CHAPTER THREE
There were two men.
One of them rushed for Rory and the second went straight for the satchel on the floor. Rory was hooting and yelling, holding the dirk as the man made a grab for her. She ducked his reach, remembering about the weapon on the man’s second pass and making a swipe at his hand. She made contact, cutting his fingers as the man hissed a curse.
Rory was on the run. She leapt off the opposite end of the bed but the man’s long reach got her by the hair. He pulled hard and she screamed loudly as he pulled her up against his cold, mail-covered body. He stank like a thousand breweries filled with a thousand drunk, stinky bodies. The stench was beyond horrible.
“Let me go, you asshole,” she tried to swing the dirk at him but she wasn’t very good with the weapon and he easily slapped it away. “Let me go!”
The man had his mouth by her ear. She could hear him inhale deeply. “Ye smell sweet, little chit,” he hissed in his horrible, foul breath. He licked her ear and she yelped. “Ye taste sweet, too.”
Rory was terrified and furious. She began to struggle wildly, trying to kick and punch him. He was trying to get a good grip on her while his companion robbed Kieran’s satchel, but she was moving around so much that he couldn’t get a good hold of her. She was twisting and cussing at him in odd words he did not understand. Something about a mother’s shucker, he thought. The girl spoke strangely but she was fine and delicious. It was his last coherent thought before a massive body suddenly appeared in the doorway and an enormous blade plowed through his midsection. He hit the ground dead.
Rory was pulled to the floor when the man fell, his hand still wrapped up in her hair. By this time, the dead man’s companion had drawn his weapon and charged Kieran from across the room. As Rory wrapped her arms over her head and tried not to get kicked or, worse, stabbed, a massive swordfight with thirty pound broadswords commenced over her head. She was petrified.
But Kieran was cool as he charged the man who had come at him. His enormous broadsword sang through the air with deadly accuracy as he both defended himself and Rory, who was still struggling on the ground. He thought of nothing else at the moment but dispatching the man. To think of anything else, including Rory, would divert his focus and quite possibly cost him his life. So, at the moment, he concentrated on the kill.
The enemy soldier ended up kicking Rory in the back as he went after Kieran, a sharp kick from a sharp boot that caused her to grunt in pain. She managed to unwind the dead man’s hand from her hair and crawl away from the fighting, getting kicked in the mouth as she went. She could taste blood as she threw herself against the wall, trying to stay clear of the blades singing over her head. She was too scared to even watch; she tucked her face into her knees and covered her head.
Although it seemed like hours, the fight only lasted a matter of seconds. Kieran had his kill within eight strokes. He managed to cut low and slice the sharp edge of his blade across the man’s knee, causing him to double over. When the man folded in half, Kieran brought the sword up and nearly decapitated him. Before the man even hit the ground, Kieran was at Rory’s side.
“Lib,” he said, his voice was full of fear. “Are you injured?”
Rory’s head came up, blood trickling from her split lip. One look at Kieran’s anxious face and she threw her arms around his neck, weeping hysterically.
“Oh, my God,” she sobbed. “I want to go home. I want to get out of here.”
He picked her up and held her tightly, allowing himself to feel his terror. “Are you well?” his voice was shaking. “Answer me, sweetheart. Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head unsteadily and he sighed heavily with relief. “’Tis all right,” his deep, bass voice was soft and soothing. “Everything is all right now. You are safe.”
“It’s not all right,” she wept, now angry as well as frightened. “Those guys busted in here and… and one of them grabbed me while the other guy … oh, hell, I don’t know but I think he was robbing you. I couldn’t really see.”
He soothed her gently, rocking her gently as held her. “’Tis all right now. It is over.”
“I want to go home,” she repeated, begging.
He sighed faintly as he continued to rock her. He didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t go home. She was home.
“Your lip is bleeding,” he ventured gently, trying to get her mind on something other than the panicked need to go home. “Are you sure you are all right?”
“I’m fine.” She pulled her face from the crook of his neck, wiping the trickle of blood from the corner of her lip. “For the most part, anyway.”
He set her carefully to her feet and tipped her chin up so he could inspect her split lip. “Did they strike you?”
Her tears were fading and she sniffled, wiping at her lip again. “No,” she replied. “I got kicked while you guys were fighting.”
He sighed again. “I am sorry.” He kissed her cheek gently and helped her stand. “But you are otherwise unharmed?”
She wiped away the tears from her face. “Yes.” The tears were gone but the panic was still there. “But I really, really want to go home.”
He grunted, fixing her in the eye. “How?”
Some of her agitation returned. “Go back to the beach, I guess. Sit there and wait for another storm.”
He lifted an eyebrow, attempting to force her to think about what she was saying. “Is this so? You will go sit on the beach for the rest of your life hoping another storm will come and send you back to your time?”
She was about to nod forcefully but stopped short when she saw the look on his face. Then she tried to pull away from him, shaking her head.
“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” she said, fighting off tears once again. “I can’t. I want to go back to where I came from, where I belong.”
“If you go back to where you came from, I must stay here. I cannot go with you.”
Her gaze snapped to him as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. The hazel eyes widened for a moment as she realized what she had been asking, and what his response was. She was moderately irrational and coming to realize it. Fear was doing strange things to her thought processes. She suddenly didn’t feel like pulling away from him any longer.
“I’ll never leave you,” she murmured. “If that’s my choice, I’ll choose staying with you hands down.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He smiled at her and turned back to the carnage of the room. It was then that Rory realized there were two dead men on the floor of the room and, having never seen a dead body in her life, she suddenly gasped and turned away. Too much blood and gore made her physically ill. The nausea she had been experiencing since awakening on the beach suddenly returned full force.
Kieran heard her gasp and turned to her just in time to see her shove her face into the wall.
“What is wrong?” he asked, concerned.
She couldn’t speak. All she could do was point to the bloodied mess on the floor. As Kieran realized her delicate senses were not dealing well with something he hardly raised an eyebrow at, a swarthy, old woman with a caved-in mouth appeared at the door. She was little and dirty. Hut was right behind her and, together, they stared wide-eyed at the destroyed room.
“We heard the commotion, my lord,” Hut said. “Are ye well?”
Kieran glanced at Rory with her face still pressed into the wall. “Well enough.” He motioned at the old woman. “What is this?”
The old woman held the wad of material aloft as Hut spoke. “The garments ye requested for yer lady,” he said. “It is all I could find.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From one of the serving wenches. She is about the size of yer lady.”
Kieran nodded. “Do you have another room where she can dress?” He glanced back at the carnage in the room. “This chamber is… unacceptable.”
Hut nodded, motioning eagerly to Kieran. “Across the hall, m’lord. ’Tis a small room where the serving wenches sleep but it should serve well enough.”
Kieran reached out and gently pulled Rory away from the wall. She came away stiffly, almost tripping over her feet because she was afraid to open her eyes and see all of the blood and guts again. He put his big arm around her shoulders, putting his lips against her ear as he guided her from the room.
“They have located you some suitable clothing,” he said softly. “You will go with this woman and allow her to assist you.”
Rory had opened her eyes by now and held an odd, wide-eyed look. “Oh, God,” she hissed. “What if it’s crawling with bugs?”
“You will have to endure.”
She shook her head and began to drag her feet but he pulled her along insistently.
“I won’t wear it if it’s crawling with bugs,” she insisted as he pulled her through the door. “I told you that, Kieran. No bugs.”
“You will wear it,” he said, more firmly. “Tomorrow, I will buy new clothing for you that will be to your liking. But for tonight, you have no choice.”
“But, Kieran…”
“Go.” It was a command in a tone she’d never heard from him before. “Enough complaining. I know you are upset and I know you are fearful, but the time has come for you to put this foolishness aside and accept the situation for what it is. Are you truly a weak-souled complainer or are you the strong woman I believe you are?”
Her back stiffened indignantly. “Don’t you dare accuse me of being weak.”
“Then stop behaving like it. Time is wasting and there is no more tolerance for your idiocy, Rory. Do what you are told and do it immediately.”
She was out of his embrace, looking at him as he gazed impassively at her. Rory. He rarely, if ever, called her by her given name because he felt it didn’t suit her. He called her Libby, a nickname for her middle name, Elizabeth, because he liked it better. But he used her given name now and it sounded harsh from his lips. For the first time since she’d known the man, he was giving her a stern command. His knightly instincts were taking control and he was becoming what he had been trained for; hard, calculating, cold. He had become the warrior.
The fact that she’d been through a harrowing experience over the past hour had her emotions surging like a roller coaster. She didn’t like his tone or the expression on his face. It was hard, ungiving and completely unlike the man she loved.
Furious, sick, she snatched the clothing out of the old woman’s arms and charged into the room that Hut was indicating. She slammed the door in the old woman’s face when the little woman tried to follow her. Kieran heard her throw the bolt.
Kieran sighed as Hut and the old woman looked at him questioningly. He simply waved them away. After a moment’s pause lingering on the locked door, he went back into his chamber and collected his satchel and scattered possessions. There were dead men bleeding all over the floor but he stepped over them, not giving the carnage a second thought. Such was the norm of his world. One of the dead men still had the stolen coinage and Kieran collected his money from the man’s pockets. Securing his satchel, he went back out into the hall and set everything against the wall, waiting for Rory to emerge from the room.
He leaned against the wall, staring at his feet thoughtfully. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her but she seemed to be lacking focus at what he was attempting to accomplish. Simon and his men were coming for him; that much he knew. Perhaps they were already on their way. He simply couldn’t gauge the time well enough and that worried him. He was trying to get clear of the inn and Rory wasn’t helping the situation. He knew she was disoriented and frightened. God only knew that he realized that more than she probably did. But she needed to understand that he was trying to save both of their lives right now. He was in survival mode. He needed her cooperation and if he had to take a firm stance in order to achieve that, then so be it.
On the other side of the wall, Rory was in tears again as she laid out the garments she was given. Her biggest fear was that they were crawling with vermin; she was obsessed with it. But much to her relief, she couldn’t see any visible bugs in the rough linen surcoat. When she got over the fact that it was bug-less, she noticed that it was a lovely, pale yellow shade. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a rag. There was a shift also, of a finer linen and unexpectedly soft.
Nothing was hemmed; the garments looked like they were simply basted together. She wondered if the stitching would hold. Throwing whatever reserve she had remaining to the wind, she pulled off her shirt and khaki jeans and pulled on the linen shift, acquainting herself with the feel of unprocessed material. It was raw and primitive, but it wasn’t too bad. She left her bra and panties on so she didn’t feel quite so exposed to the unfamiliar fabric. The surcoat went over her head and she was surprised at how well it fit. The sleeves were long and without much shape, but the neckline was a deep “V” and emphasized her full bosom beautifully. On the sides of the garment were strips of material and she tied them into small bows, which only further accentuated her shapely figure by tightening her waistline. All in all, she wasn’t too displeased with the fit or the look.
But that was until she noticed her feet. The surcoat was far too long. All she had was her boots, looking rather stupid with the rough yet surprisingly lovely surcoat. Yet it was all she had. She hoped she didn’t trip on the long garment and break her neck.
As she fussed with the ties on her waist, she looked around the room and realized that she was in a chamber that belonged to a woman. There were two small beds and a very rough, unsteady table with a thick-toothed comb on it and what looked to be shoelaces scattered about. Closer examination showed that they were strips of cloth cut finely, like ribbons. Borrowing the comb, but not before she inspected it thoroughly for vermin, she divided her long hair into two long braids and tied them off with two strips of the material. She tied them into big bows, having no idea how very sweet and lovely she looked. On a peg near the door was a large, unbleached linen cloak that was relatively clean except for the dark dirt stains around the bottom. She peered at it closely, not seeing any vermin on it. She suspected it was something she might need, considering she had absolutely nothing. As she unbolted the door, she swiped it.
When she emerged into the hall, Kieran was leaning up against the wall staring at his feet. His head came up and his first look of her, in clothes he was familiar with, had him giddy with pleasure. Even in simple peasant wear, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long chestnut-colored hair was braided and her sweet oval face had regained some of its color. Her luminous hazel eyes gazed steadily at him under their fringes of thick lashes. When he reached out to take her hand, however, she deliberately pulled away and swung the cloak over her shoulders.
“You wanted to leave, so let’s leave.”
She turned away from him and headed towards the rickety stairs that led to the common room below. Kieran eyed her as she moved to the stairs, collecting his satchel and following. He caught up to her by the time she had taken the top two steps and he reached out, grasping her by the arm.
“Nay, lady,” he rumbled, eyeing the room full of rabble below. “You will stay with me for your own safety.”
Rory kept her mouth shut as he preceded her down the stairs. Hand still on her arm, he took her out the rear of the inn. It was a dusty, smelly yard that stood between them and a structure that apparently served as the stable. It looked like a condemned building. He started to guide her across the yard, towards the livery, but she pulled free of his grip.
“We’re out of the inn.” She fussed with the ties on the cloak. “You don’t have to hold me with a death grip.”
Kieran’s temper was doing a slow build. Foremost, he wanted to get them the hell away from the inn, and then he would deal with her insolent attitude – she was an aggressive, willful woman under normal circumstances but he wasn’t about to let her get out of hand. Still, he didn’t like it when she was upset with him. They rarely fought and when they had, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. As they reached the stable, he sent the boy for his charger and turned to her.
“Lib, I am sorry if you are upset with me,” he said in a low voice. “But you must understand that there are priorities greater than you at the moment. I have no idea when Simon and his men are going to come for me and we must get clear of this place before they do. Every time you drag your feet or argue with me, you are jeopardizing both of us. Is that what you want? My death?”
As she gazed up at him, she lost some of her taut expression. After a moment, she lowered her gaze and shook her head. He watched her lovely face as she struggled. But she kept her mouth shut.
“Is that it?” he asked softly. “Do you have nothing to say to me?”
She lifted her slender shoulders. “What do you want me to say?”
“That you love me and will obey me without argument from now on.”
She turned her head so she was looking away from him completely. He heard her sigh heavily.
“I don’t like it when you order me around,” she said quietly. “I know you’re used to ordering people around, but I’m not one of them. You don’t have to be so mean about it. Everything about this is new and weird and scary, so you’re just going to have to be patient with me. I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances.”
He grunted, perhaps in resignation, and moved closer to her. He knew he was about to fold completely. Bending over, he put his lips on her cheek and suckled gently.
“I know you are,” he whispered. “But so am I. As I listened to your advice in your time, you must listen to me in mine. Everything I do, I do to keep you safe. There are dangers awaiting us right now that you can’t possibly comprehend. Do you understand that?”
She nodded, closing her eyes when he kissed her ear. “Yes.”
“The next time I tell you to do something, will you do it without question or hesitation?”
“Maybe.”
The way she said it was fairly dramatic and he knew that she was folding, too. He grinned, kissing her ear again, then her neck. He could feel her shiver beneath him.
“I love you, Lib.”
That was about all she could take. Rory threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his ear. “I’m not trying to be a pain. I’m just so freaked out by all of this.”
“I know.”
“And those guys that broke into the room; God, Kieran, I’ve never even been around a fight much less something like that. You killed those guys.”
“I had to.”
“I know that.” She pulled away and looked into his strong, handsome face. “But I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. Blood and… and that guy’s head was… ugh…”
She made a face and trailed off. Kieran kissed her cheek, remaining silent on the subject; he knew she was a very strong woman. He had seen it. But he knew she would need all of that strength and more to endure what they were going to be facing. Now that the shock had worn off about returning to his time, he was beginning to feel some trepidation about what was to come.
The stable boy brought out Kieran’s charger. The animal was big and beefy, a bright red color with a thick white blaze and cream-colored tuffs around its hooves. It was the biggest horse Rory had ever seen. Kieran went to the animal and greeted it as one would an old friend. But when Rory tried to pet it, the horse snapped at her.
Kieran was loading his satchel and saddlebags onto the back of the beast, grinning when the animal tried to bite her. Rory jumped back and threw her arms up as if someone had just pointed a gun at her and demanded money.
“This is Liberator,” he introduced her to the animal. “He is a crossbreed of a destrier stallion and a Spanish Jennet mare. I bred him myself, in fact, and have raised him since foalhood. He is strong, intelligent and has a nasty temper. You must be very careful around him.”
She put her arms down and made sure to stay a safe distance from the horse. “No kidding,” she said ironically, watching the charger as it sniffed at Kieran’s familiar scent. “He’s huge.”
Kieran finished securing the bags and made sure the saddle was tight before mounting. The smooth, effortless motion was not lost on Rory. She could see, in that movement, that the man had mounted many a horse. Once again, she was awed by the sight of Kieran in his natural state. As she observed both knight and charger with some amazement, Kieran held out his right hand to her.
“Come along,” he urged her. “We must go.”
She went to him and he pulled her up effortlessly, seating her on the back of the horse. Rory threw her leg over the animal so she was positioned astride and wrapped her arms tightly around Kieran’s waist. It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t sitting primly sidesaddle against him and he grunted.
“You will not ride like this,” he said in a low voice. “Put your legs together and sit as a proper lady would.”
She knew what he meant. “Kieran, I’m not trying to argue with you, but I’m not really comfortable on a horse and if I sit that way, I’ll fall off. I don’t ride every day like you do.”
“I understand. But in this day, only whores ride as you do. ’Tis not proper for a finely bred lady.”
“It’s dark. No one will see. I’ll practice riding sidesaddle another time. But for now, we’d better get out of here.”
He growled but didn’t push it. Spurring his animal forward, they took off at a canter. It was the equivalent of peeling out in a car. Rory had to hold on for dear life as he directed the charger down a dark alleyway that paralleled the main road, holding tightly as the horse jumped obstacles in the dark. They threaded their way through the town. She finally closed her eyes and buried her face in the tunic that she had been so fascinated with; everything about this situation was out of her control and she was going to have to trust the man. Kieran was brilliant and knew better than anyone what needed to be done and how to keep them both safe. Still, as the horse tramped through the darkness, her anxiety grew.
She didn’t say a word for quite some time. At some point, she pulled her face from the rough tunic and opened her eyes, gazing up at the brilliant sky overhead. She’d never seen anything so sharp and bright; there was something very primordial and pure about the sky this night. Gradually, she began to realize they had ventured out of the city and onto a deserted road. The city was in the distance to her left and sand dunes and desert to her right. It was eerily quiet, too; no sounds of cars or music or airplanes overhead. Just a dully, deadly silence like nothing she had experienced before. Her head came up from its resting position against his back.
“Where are we going?” she asked softly.
“Richard’s encampment is about four miles southeast of the city,” he replied quietly. “We are heading for the camp.”
“Is it safe there?”
He nodded. “Aye,” he replied. “Once I tell the king of Simon’s treachery, ’twill be Simon who will find the camp unsafe upon his return.”
Rory fell into contemplative silence. “Did you ever stop to think that you don’t have any proof of his treachery?” she asked after a moment. “He hasn’t done anything yet. He hasn’t made the attempt against your life and won’t now because you left the inn. You can’t prove he was trying to kill you.”
Kieran sighed. “He has been pursuing me for days with the intention of killing me. That is proof enough.”
She was silent a moment. “Has he made other attempts to kill you?”
“Aye,” he replied. “There were two other times.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“They were weak attempts not worth discussing.”
They plodded along in thoughtful silence. Simon de Corlet. Kieran’s blood ran cold as he thought of the man who used to be like a brother to him. They had grown up together and had come on this quest together. But something had happened to Simon during the time they had spent on the hot sands of The Levant; he had become materialistic and brutal.
It was a mission to secure a truce to end the siege of Acre. Of all of Richard the Lionheart’s knights, this mission had fallen to Kieran. A Muslim commander named El-Hajidd had sent word to the Christian armies to propose a secret meeting. He was an envoy representing several Muslim generals under Saladin’s command. Without Saladin’s knowledge, El-Hajidd arranged a secret meeting with Kieran and several other Christian knights to propose a truce, extending what was reputed to be Jesus Christ’s Crown of Thorns as a proposal of good faith. Kieran had accepted the crown and gave El-Hajidd his word that Richard would do everything in his power to end the siege peacefully.
But Kieran never had a chance to prove his honor. Several of his fellow knights, led by Simon, turned against him. They didn’t want peace, only the satisfaction and spoils of complete victory over Saladin. Even as Kieran carried the Muslim offering to Richard, his men were plotting against him. Kieran, sensing the danger, eventually fled the group and they had followed, finally tracking him to Nahariya. Assassins had caught up with Kieran at an inn, mortally wounding him.
The proprietor of the inn, a fat man named Hut, had sent Kieran to a man believed to be a physic but the man was, in fact, an alchemist. Experimenting on the English knight with the nasty gut wound, the old alchemist had fed him a concoction of potions that had put Kieran in suspended animation. He hadn’t been dead, yet not exactly living. He had been frozen in time, buried by Hut and forgotten by the world. The wound, through the centuries, had healed over. That was when Rory, a Biblical Archaeologist, had dug him up. Her inadvertent kiss had awoken the sleeping knight.
And their story continued even now, but they were in Kieran’s time, not the modern world that Rory had been born in to. But they were together and that was all that mattered.
“I’ve been thinking,” she murmured, gazing up at the astoundingly vibrant stars.
“What about?” he asked, still lingering on thoughts of Simon and betrayal.
“About the fact that you’ve been given a second chance to complete your mission,” she said almost wistfully. “Kieran, how many people throughout the ages have begged God for the chance to live their life over or undo something they have done? And why is it you’ve been given that opportunity and me right along with you? I just can’t help but think that you’re meant for something really great, something that will change the course of history. Maybe the history I knew in my time won’t be the same in eight hundred years. Somehow, you’ll change it. You’ll be the catalyst to greater things.”
He patted the arms around his waist with a big, gloved hand. “Your faith in me is appreciated.”
She squeezed him gently. “It’s more than faith,” she murmured. “Remember that I read your journal that had been buried with you. I know how remarkable you are. You are one of the greatest men I have ever read about much less known. I just know I’m going to witness something really amazing, something you will accomplish. Did you ever stop to think of the reason why I’m here, too? Maybe… maybe that’s why; to witness it and maybe to write about it. Maybe I’ll be in the history books as your chronicler.”
He smiled, listening to her awesome take on the situation. “You are here because I need you,” he said simply.
She hugged him again, laying her head against his back, thinking on her purpose for being here with him in his time. It was a little less scary when she realized that she must have some purpose. There was a reason why she was here. Gazing out over the distant city, her thoughts began to wander to their destination.
“So what are you going to tell Richard about me?” she asked. “He’s going to want to know who in the heck I am.”
Kieran grunted. “I have been trying to think of a plausible explanation,” he said. “Although Richard is an accepting man, I doubt I can tell him the truth. At least, not right away. I suppose I shall tell him that you are an American heiress and we are to be married.”
She made a face. “American heiress? He won’t even know what America is.”
He tried to turn and look at her, made difficult by the restrictive helm and hauberk. “I do not even know what American is,” he informed her flatly. “In fact, I am doubtful that it even exists.”
She snorted. “It’s not American, it’s America,” she told him. “And yes, it exists.”
“I think you have made it up.”
She giggled. “I did not make it up.”
“You did.”
She continued to giggle, laying her cheek back against his tunic. “That brings about another issue,” she said. “If I know my history about this era, and I do, if a woman traveled with a man and was not his wife, then she was considered a whore. What are we going to do about that?”
“I told you,” he said evenly. “You are to be my wife.”
She fought off a smile. “Not until you properly ask for my hand.”
He pursed his lips. “I cannot properly ask for your hand, as I do not know your father. That means that the decision is up to another male relative.”
“I don’t have any.”
“You have an uncle, do you not? Is he not part of the university you are indebted to?”
“I’m not indebted to the university. I work for it,” she informed him with what he already knew, although his mindset was still late-twelfth century and a working woman was completely foreign to him. “And yes, he’s the Dean of the Archaeology and Anthropology Department. But you don’t need to ask him. You need to ask me.”
He shook his head. “Your culture is, indeed, bizarre,” he snorted. “So I assume I must propose marriage to you directly, then.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Then I will sell you to a passing caravan as a slave and they can deal with your insolence.”
“Seriously? Those are my choices?”
“Make your decision. If you do not want to marry me, then there are a host of other women who will gladly accept the honor.”
“Other women?” She grabbed him by both arms and shook him playfully, although she wasn’t able to do much considering how big he was. “What other women?”
Now he was the one fighting off a grin. “Many, many others,” he said vaguely. “Too many to count. What is your decision?”
“I’ve decided to punch you right in the nose, buster.”
His laughter broke through and he slapped his visor down. “You cannot reach it,” he said. “Will you not at least consider my proposal?”
“Is that the best you can do? Really, Kieran? Your best effort at proposing to the woman you love?”
“Considering you come with no property, wealth or titles, you should feel fortunate that I have proposed at all.”
“You conceited ape,” she snorted, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. But then she wrapped her arms around his waist again and squeezed. “But I love you anyway.”
He laughed low and raised his visor. He lifted one of her hands and kissed it. “Then you have decided to marry me?”
“I have.”
He kissed her hand again and put it back around his waist. “I am glad.”
He had slowed the horse to a trot by this time, feeling comfortable enough to ease their pace. They were out of the city and heading southeast to Richard’s massive encampment and his mind began to whirl with what was to come. Richard would undoubtedly believe him when he told him of Simon’s treachery; of that he was positive. More than that, he had within his possession the Muslim offering of peace; the Crown of Thorns that Jesus Christ wore when he was crucified. In spite of Simon’s attempts to murder him, and one attempt that very nearly succeeded, he had it with him and was preparing to deliver it to the king. The mission, as he saw it, was near completion and the thought was somewhat overwhelming.
Rory’s thoughts were also somewhat overwhelming and had been since she had awakened on the beach. Only now, she was growing accustomed to the miracle she found herself a part of. Off in the distance, dogs howled and Rory gazed off towards the dark and lonely desert as if to see the night creatures. There wasn’t any Department of Land Management out here to keep the wolves at bay. They were wild and they were deadly. She would be glad when they reached the English encampment.
She lay her cheek against his back again, her mind wandering as the big, mean horse trotted along the road. It was a rather rolling trot, not uncomfortable in the least, and eventually she drifted off to sleep.
Kieran felt her go limp against him and held her hands together at his waist, firmly, so she wouldn’t slide off. There was something inherently fulfilling having her sleeping against him. In fact, her quiet, warm presence centered and strengthened him. He took a deep breath, smelling the air, reacquainting himself with the smell and feel of his time. He’d gotten used to the exhaust fumes and chaos of Rory’s time. Now, he was back.
And he had a job to do.