CHAPTER SEVEN
Three weeks later
Off the coast of Marseille, France
Rory had a text book idea of what it meant to travel by sea during Medieval times. Since her undergraduate degree was in Medieval History with a Ph.D. in Biblical Archaeology, she really thought she knew everything there was to know about Medieval culture, including travel. And she did. But the reality of it was something different altogether. It was like hell; that was the only way she could think to describe it. On the port side railing as she gazed at the distant coast of France on a cool and clear January morning, her mind was wandering over the journey of the past few weeks.
Before departing the port at Tyre, Yusef had located a Muslim cleric that agreed to marry her and Kieran. Being devoutly Catholic, Kieran wasn’t too keen on the idea of a Muslim cleric but he figured that a Muslim ceremony was better than no ceremony at all so he agreed, sitting stoically beside Rory as the old cleric intoned the Muslim marriage rite yet saying a rosary throughout the entire ceremony. He paid the cleric handsomely and with that, Rory was his wife, at least in the eyes of Allah. But Kieran told Rory in no uncertain terms that he planned to have a wedding mass said the moment they reached France.
Yusef also followed through on another promise; when the ceremony was over, he had the very same cleric scribe a missive testifying to the fact that Kieran was not a traitor but an emissary of peace and that the true traitor, one Simon de Corlet, had confessed to deceit and disharmony. It took some time because the cleric was used to hieratic and had to translate everything into the English language. He was an educated man and knew several languages. But with that final and very precious gift, Yusef and his warriors escorted Kieran and Rory to the port of Tyre, about ten miles north of Nahariya.
The day they arrived, the weather had been remarkable and clear for January, with a balmy sea breeze blowing off of the Mediterranean. Rory was fascinated by the city, its people, streets and buildings, finding something vastly interesting in everything she saw. Since Tyre was a major port, many Christian knights were coming off of the boats that also brought animals and goods from all points west. It was raw, busy and exciting.
Given that it was a major import-export port, there were more goods and merchandise than in most cities. Kieran took Rory into several merchant stalls so she could find material for clothing, but when she informed him that she had no idea how to sew, he went in search of a seamstress. It wasn’t difficult to locate one and he promised to pay the woman well if she would sew garments for Rory by the morning. Their boat left at sunrise and the woman agreed.
So they spent the afternoon before their departure shopping for fabric. Kieran wanted her to find something lovely but all she wanted to do was inspect the textiles like a scientist. He had to repeatedly remind her to find something she liked and to stop investigating every piece of string she came across, to which Rory responded with the traditional display of a sassy tongue. Kieran would just shake his head at her. But she managed to find several different kinds of fabric that she loved and Kieran even managed to find her a wedding ring at some point. She liked silver so he purchased a wide-band, silver filigree ring that was studded with precious stones. It was a gorgeous ring and Rory wept happy tears when he slid it on her finger.
When the next morning came, as promised, the swarthy seamstress, who was oddly missing most of the fingers on her left hand, had finished nine stunning garments for Rory. The woman had evidently been up all night sewing, assisted by her daughter and sister, and Rory was thrilled with the very pretty surcoats. Dressing in a gorgeous jade-colored linen, she told Kieran she felt like she was going to the prom but he had no idea what she meant. With her new surcoats, shifts and all manner of accessories and new trunks to put them in, she was ready to travel. She was looking forward to examining all of her new possessions on the trip to France. Since there would be no computers, videos or floor shows like a cruise ship, she was planning on how to keep herself occupied.
He had paid for passage on a ship that, when Rory saw it, looked more like a sailboat than a safe, sturdy ship that was going to take them across the Mediterranean. She knew the type of ship that sailed during the day but nothing prepared her for the reality of it. Called a cog, these ships had a high bow, low stern, and a giant mast in the center. This one happened to have a rudder, although most didn’t. This was a newer ship, about eighty feet long, and it had a deck built on to it so there was an enclosed space below. Their “cabin” was really just a section of the second deck that was divided off from the rest of the ship by crudely fashioned curtains. When the ship swayed, the curtains opened and there was really no privacy at all.
So she, Kieran and Liberator boarded the ship that set sail just after sunrise on the fourth day since their appearance on that rocky beach. The weather was fine the first day out but a storm arose the next day that ruined everything. Rory had never really been on a boat and this had been a very rude introduction. She very quickly discovered that she was prone to seasickness.
The trip had been miserable from the start. The storm had lasted six of the longest, most miserable days of Rory’s life. Even when the storm died down and the sun came out, Rory was still woozy. She never stopped being woozy and she hardly ate a bite. So by the end of the three weeks, she was down several pounds and her new dresses were a bit roomy. But she didn’t care; she just wanted the heck off that stupid boat.
On the twentieth day of their journey, land was sighted and the captain told them that they would be making landfall by mid-afternoon in Marseille. Rory was so happy that it drove her to tears. As the boat skirted the green coast in the distance, she watched from her perch against the railing which had been her spot for the past three weeks. She didn’t want to stray too far from the edge in case she had to vomit again. But these days, nothing was coming up; she’d thrown up everything in her system and then some.
Kieran, who had been below securing their possessions, found her leaning over the rail, watching the land in the distance. Her long hair was pulled back into a single braid and soft tendrils blew in the sea breeze. Her face, without makeup now for several weeks, was rosy from the sun and wind in spite of her constant seasickness, and he had never seen her so beautiful. She was a gorgeous woman as it was but, now, she was positively radiant. He couldn’t explain it any other way.
He inspected her figure as he approached; the gentle curve of her backside and the narrowness of her waist now that she had been sick for three weeks straight. He approached from behind, bracing his arms on either side of her and leaning on the rail just as she was. He kissed her on the neck.
“Greetings, Wife,” he kissed her again.
She turned to him with a smile on her lips before returning her focus to the land in the distance. Kieran settled in behind her, his chin on the top of her head as they watched the view together. Beyond the boat, the waves kicked up and the breeze blew strongly.
“The captain said we’ll be docking by sunset,” she said. “I can’t tell you how glad I will be to get off this boat. I never knew I could be so sick and so scared at the same time.”
He kissed the side of her head. “This will be a memory soon enough.”
She made a face. “Not soon enough,” she said frankly, her hazel eyes watching the coastline. “Swear to me that we will never, ever travel by boat again.”
“I cannot. We must travel by boat one last time, between Calais and Dover.”
She groaned. “Oh, God,” she breathed. “How long will that trip take?”
He shrugged thoughtfully. “Perhaps a few hours if the weather is good.”
There wasn’t much she could do about that so she quieted for a moment, turning in his arms so that she was facing him. He pulled her against him, nuzzling her, as she wound her arms around his neck.
“We haven’t really talked about much over the past few weeks because I’ve felt so horrible, but what’s going to happen now?” she wanted to know. “Where do we go from here?”
He sighed, thinking on the chronology of what was to come. “After we dock, we shall spend the night along the waterfront,” he said. “After that, I will make arrangements to travel to Paris and from Paris, we shall return to Southwell.”
She wriggled her eyebrows. “Ah, yes, Southwell,” she repeated. “I’ve never really asked you about your home. What’s it like? Tell me everything so I know what to expect.”
It was his turn to wriggle his eyebrows. He snuggled against her, thinking of the home he hadn’t seen in three years and the family that lived there. It all seemed like a distant dream.
“I am afraid to tell you everything,” he teased, straight-faced. “You may not want to go there.”
She snorted. “Why? Is it a crazy place?”
“It can be.”
“Tell me anyway so I’m prepared, at least.”
He nodded as if reluctant. “Very well,” he started. “Southwell Castle was built before the time of the Normans. I am not Norman, you know.”
“I figured that out. Hage is not a Norman name.”
He nodded. “That is correct; it is Saxon.” He continued. “My ancestors were rulers over the lands we still hold. We were one of the few Anglo-Saxon families who continued to hold their lands even after the invasion. My ancestors apparently found a way to work with the Normans and were rewarded for their cooperation. Southwell is located near Nottingham which, in ancient times, was known as North Mercia. The castle is called Southwell because it used to be the southernmost water source in North Mercia.”
Rory listened to him, shaking her head in amazement. “How would you know all of this? People didn’t keep written records of that time. Who told you all of this?”
“My father, Jeffrey Hage, Earl of Newark and Sherwood,” he replied. “He told me so that I may pass it down to our children, who in turn will pass it to theirs. Our family history is very important.”
“No doubt,” she smiled faintly. “And you? You have titles as well.”
He nodded. “The titles I inherited, Viscount of Dykemoor and Sewall, are hereditary titles to the first born son of the Earl of Newark and Sherwood. Our son will inherit this title once my father has passed away and I become the new earl.”
She thought on that a moment. “But you have brothers,” she said. “Will they inherit anything?”
Kieran thought of his beloved brothers, men he hadn’t seen in what seemed like forever. As he thought of them, he realized how much he’d missed them. “I have three younger brothers; Sean, Christian and Andrew,” he said. “They have their own titles and lands, but the majority of the Hage fortune goes to me.”
“Tell me about your brothers. Did they go to the Holy Land with you?”
He shook his head. “Nay,” he responded. “Sean is a servant for Richard and has been helping protect the throne in the king’s absence. Christian and Andrew serve my father as captains of his armies. Southwell has the largest army in the province with over one thousand men.”
“You were the only brother that went on Richard’s quest?”
He nodded, his eyes dimming as he thought of that turbulent time. “My father thought Richard’s quest was foolish,” he replied softly. “He did not want any of us to go. It was quite the battle when I made the choice to accompany the king. My father strongly disagreed.”
“Is he a supporter of Prince John?”
Kieran shook his head. “Not at all,” he replied. “He is an old man. He did not want to lose any of his sons, and especially not his heir, on what he felt was an idiotic quest. But in the end, he understood my decision to go.”
Rory fell silent a moment. “What are you going to tell him about your return? You should probably tell him the truth in case he hears it from someone else.”
Kieran nodded, feeling the familiar disappointment at the way things turned out. “I will tell him,” he replied. “My father is old, gruff and hard of hearing, but he is not unfair. He will believe me and so will my brothers.”
“I hope so.”
Kieran simply nodded, pulling her close and watching the coastline in the distance draw nearer. Rory fell silent, basking in his warmth and power as they watched land grow larger and larger. She knew he was melancholy about the whole thing, uncertain about his future once he reached England. All she could do was support him in whatever he chose to do; this was his life and he needed to make the decisions. She had decided during those days of misery upon the open sea that she was simply along for the ride; this wasn’t her time or her world. She had left hers behind. But this was Kieran’s time and anything he did or said could, and would, change the course of history, including his return to England.
The sea was incredibly blue, bluer than any water she had ever seen, and as they drew close to the port, the water became very clear and she could see to the bottom. She could see the city in the distance, clinging to the coastline with tight streets and whitewashed buildings. Marseille glistened like a jewel along the Mediterranean and she was fascinated by the sight; it was unlike anything she had ever seen and the historic significance wasn’t lost on her.
“I’ve been thinking something,” she said.
Kieran was fairly well wrapped around her, his head against hers. He felt so much peace and contentment when she was in his arms. “What about?” he asked.
“Me,” she said. “It probably wouldn’t be a good idea for you to tell your father I’m an American heiress. First of all, he’ll want to know want kind of dowry I’ve brought to this marriage and we both know I have absolutely nothing. Secondly, America won’t mean anything to him. I could be from the moon for all he’ll know about America.”
Kieran inhaled thoughtfully, letting out a slow, long breath. “Very well,” he agreed. “What would you suggest we tell him?”
She pursed her lips in thought. “My family name is Celtic,” she said. “Osgrove means ‘victorious’. Why don’t we tell him I’m Irish? My mother’s great-grandmother came from Castlebar in County Connaught. I have a strange enough accent that he’ll probably believe I’m Irish.”
“You have a strange enough accent that he would, in fact, believe that you were from the moon.”
She turned to cast him a threatening glare. He kissed the tip of her nose and she broke down into a grin. “Don’t tell him I’m nobility, either, because I’m not. We could never prove it.”
“Ah, but you must be nobility in order to marry into the Hage family,” he told her firmly. “If not, my father may seek an annulment.”
“Fine.” She flattened her lips irritably. “Tell him I’m from a very, very minor noble family.”
“Do you have lands? A title?”
“No. And tell him that my parents are dead and I’m an orphan.”
“How did I meet you, then?”
She cocked her head in thought. “My brother was on the Quest with you. He was a good friend and made you promise on his deathbed that you would marry his poor, orphaned sister so that I would be taken care of. Unwilling to disappoint a dying man, you agreed.”
Kieran fought off a grin at her wild imagination. “And does this dead brother have a name?”
Rory’s gaze grew distant. “Bud.”
Kieran lost his humor, thinking on Rory’s colleague who had risked everything so that they could be together. Bud Dietrich had been madly in love with Rory but had loved her enough to sacrifice himself so that she could be happy. They owed Bud everything so it was a fitting tribute to a man who had not yet even been born.
“Of course,” he murmured. “Bud was, indeed, a good friend. It would not be a lie.”
For some reason, tears came to Rory’s eyes as she thought on Dr. Bud Dietrich. She hadn’t thought of him since the moment they discovered they had returned to Kieran’s time. He had been her boss as well as her friend. Thinking of the man made her weep silently. He had loved her so much. It had been a sad thing for both of them that she could not return those feelings; her love had been reserved for Kieran.
Kieran must have sensed her mood because he kissed her a couple of times on the cheek before letting her go. He left her at the amidships’ railing as he went to order their possessions brought on deck and to check on Liberator one last time. The horse had grown fat and restless in the past three weeks, doing nothing more than eat the entire time. He was as ready to disembark the ship as Rory was.
As the ship came into port at Marseille, Rory forgot her seasickness and took in the sights. The cog came to rest at the far end of a long row of ships, all docked several feet from the shore. There were no such things as piers or actual docks; ships simply got as close as they could to the shore without running aground and dropped anchor. When the ship hands threw the anchor over the side, which was actually a very large stone tethered to a rope, the ship finally came to rest in the gently rolling inlet.
Several of the hands jumped over the side into the cold, thigh-deep water. Immediately, they began offloading their cargo and there was a host of people on the shore that waded out to assist. Rory watched everything with great interest, noting firsthand how cargo ships were offloaded in a Medieval port; it was purely by manpower alone, at least at this port. No forklift or wenches as she knew them. As she observed, Kieran suddenly jumped off the side of the boat, followed by Liberator.
The huge splash came up and Rory barely missed getting soaked. The horse splashed around excitedly in the water as Kieran tried to coax him up onto the shore. But Liberator was like a child. He didn’t want to go on shore; he simply wanted to splash about in the water. Eventually, Kieran gave up and let go of the horse’s lead. Liberator ran out into deeper water and began to swim around in the inlet. Grinning, Rory ran to the opposite side of the ship to watch the big, silver head moving around in the blue, blue water. Even though it was January, the day was balmy and the water was inviting. Rory envied that big, silver horse.
Kieran stood with his hands on his hips, watching his horse swim around, when he suddenly heard a splash on the opposite side of the ship. He wasn’t particularly concerned until he glanced at the deck and realized that he didn’t see Rory anywhere. In a panic, he climbed back onto the ship, demanding his wife, when the deck hands began pointing over the side of the boat. Kieran raced to the starboard rail to see Rory swimming around below, stroking her way out towards Liberator. Kieran couldn’t help but grin, watching the two of them frolic in the deep blue waters below.
“Are you not cold?” he called out to her.
She turned on her back, backstroking as she smiled up at him. “A little,” she admitted. “But it feels wonderful to be off that damned boat.”
He leaned forward on the rail, watching her with adoration in his eyes. She looked like a water nymph, her pale skin against the blue water. “You’d better swim to the shore before you catch chill,” he told her.
She began to move around the boat, heading for the rocky shore. Kieran moved to the other side of the boat again and leapt into the water, waiting for Rory to come around the bow. Around him, men were offloading their possessions and carrying them onto the shore. As he snapped a reprimand to one of the men who was being careless with one of his wife’s trunks, Rory came around the bow and into water shallow enough to stand. As she began to walk on the rocky ground, Liberator suddenly appeared behind her.
Kieran saw the horse charging up behind Rory but he was too far away to prevent the horse from trampling her; he could suddenly see disaster before his eyes. He opened his mouth to shout at the horse just as the animal rushed upon Rory, but before he could get the words out of his mouth, Liberator shoved Rory with his big head and she fell over as he charged past her. It was like watching a naughty kid push a rival out of the way. Rory whooped as she fell back into the water.
The horse was having a good time. As Kieran moved to help his wife up, the horse suddenly circled around and shoved her down again just about the time she reached her feet. Kieran prevented the horse from doing it a third time, shoving him away when he came near again. But Liberator would not be deterred and when he swung around for one more pass, Rory splashed water violently in the horse’s face. Insulted, Liberator had enough and he splashed up onto the shore.
Kieran picked up his wife and carried her up to the shore, keeping her away from the horse that seemed to want to push her down. He set her to her feet.
“There’s a cloak in one of those trunks.” Rory was dripping wet and wringing out her hair. “Would you please find it for me?”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Cold?”
“Freezing.”
“I warned you.”
She gave him an impatient “yes, I know you did” expression. “Please, just find it,” she asked again. “And just so you know, I’d do it again if given the choice.”
He snorted as he turned for the pile of trunks and other items still being assembled on the shore. There were several deck hands piling them up and he grabbed one of the men and paid him a gold coin to stand guard over everything. The man was big and burly, and happily agreed. Meanwhile, Kieran secured Liberator to a great iron weight lodged on the shore so the horse wouldn’t get into mischief before going in search of the magical trunk that held Rory’s cloaks.
Fortunately, he found it on the first try and brought forth a heavy, linen cloak with a soft lining. Rory thanked him gratefully and wrapped up against the balmy breeze blowing off the sea. Eventually, all of their possessions were brought off the ship and Kieran paid a few men who worked along the ports to transport them to the nearest tavern. Because she’d been cooped up on the ship so long, Rory wanted to walk, so Kieran took Liberator in one hand and Rory in the other and followed the wagon as it moved down the waterfront.
The first thing Rory noticed was that she couldn’t seem to walk a straight line. She felt like she was still on the ship and the nausea she had been experiencing for weeks returned. By the time they made it off the beach and onto the uneven, pitted road beyond, she was feeling pretty horrible. But she kept her mouth shut. She’d done nothing but complain for the past three weeks and she was sure, at some point, Kieran was going to lose patience with her. So she staggered next to him as they made their way down the waterfront, trying to distract herself by studying the Medieval scenery. It was truly something to behold.
It was a big city. There were neatly laid out streets with stone buildings and the land elevation increased as it moved further from the sea. Up on a hill overlooking the city was a church; she could see the steeple and a portion of the building. As she gripped Kieran’s arm with her left hand, she pointed up to the church on the hill.
“Look there,” she said, awe in her voice. “The Abbey of St. Victor.”
Kieran’s dark eyes moved to the church on the hill. “A perfect place to receive the wedding sacrament.”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Our marriage is not recognized by the Christian faith.”
Her gaze moved to the church in the distance once again. “So you want to get married there?”
“I do.”
“The Abbey of St. Victor is one of the oldest around. Do you think they’ll do it?”
“For a donation, the priests will do most anything.”
He said it with some irony but she let it go; she knew that it was generally known that Medieval priests could be corrupt. There were loads of records and testimonies from the time period attesting to it. It was nothing new. She continued to gaze up at the abbey.
“Did you know it was built by the Romans?” she asked.
He nodded. “I do,” he answered. “I traveled here, once, when I was a squire. My master was an old and wise knight, very pious, and we traveled France for two years to visit all of the prestigious churches so that he could pray. He felt that it would ensure the forgiveness of the men he had killed during his life and ensure his entry into heaven.”
She continued to study the church. “If I recall correctly, St. Victor’s was destroyed about three hundred years ago and has only been rebuilt in the last hundred years. Didn’t the Saracens destroy it?”
He shrugged. “I do not know.”
“I think they did.” She was trying to recall her knowledge of the place. But her attention was soon diverted when they passed a building that had a series of paintings on a panel facing the street.
The paintings were crude but unmistakable; they were sexual positions and beneath each position was some kind of writing she couldn’t make out. Rory came to a halt, peering at the panel, then the building it was on, and back to the panel again. Kieran saw what she was looking at and gently pulled her along.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, her mouth hanging open as he forced her to walk. “It’s a menu for sex.”
He didn’t say anything as they continued, but Rory was clearly fascinated by it. “It’s like a fast food menu,” she pointed at it. “A la carte or in a combo. You can just order off the menu.”
He continued walking stoically. “Come along, Wife.”
She dug her heels in. “Wait a minute,” she argued as she started pulling him back. “I want to see what it says.”
He shook his head and continued walking, dragging her along. “Well-bred women do not give notice to such things.”
“But archaeologists do,” she insisted. “Please? I just want to see what it says.”
He came to a stop, so abruptly that she smacked into the back of him. His clear brown eyes were critical.
“I will again say nay,” he told her in a low voice. “It is unseemly. You must understand that there is no room for your scientific mind in these times. If you go back and read that, no matter how innocent your heart and mind are, it will attract unwanted and shameful attention. Is that clear?”
The amazed and somewhat amused expression disappeared off her face and she averted her gaze, looking at her feet. Kieran sighed faintly, kissed her on the forehead, and continued walking.
“I apologize if I was harsh, sweetheart,” his voice turned low and tender. “But you must understand that this is not your time. The situation is markedly different and I do not want you to do anything that would put you in harm’s way.”
She was pouting, looking at the ground as he gently led her along. But contrary to their usual exchange, she didn’t argue with him. He felt bad, like he had crushed her spirit, but he didn’t apologize further. She had to understand.
They weren’t in her time any longer. And it was only going to grow worse.