her. “You will buy this.”
She froze. Turning slowly, she fixed him in the eye. “I told you, I don’t have any use for it. Now come on; it’s close to lunchtime. You wanted to eat, didn’t you?”
“I would rather see you in this,” his reply was soft.
Rory’s limbs went weak. Clutching her packages with a death-grip, her breathing began to come in short pants. Good Lord, she simply couldn’t… could she?
“I don’t have any more money,” she said finally.
He didn’t argue the point, but she could sense his disappointment. Putting the nightgown back, he followed her from the store and out into the brilliant sunlight.