CHAPTER FIVE
“Kaleef,” Kieran breathed.
Yusef looked at Kieran curiously as he pounded on the door. “You know this man?”
Kieran nodded. Then he shook his head. Truth was, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. The door opened before he could speak and Yusef was diverted when a tiny old man with skin as brown as leather suddenly yanked open the door.
“Sharif,” Yusef gave the man the traditional Muslim greeting. His hand touched his forehead and lips in a flourished gesture. “My English friend has an injured wife. Will you tend her?”
Kaleef waved the lot of them off irritably. “I am not a surgeon,” he snapped, trying to shove his ill-fitting door closed. “Take her elsewhere.”
Before Yusef could negotiate, Kieran stepped forward and lashed out a massive boot, shoving the door open. The old man nearly toppled.
“I know you are an alchemist,” he growled, ducking his head low as he bowed in through the doorway. “But I also know you have the power to sustain life. You will help my wife.”
Kaleef almost tripped on himself attempting to move out of the big knight’s way. He scooted after Kieran as the man entered his small, cluttered hut and looked for someplace to lay Rory down.
“I told you I am not a physic.” He waved his arms around like a bird attempting to take flight. “Get out!”
Yusef came in behind Kieran, trying to be more diplomatic. Yusef was a handsome man, young with fine features and a neatly-clipped beard. His manner was very calming. “She is injured,” he explained again. “Will you at least look at her before determining if you cannot help her?”
“Nay!”
“There is much gold if you will help her.”
That seemed to calm the old man down somewhat. Truth was, he was frightened and agitated. A host of Saracens and one enormous English knight were invading his hut and he was verging on panic. Kaleef lived a rather hermit-like life; he did not get on with other people well. He eyed Yusef as the man produced a large gold coin, took the old man’s hand, and planted it squarely in his palm. The tangible evidence of money seemed to change the old man’s mind.
“Do not place her there!” he squawked as Kieran moved to put Rory on something that resembled a bed. He swept his arm across the table in the middle of the room, knocking off bowls, cups and a variety of other items. “Put her here!”
Kieran did as he was told and lay Rory down on a rough-hewn table. She groaned the moment she hit the table surface and Kieran’s heart lurched.
“Lib?” he whispered urgently. “Libby, can you hear me?”
She sighed painfully, her hand flying to her head. “Kieran?” she asked weakly.
He kissed her hand several times, his enormous palm on her forehead. “I am here, sweetheart.”
She groaned again, both hands on her head now. “My God,” she breathed as her eyes struggled open. “What happened?”
“My horse fell.” His mouth was on her hands, his big body hovering over her. “You were pitched off and hit your head. How do you feel?”
She was breathing rapidly, shallowly. Before she could answer Kieran, Kaleef came up on the other side of her with a potion in his hand. Rory’s half-open eyes caught motion out of the corner of her eye and she started as the old man appeared.
“Drink this,” he commanded gruffly.
“Oh, my God,” she said as she shrank away, pressing herself against Kieran and away from the extremely wrinkled old man. “Who in the hell are you?”
Kieran tried to comfort her. “This man is a healer.”
“I am not a healer,” the little old man flared, smacking his toothless mouth as he shoved the wooden cup at Rory again. “Drink.”
Rory was becoming more lucid even though her head was swimming and her stomach lurched. She felt as if she were listening to everything through a tube; her ears seemed to be plugged. Her face hurt, her shoulders and back hurt, and she simply wanted to lay down and sleep. This crazy old man with the crazy-looking cap on his head wasn’t helping her state.
“I’m not drinking anything,” she said flatly, looking up at Kieran and squinting her eyes as if there were too much light in the room. “Where are we?”
“Back in Nahariya,” Kieran said steadily.
Her muddled eyes widened. “Back in…?” she suddenly struggled to sit up. “We need to get out of here. Why in the world did you bring us back here?”
Yusef suddenly appeared next to Kieran, smiling pleasantly and greeting her with the traditional Muslim salute; fingers to forehead to lips. “Lady Hage,” he spoke with an accent so thick that Rory could barely understand him. “You were injured. We brought you to the healer.”
“I am not a healer!” Kaleef spat, grabbing Rory by the shoulder and shoving her back onto the table. “Drink this or I’ll not lift another finger to help you!”
Rory was nauseous, in pain, and didn’t like the old man in the least. He was rude and smelled to high heaven of feces. She lashed out a fist and shoved him back by the chest, spilling the contents of the cup.
“I’m not drinking anything!” She struggled to get off the table but Kieran held her firm. “Leave me alone. I’m getting out of here.”
Kieran was trying to keep her calm and be gentle with her but she was struggling a great deal. “I would feel better if he could examine you to ensure that you are well enough to travel.” He had her by the upper arms. “Please, Lib. Will you please do this for me?”
She was half-off the table, feeling woozy. Frightened and disoriented, the tears started coming. “I don’t want to drink anything,” she whispered pleadingly. “Please, Kieran. I don’t want to eat or drink anything.”
He held her face between his two enormous hands. “He is not going to poison you, I swear it.” He looked at the old man who was standing on the other side of the table muttering angrily to himself. “Tell her what is in your potion so she will not fear it.”
The old man made a face, shaking the spilt potion from his hands. “Marigold, white willow and crushed arnica petals, you silly girl.”
Kieran looked down at Rory’s pale face. Tears were streaming onto his gloves and she was struggling not to sob. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose. “Do you trust me?” he whispered.
She could only nod and he continued. “Then trust me now. I will not let any harm befall you, I swear it. I am trying to help you.”
Rory gazed up into his clear brown eyes, knowing he was right. He would never intentionally or knowingly let any harm befall her. But she was injured and disoriented and the thought of drinking a Medieval potion did not sit well. She just needed a couple of naproxen and sleep and she would feel much better. But that wasn’t available. She struggled to clear her muddled mind and remember what she knew about Medieval medicine and the properties of those ingredients from her Pre-Med days. Think, girl, she told herself. This is your time. You know about this period!
“If I recall, marigold was used for stomach ailments,” she muttered, taking a deep breath to relax her jangled nerves. “Willow is aspirin, basically. And arnica is an anti-inflammatory.”
Kieran watched her reason her way through the potion. “Will you drink it?”
Rory regarded him for a moment before turning to Kaleef. It was then she began to notice their surroundings. The hut was small, smoky, and rats skittered along the base of the walls; she could hear them. It was also hugely cluttered, like a hoarder, with things she couldn’t even begin to identify. Bowls of stuff littered the three tables that were scattered throughout the hut and there were shelves of more bowls, plates, sacks and vials. It was a crazy place, like a mad scientist’s lab from a cartoon. It stank of feces and other things she didn’t recognize. In spite of her throbbing head and rolling stomach, she found a great deal of interest in the wild and foreign room.
“You said you’re not a healer,” she said to the tiny old man. “What are you?”
The old man peered strangely at her. “What are your words?”
She cocked her head. “Can’t you understand me?”
“I understand you. But you speak strangely.”
Kieran spoke before she could respond. “My wife asked you a question,” he said in his firm, deep voice. “You will answer her.”
Rory cast him an odd look. “Wife?” she mouthed.
He lifted an eyebrow at her and she shrugged, turning back to the little brown man. She was startled to realize that he had moved close to her, eyeing her most strangely. Although Rory wasn’t tall, about five feet four inches, she felt like a giant next to the old man who was now standing very close and inspecting her carefully. He didn’t seem as agitated or angry as he had earlier. In fact, he seemed genuinely curious.
“You have a wound on your face,” he observed.
Rory’s hand flew to her face, feeling the scrape on her right cheek. “Oh, my God,” she gasped with horror, looking at Kieran with panic. “Is it bad?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he murmured. “You are as beautiful as ever.”
But Rory was distressed. “I’d give my eye teeth for a mirror right now,” she muttered, fingers still fluttering over the scrape as she looked to the old man. “Do… do you have something that can heal this?”
The old man’s black eyes twinkled. “Tell me from whence you come. You are not English.”
It was clear that he was more interested in her personally than in her physical state. She lifted an eyebrow at him. “I’ll tell you where I’m from if you tell me why you said that you’re not a healer,” she replied.
“I am an alchemist.”
“Alchemists don’t use things like marigold and willow.”
“My knowledge is not limited. I have what I have and I use what I use.”
He had a slight smile on his face, as if waiting for her great secret. She couldn’t help but smile at the nosy old man; she suddenly didn’t feel so hostile or upset any more. The old man had transformed from something odd and scary to something odd and strangely interesting.
“I’m from a country you have never heard of, very far away. I’m not English, or German, or French. It’s called America.”
“Where is this place?”
She lifted an arm, pointing towards the door although she had no idea which direction she was really pointing in.
“Across the sea,” she told him. “Very far away.”
At this point, Kieran intervened. His Saracen comrades were listening and they tended to be superstitious and suspicious. He didn’t want them thinking she was a product of black magic, or worse. Rory spoke with an odd enough accent without that additional worry.
“Will you give her your potion now?” he said rather authoritatively.
The old man’s gaze lingered on Rory a moment longer before he turned away and went back to his mysterious medicaments. Rory, to Kieran’s surprise, followed. As the old man began to mix things in a rough wooden cup, she stood next to him and inspected the oddities of the table.
“What’s this?” she asked, pointing to a dusty bag with white powder seeping from it.
He didn’t look at her as he continued to mix. “Sulphur.”
She lifted an eyebrow at it for one final inspection and moved on to a bowl with dark liquid in it. “And this?”
“Ram’s blood.”
She made a face and moved on, smelling and touching. Surprisingly, Kaleef let her; he never uttered a word while she rummaged through his possessions. But Rory was starting to come alive, deeply interested in everything in front of her. Archaeological digs were one thing, touching items that were hundreds and thousands of years old, inspecting and studying them. She’d spent years of her life studying how others interpreted history. But to see Medieval items in their original state as they were meant to be was absolutely fascinating. Her archaeologist’s mind was kicking in.
“If I recall,” she said, peering into another bowl of something smelly and coagulated. “Alchemists use sulphur because they believe it emulates the sun. What do you use it for?”
Kaleef remained silent as he stirred the contents of the cup. Then he turned to her and extended it. “It is the sun,” he told her flatly. “Drink this.”
Rory’s first reaction was to resist. She pursed her lips to retort but caught a glimpse of Kieran from the corner of her eye. His expression was pleading, calming. He had asked her to cooperate and since they had arrived in this distant place and time, she hadn’t done a very good job. She was bucking and resisting at every turn and she realized that she didn’t want to do that any longer; for Kieran’s sake, she would behave. The man had enough stress on his hands at the moment.
Reluctantly, she took the cup and took a sip; it was bitter. Taking a deep breath, she drank it quickly like a shot of tequila. Handing the cup back to Kaleef, she looked over at Kieran and he smiled his approval. She smiled weakly in return, coming to notice the host of Saracens standing around and behind him. Now that her wits were returning, she was beginning to grow curious and fearful of their presence. She fixed on the man standing next to Kieran with the fine features and neatly-trimmed beard.
“Kieran?” she spoke to him even though she was looking at the good-looking man. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your, uh, friend?”
Before Kieran could reply, Kaleef walked up next to her, grabbed her chin, and began smearing something gooey on her scraped cheek. Rory danced around like a kid who just had a cut sprayed with antiseptic, but she didn’t pull away. She let him smear.
“Hey,” she protested. “What in the heck is that?”
Kaleef gave her face one last stroke with the salve. “Calendula and boiled cow’s urine,” he told her. “It will heal your face and prevent poison.”
She let out a strangled yelp, holding her hands up but stopping short of putting them on her face. She knew that boiled cow’s urine had certain medicinal qualities to prevent infection. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “Cow’s urine on my face. I think I’m going to hurl.”
Kieran fought off a grin, bent over and kissed her on the opposite cheek. “You smell strangely,” he rubbed it in.
She scowled. “You’re not funny.”
“Aye, I am.” He took her by the arm, presenting her to the man standing next to him. “This is my friend, Yusef ad-Din. He is the one who brought us here for help.”
Rory smiled faintly at the richly brown Saracen, still puzzled as to how and why the man was here. She noted the heavy, dusty robes, layers of them, in faded reds and yellows that were elaborately tasseled. He had a neatly wrapped turban around his head and neck.
“Thank you for your help,” she said after a moment. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Yusef’s dark eyes glittered. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Hage. Are you feeling better?”
“A little,” she admitted.
Yusef looked between Kieran and his absolutely gorgeous, though strangely speaking, wife. “Praise to Allah,” he said. “It was our fault that you were injured. I hope that you will forgive.”
Rory wasn’t sure what to say. She looked at Kieran uncertainly and he put his massive arm around her shoulders.
“It ’twas Yusef and his warriors pursuing us,” he explained. “They did not know it was me and, consequently, are very sorry to have caused your injury. That is why they brought us here.”
Rory lifted an eyebrow, half-shrugging as her gaze returned to Yusef and his frightening warriors. She could see them lingering in the shadows, tattooed and swarthy, with assortments of daggers about their bodies. The realization that she was gazing upon true Saracen warriors did not escape her. As she had done with Kieran when the man had first donned his mail and armor, she began to visually inspect Yusef and his men closely.
“May I ask you a few questions?” she asked Yusef.
He bowed gallantly. “I am at your service, Lady Hage.”
She took a step towards him, the hazel eyes glittering. “The writing you have on your bodies,” she indicated the men behind Yusef. “Is it true that they are passages from the Koran? Is it put on specific places on your body to represent specific wishes or blessings?”
Yusef’s expression took on an odd look. He looked at Kieran with some surprise as the big knight suddenly put his hands on Rory’s shoulders and pulled her back against him. His lips went to her good ear.
“Watch what you ask, Lib,” he hissed. “Men of this time do not appreciate nor respect bold women. You must learn to keep your mouth shut. If you have specific questions, you will ask me. Is that clear?”
She nodded, looking at Yusef with a wide-eyed expression. “I’m sorry,” she said to Yusef. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that the writing is so beautiful and I was curious.”
Yusef scratched beneath his turban in an indecisive gesture, eyeing Kieran again before breaking down into snorts.
“You did not offend me, lady,” he replied. “You are not native to this land. You do not understand our ways.”
“No, I don’t,” she insisted strongly, putting up her hands as if to beg an apology. “I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean any harm.”
“Or course you did not.”
Kieran let that be the end of it, pulling Rory away from Yusef and turning her back towards Kaleef. The old man now had a rag in his hand and was carrying a bowl with an unidentifiable liquid in it. He set it down on the rickety old table, grabbed Rory by the chin again, and began cleaning out her bloodied ear.
She shrieked as he put the rag to her ear, terrified that it was filthy and unsanitary. But she said nothing as he cleaned the blood away and peered in her ear. Seemingly satisfied, he took both of her arms and pushed the sleeves back, inspecting the limbs. When he seemed content with his inspection, he turned back to his bowl and rag, carrying them back over to an uneven table against the wall of the hut where his medicaments were stored.
“She will heal,” he said. “The injuries are not severe.”
Kieran nodded with relief. “Then we may travel?”
“You may.” Kaleef turned to cast the lady a long glance. “Her head will ache and her pains will be stronger tomorrow, but they should fade with time. It would be good for the lady to rest tomorrow if she can.”
“Excellent,” Kieran replied as he looked at Rory. “We shall continue on to the king’s encampment tonight and you may rest tomorrow.”
Rory simply nodded, casting one final glance around the strange and mysterious place. Kaleef was still looking at her and she met his gaze. It was an appreciative moment that passed between them.
“I think you really are a healer,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a very good one.”
Kaleef lifted his shoulders and turned back to wiping out his bowl, but not before she caught a glimpse of an old smile. She was about to say something else to the old man when the door to his hut rattled. Someone was knocking loudly.
Someone was screaming as well. Kaleef didn’t move but Kieran did. He went to the door as the Saracen warriors around him drew their elaborate scimitar swords. A few drew great bejeweled daggers but, for the most part, every man was armed with something very deadly and very beautiful. Startled, Rory ended up standing next to Kaleef as Kieran yanked the stodgy, old door open.
A very old woman stood outside, her eyes full of tears and her toothless mouth leaking mucus and saliva. She was weeping hysterically.
“What is your trouble, woman?” Kieran asked in a cold, booming voice that Rory had never heard from him before. “What do you want?”
The woman tried to speak but ended up faltering. Kieran caught her before she could go down and she clung to him hysterically.
“He… he’s killed him!” she stammered. “Kaleef! Where is Kaleef?”
Kieran pushed the woman back to her feet, realizing it was the old woman from Hut’s hostel. He wasn’t sure why, but an alarm suddenly went off in his head. He yanked the old woman inside and slammed the door. Rory, seeing that he was being very brutal with the old woman, moved forward to assist; her assistance constituted pushing Kieran’s hands off the hysterical female. She didn’t yet recognize the old woman as the same one who had provided her with the clothing she currently wore.
Kieran didn’t particularly notice that Rory had removed his hands; he was more concerned with the reason for the old woman’s presence and focused on her intently. He was increasingly on edge.
“Who has been killed?” he demanded harshly. “Make sense, woman. Who do you speak of?”
Kaleef came up behind Rory, his old face showing some concern as he recognized the old woman. “It is Teeta,” he said to no one in particular. “She is Hut’s wife.”
Kieran’s head snapped to Kaleef as the old man confirmed his observation. His trepidation bloomed. Before he could press the woman further, she exploded with grief.
“He killed Hut!” she cried. “He came for the English but he was not there. So he killed Hut!”
A black, dreadful sense of foreboding filled Kieran. He grabbed the old woman by the arms and forced her to look at him. “Who killed Hut?”
The woman gasped and drooled. “The… the knight. The English!”
Kieran shook her and the woman’s head snapped back. “Look at me,” he growled. “Look at me and tell me. Who was this English knight?”
The woman’s eyes widened at him as if suddenly recognizing him. She began to squeal. “He wanted you,” she exclaimed.
“How do know he wanted me?”
The woman was nearly beyond the ability to comprehend what she was being asked. “You,” she sobbed loudly. “He asked if Hut had seen a big Englishman taller than the sky. Hut told him that you had left and the man killed him!”
Kaleef grasped at the old woman. “Are you sure Hut is dead?”
Teeta abu-Syamm clutched at the old alchemist. “You must come,” she wept deeply. “I know you can save his life. You have done this before. You can make him sleep the sleep of the dead and your potions will heal him.”
Kaleef pulled the woman with him, away from the ears that were hearing of his deep, dark secrets. He did not want anyone else to know that his occupation as a healer had led to the desire to find immortality, among other things. Kaleef was a brilliant and curious man. A few knew of his miraculous potions, but not many. What he did bordered on black magic and he did not want the word to get out.
Rory let the woman go, watching her move with Kaleef and hearing nothing more than whispers between them. Kieran came to stand next to her, watching the pitiful scene right along with her.
“Kaleef is the alchemist who put me into stasis,” he murmured.
It took a moment for his softly uttered words to sink in. Then Rory’s head jerked to him, her eyes wide as she gazed up into his handsome face. “That’s the guy?” she hissed. “My God, why didn’t you tell me before?”
“There was no opportunity.”
She was astonished; her mouth hung open as she stared up at him. “I don’t believe it,” she muttered. “Seriously? That’s the same alchemist?”
“Aye.”
He seemed rather calm about it but she was working herself up into a state. “Kieran, that guy has discovered something so fantastic that it’s never been duplicated, ever.” She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t more excited about it. “Why didn’t you…?”
Kieran shushed her under the guise of a kiss. Then he kissed her again just because he wanted to. He put his big arms around her, pulling her into a protective, private cocoon where their conversation could not be heard.
“Not another word, Lib,” he whispered. “I do not want Yusef or his men to hear. We have returned to the same man who gave me his potions that put me to sleep for eight hundred years, only to be awoken by your kiss. That is how I knew he could help you. He helped me to live and I knew he would do the same for you. And Hut’s wife; she knows it as well because it was Hut who sent me to Kaleef after I was wounded by Simon’s assassins.”
The information was overwhelming. Rory struggled to digest everything he was telling her, her sharp mind working through the situation and coming to a horrifying, rapid conclusion.
“Then… then the man who just killed Hut must have been Simon, looking for you,” she whispered. “Why did he kill Hut instead?”
Kieran shrugged. “I can only surmise that it was because he was angry that I had left,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Yusef and his men. He suddenly emitted a pent-up sigh, scratching his forehead as he did so. “So now I find myself back in Nahariya, back with the alchemist who put me to sleep in order to save my life. But this time, Hut has been killed by Simon instead of me.”
Rory was truly bewildered as she, too, realized that history was taking a slightly different twist this time. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “What does it all mean?”
“I do not know.”
She suddenly looked stricken. “What if… what if Simon followed Hut’s wife here? What if he followed her when she ran?”
Kieran shook his head. “He would have no reason to unless…”
He trailed off and Rory finished for him. “Unless he thought she was running to warn you.”
Kieran suddenly pushed Rory into the heart of Hut’s small cottage, shoving her at the old man. When she looked at him with a mixture of fear and indignation, he pointed a gloved finger at her.
“Stay here with Kaleef,” he commanded. “Do not leave this place.”
“No, Kieran.” She grabbed on to him and dug her heels in. “You’re not going anywhere. You can’t leave me.”
“You will not argue.”
“You don’t even have a weapon,” she pointed out hotly. “What in the hell are you thinking?”
Kieran was close to losing his temper with her; he hadn’t time to argue. He looked at the somewhat startled Kaleef.
“Do you have a sword?” he demanded.
Kaleef nodded, pointing to the far corner of his cottage. As Rory continued her protests, Kieran plowed his way through the clutter to the back of the hut, looking for what Kaleef considered to be a weapon of some kind. Yusef was right behind him.
“What is wrong?” he demanded softly.
Kieran spotted the sword. It was an old scimitar, dark with age and somewhat worn. But it was the only thing available and Kieran collected it swiftly, kicking aside the clutter that was on top of it.
“Those assassins I told you of,” he muttered, his eyes moving from Yusef to the weeping Teeta. “I fear that old woman may have led them straight to us.”
Yusef didn’t ask any more questions. He acted swiftly, barking orders to his men in the fluid, foreign syllables of Arabic and putting the group on alert. No sooner had the orders left his lips than the door to Kaleef’s hut rattled again, this time violently. When it suddenly exploded in a shower of splinters, Kieran, Yusef and the Saracen warriors rushed the door with weapons drawn.
Rory couldn’t even see who they were fighting. It was suddenly one big giant melee and she was rightly terrified. In the rush, someone kicked over an oil lamp and the toppled flame lit one of the old tables on fire. Kaleef grabbed Rory and began shoving her back towards the alcove where Kieran had found the old sword.
“Go,” he yelped. “Get out of here before everything explodes.”
Rory didn’t want to leave Kieran and she protested vehemently. “No,” she shouted. “I’m not leaving without Kieran. Kieran!”
Kieran was on the opposite side of the hut, battling two men he recognized from Simon’s arsenal. Yet, oddly enough, he had not seen Simon yet. With all of the noise going on around him, swords meeting and men yelling, he didn’t hear Rory’s frantic cry. He had no idea that Kaleef had shoved her out through a small back entrance as the fire in the hut grew. In fact, he didn’t even notice the fire until Yusef happened to mention it in between sword thrusts. Suddenly, Kieran realized there was a very big fire between him and Rory, and his focus began to shift.
“Libby!” he bellowed, trying not to get his head cut off as he continued to battle. “Rory!”
He couldn’t see the main part of the hut through the smoke and fire and, terrified, he kicked his opponent away and charged through the flame, catching his tunic on fire and beating out the flames as he called Rory’s name again. The smoke was growing heavy and, coughing, he noticed the small, open doorway in the alcove off to his left. He charged through it as the flames began to consume the walls of the hut.
He was barely into the open air when Rory was suddenly throwing herself at him, her arms around his neck. Off guard, he lost his balance momentarily as she tackled him. But his arms went swiftly around her, relieved beyond words that she was all right. It took him a moment to realize she was weeping hysterically. He held her tightly.
“All is well, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair, kissing her head. “Calm yourself; all is well now. But we must get out of here.”
She held him a moment longer, utterly terrified and relieved, before letting go and sliding to the ground. “Are you all right?” she sniffled, wiping the tears from her face. “Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, grasping her by the elbow and leading her swiftly down the dark and spooky alley. “Where is Kaleef?”
She ran alongside him as they made their way through the shadowed streets, putting distance between them and the burning hut. “He and the old woman ran off,” she said. “He tried to get me to go with him but I wouldn’t.”
Kieran held her fast as they continued to run. “We must make haste to put distance between us and Simon’s men.”
“Did you see Simon?”
“Nay. But I am sure he was there, somewhere.”
Horses were suddenly thundering behind them. Kieran yanked Rory into an alcove in between houses, holding her tightly as the horses drew near. He knew they could never outrun the horses so it was best to hide. He could hear the men calling to each other in English and his heart sank. If there was ever any doubt that Simon had found him, it was gone. Simon was upon them.