CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The next day brought snow and sleet like Rory had never seen. Growing up in Southern California, she was only marginally familiar with snow as it pertained to skiing at local resorts, so the storm that blew in overnight was something to behold.
The morning started out innocently enough. She and Kieran had slept wrapped up in each other as they usually did but when dawn came and he tried to disengage himself, she refused to let him go. He was so warm that she fought him tooth and nail, so he relented and stayed in bed with her a while longer. Rory was clever, however, and knew that once she started touching him intimately, he would stay until his lust was satisfied so she burrowed beneath the soft linen coverlet and pleasured him with her mouth until the man could take no more. He rolled her onto her back, quietly, and made love to her as the sun rose amidst the storm clouds.
When their bodies cooled and their passion was satisfied for the moment, Kieran pulled back the great curtains, immediately looking over to Bud and David, sleeping in piles of linens and furs next to the glowing hearth. He and Rory had kept quiet through their lovemaking purposely so they would not wake the boys. Kieran still couldn’t convince her to let the boys sleep with the rest of the pages but until such time as he could do that, he was not about to sacrifice his bedroom behavior towards his wife. The compromise was to stay as quiet as they could even though, for Rory, it was difficult. Kieran either kissed her or had her suck his fingers the entire time because if her mouth was occupied, it was more difficult for her to make noise.
After Kieran left to join his brothers in the hall, Rory fell back asleep for a short time before waking surprisingly bright and alert. She hadn’t felt so good in weeks and she threw back the coverlet, hooting at the chill of the room. A glance over at the hearth showed that Bud and David were gone, so she guessed they had gone with Kieran. Eager to look around Southwell for the first time since her arrival, Rory ran to the bathing room and shouted down the dumbwaiter.
Kieran had already told the servants that his wife would bathe daily, so they were prepared. It was only a matter of minutes before the first servants appeared bearing hot water. So they filled up the tub, she bathed and went through the daily ritual of washing her panties, and then used the sesame oil to soothe her skin. She honestly couldn’t remember her skin ever being so smooth and soft; water without chemicals and oils without preservatives had advantages.
Because of the snow, she dressed in the warmest thing she had. Her panties had dried by the fire, which Kieran must have stoked into a serious blaze before he left, so she put on her panties and bra, followed by a pair of soft, linen pantalets that her husband had purchased for her in Paris. She thought the pantalets were kind of goofy looking but they protected her skin against the shifts and surcoats, which could be rough. There were no fabric softeners. And there were no real undergarments for her torso underneath the shift other than corsets, which she wouldn’t wear. As she put the shift on and the lovely orange surcoat made of heavily-brocaded linen, she smoothed the garments down and was beginning to feel the expansion of her belly. She rubbed her hand over the small bulge right around her belly button, feeling the evidence of the pregnancy for the first time. She was both thrilled and terrified.
Her long chestnut hair had undergone a transformation over the past seven weeks. With no hair products like mousse or gels or shampoos or hairsprays, her hair was taking on a natural curl all its own. Rory had no idea her hair had curl to it but the lack of modern products and the pure water she had been washing with had brought the quality to light. To accentuate it, she had taken to sleeping with her hair rolled up in strips of cloth she had torn from the towel she owned. It was an idea she had, since she was without her curling iron, and Kieran had laughed at her the first time she had done it. But he found the result so beautiful that he couldn’t keep his hands out of her hair.
So she unrolled the rags in her hair and ran a comb through it, creating a lustrously full head of curls. Then she used the comb to make them long and spiral, shaping them around her hand. Pulling the section over her forehead back and securing it with a real tortoiseshell comb, she finished off with a few of the precious cosmetics they had purchased in Tyre. And with all that done, Rory was finally ready to face Southwell.
Once she opened the chamber door, a blast of freezing air hit her in the face. Shuddering, she hunted down the cloak she had stolen from Hut’s hostel on that night so long ago, the off-white wool that was incredibly warm. She had practically slept in the thing during their travels and she had grown attached to it. Since she hadn’t really been out of the keep since their arrival, she moved slowly and cautiously. Her intent was to explore but if anyone saw her, she would use the excuse that she was looking for her husband. There was a certain thrill in exploring the massive stone keep by herself.
The fourth floor was empty. She peeked inside Sean and Margaret’s room where Jeffrey lay sleeping. There was a male servant at his side and she slipped away unnoticed. She also peeked inside a narrow door that led into a very small, very messy chamber that she assumed was Andrew’s. It smelled like a teenage boy lived there. Moving down the steep stairs, she ended up on the third floor where the floor plan was pretty much identical. There was a room in front of her that would have been directly below Kieran’s bedchamber and then another chamber down a short corridor to the left. She noticed servants coming out of the door down the hall and disappearing into what looked like a slit in the wall. When she walked down to take a look at it, it was actually an opening for an extremely steep set of stone steps leading down into the darkness. She had no idea what lay beyond. Too intimidated to take the stairs, she moved to return to the main spiral staircase when her gaze fell on a narrow door just to the left of the servant’s staircase.
It was bolted from the outside; she could see the big, iron bolt wedged into a socket. She gazed at the door, realizing that Christian’s betrothed must be inside. Hesitantly, she approached the door and put her hand on it, wondering if she should knock. Everyone had told her that it was Christian’s business. It had been made clear to her. But she couldn’t stand the thought of a thirteen year old caged up like a criminal because the man she was betrothed to had no interest in her. It was cruel and horrible. More than that, it was barbaric and inhumane. In her world, they threw people in jail for this kind of thing. Waffling with indecision, she finally threw caution to the wind and unbolted the door.
Pushing it open timidly, she stuck her head into the room. There was a small corridor leading from the door into the room itself and all she could see beyond was part of a small window and little else. Now that she had the door open, she thought she’d better announce herself.
“Uh… Lady Charlotte?” she said timidly. “Hello? Lady Charlotte?”
Not a sound stirred in the room. Rory ventured in hesitantly, pushing the door open a little more. “Lady Charlotte?”
Still no response. She took a couple of steps in when, suddenly, a figure emerged from the portion of the room she couldn’t see due to the angle of the small corridor; a small, angelic-looking girl with long red hair looked at her, rather stunned. She had something in her hand that Rory couldn’t quite make out, but she was more concerned with the expression on the girl’s face. She looked terrified. Rory smiled weakly.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is… Libby. I am Kieran’s wife. Kieran is Christian’s older brother.”
The girl blinked in confusion. “Sir… Sir Kieran?”
Rory nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “We just returned from… well, he just returned from the Holy Land. He was fighting with King Richard.”
The girl was so pale and weak looking. “Why have you come?” she asked fearfully.
“To introduce myself. I heard you were here.”
The girl emitted an odd choking sound. “I am a prisoner,” she hissed. “No one… no one will speak to me. I am caged like a beast.”
Rory felt genuinely sorry for her. “I’ve heard that,” she said softly. “I intend to speak to my husband about it. This… this just isn’t right.”
The girl blinked, tears suddenly swimming in her red-rimmed eyes. “I just want to go home,” she whispered. “Why will they not let me leave if they do not want me?”
Rory was feeling worse and worse, having no real answer. She was about to speak again when the girl suddenly screamed and raised whatever was in her hand. It looked like a very large needle, something used for sewing. Before Rory could get out of the way, Charlotte stabbed her in the arm with it. Rory jumped back, yanked the needle from her arm, and raced for the door.
But Charlotte was running after her, screaming. The two of them reached the door about the same time and struggled with it; Rory to get out of the room and shut the door and Charlotte to escape. It was an odd and desperate struggle until Rory finally shoved the girl back and moved from the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Heart thumping painfully against her ribs, she threw the bolt.
It had been a frightening experience. Rory was panting with fear, staring at the door and listening to Charlotte howling on the other side. But she didn’t want to be standing outside of the door when people came running to the screams, so she ran back to the main stairs and disappeared down to the floor below.
Her heart was still thumping painfully as she struggled to calm herself. Because of the thick stone walls, Charlotte’s screaming barely went beyond her room. Rory couldn’t hear it on the floor below. Struggling to swallow away her fright and guilt at having been doing something she shouldn’t have, she tried to look composed as she looked around the level, noticing what appeared to be a parlor or solar in front of her. She entered the room, seeing that it was, indeed, a solar, and a very lavish one at that. She was admiring the colorful and functional tapestry on the wall overhanging two lancet windows when the door in the entry hall suddenly banged open.
Men and loud voices entered. Rory recognized Kieran’s voice immediately. She turned to the solar entry to see men entering, shaking snow off their shoulders and armor. Servants were suddenly running at them, assisting them with the snowpack on their mail and wiping up the quickly melting snow at their feet; wet wood tended to be slippery and swell. The servants were efficient and silent as Kieran, still talking to Christian, began removing his gloves and then caught sight of his wife.
She smiled at him when their eyes met. Kieran’s brown eyes twinkled as he entered the solar, pulling off his remaining glove.
“So you are awake?” He bent down and kissed her on the cheek with his cold lips. “I thought for sure that you would sleep another day away.”
She shook her head, letting out a little hoot of shock as his freezing nose grazed her. “Awake and hungry,” she said, rubbing her cold nose. “I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t really seen Southwell and I was just looking around.”
He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “I can give you a tour if you like.”
She latched on to his elbow, smiling sweetly. “I would love it,” she said, noticing how cold he was. “But don’t you want to warm up first?”
He shook his head. “I had forgotten the misery of cold winters,” he said frankly. “I never enjoyed snow as it was but, right now, I am wishing for the heated sands of the Holy Land.”
She laughed at his comment. “What about Kaleef and Yusef? They’ve probably never seen it before.”
Kieran snorted. “Kaleef refuses to touch it. He says it is the Devil’s tears. Yusef, however, is more courageous; he actually tasted it.”
“Where are they?”
He tipped his head in the direction of the door. “Out in the bailey,” he replied. “At least, Yusef is. Kaleef is still in the knight’s quarters and Yusef is trying to convince the old man that the snow will not harm him.”
Rory chuckled. “I’ll have to go outside and see it for myself,” she said. “Maybe I can get him to come out. By the way, where are Bud and David?”
His smile faded. “You are not going to like it.”
She went from smiles to suspicion in an instant. “Why not?” she demanded, scowling at him. “What did you do with them?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I did not do anything with them,” he said flatly. “And before you become angry, know that it is what they wanted.”
“What did they want?”
“To spend time with the sentries on the wall. David is fascinated with the dogs. He wants to know if he can have one.”
“What did you tell him?”
Kieran just shook his head. “I am finished telling them anything,” he grumbled. “Every time I do, it is wrong in your eyes. I would tell him that he cannot have a dog but you would tell him that he can. And, of course, he would get his dog.”
Rory could see his frustration. Laughing, she fell against him and wrapped her arms around his torso, smiling sweetly into his cold-pinched face.
“I love you,” she murmured. It was a truthful statement, yet she was also saying it because he was perturbed and she hoped to ease him. “You’re a sweet, wonderful man.”
He lifted an eyebrow as he wrapped her up in his massive arms. He knew she was attempting to soothe him and he weakly resisted. “Hmmm,” he grunted. “I will say this; our son will be raised the way I wish for him to be raised. I will not allow you to turn my son in to a coddled weakling.”
She struggled not to laugh at him. “Treating children kindly and gently when they are small is not coddling.”
“He will leave to foster when he is five years of age and I will hear no argument from you.”
Her expression turned threatening. “You are not sending my son to foster when he is five years old,” she informed him. “Maybe when he’s twelve; even then, I’m not sure about that. Why does he even have to go away at all? Why can’t he stay here and learn from you?”
Kieran sighed heavily. “I can see that I will have to steal the boy away in the dead of night or surely you will never let him go.”
She pursed her lips angrily at him and he brushed her nose with his lips, kissing her cheek when she turned away petulantly. But as she tried to pull away from him, he saw something on her upper arm and his good humor faded.
“What is this?” he fingered the small bloodied stain. “What happened?”
Rory had no idea what he was talking about until she looked and saw the small bloodstain. Her first instinct was to lie to him to protect herself, but she found that she could not. She could never lie to the man no matter what the circumstances.
Christian was standing over Kieran’s left shoulder, speaking with a servant. She eyed the tall, redheaded Hage brother a moment before answering.
“I’ve been very bad.” She looked up at her husband. “You’re going to be really mad at me but before you explode, please know that I am very, very sorry and I meant no harm.”
He looked at her quizzically. “What did you do?”
She pressed closed to him and lowered her voice. She didn’t want Christian to hear. “I went to see Christian’s betrothed,” she said, rubbing the bloodied spot. “The girl attacked me.”
Kieran stared at her a moment before letting out a hiss and rolling his eyes. “What did she do to you?”
He was pulling the cloak aside to get a look at her arm and she hastened to assure him that it wasn’t bad. “She stuck me with a needle,” she said quickly as he grabbed her arm to get a better look. “I’m fine. But that poor girl… she just screamed and ran at me.”
He inspected her arm and the bloodstain. Then he gave her a very reproachful expression.
“You were told that it was not your business,” he growled.
She nodded her head vigorously. “I know you did and I’m really sorry,” she said quickly. “I should have listened to you but the idea that some young girl was locked away just seemed too cruel. So I went to see her and she seemed so despondent. Before I could really talk to her, she attacked me. Please know that I meant well.”
His jaw ticked and he shook his head as if at the end of his rope. “You always mean well, Libby. But the truth is that, in spite of what you are told, you always do as you wish. Do you think you know so much more than the rest of us?”
His words hurt her, right or not. She averted her gaze, unable to look him in the eye. “I don’t think that,” she whispered. “It’s just that poor girl is locked up and that’s barbaric. It’s no wonder she’s acting crazy. Your brother can’t just leave her there to…”
“She is locked up because she is mad.” His fury was gaining speed. “I spoke to Christian about it. But rather than wait for me to tell you the truth, you took matters in your own hands with complete disregard for what you were told.”
Rory was growing hot. “That’s not true,” she fired back. “And I don’t think she’s really mad. I think she’s just stir-crazy because she’s been locked up against her will. How would you react if you were locked up in a strange place by people you didn’t even know? You’d be crazy, too.”
Kieran’s brown eyes were blazing. “You have absolutely no respect for me or anyone else, so I can only assume you think we are all idiots because we do not have nearly the knowledge or education that you do. Do you always assume you are the smartest one in the room and know better than the rest of us fools?”
It was the last straw. Rory burst into tears and fled the solar. Kieran didn’t do what he’d always done before; he didn’t follow her. He watched her run up the stairs and let her go. As much as he regretted hurting her feelings, he was convinced that she had to learn a lesson. The next time she disregarded what someone told her, it might cost her greatly. Maybe even her life.
He turned to Christian and told him what she had done.
*
A half hour later, Kieran showed up at his chamber bearing a massive tray of food. It was a peace offering even if he wouldn’t admit it.
He just couldn’t stand it. His strong stance had lasted all of thirty minutes and then he had caved, going to the kitchens himself to retrieve food and taking it up to his pregnant wife. When he entered the room, the fire was burning low and it was cold. Even though there were oilcloths over the windows, freezing air still blew inside. He set the food down on the table and went to the hearth, throwing more peat and wood on it and stoking it up into a bright blaze. Brushing off his hands, he made his way to the bed.
Rory was lying on her side, facing away from him. Leaning over to see if her eyes were opened, he realized that she was sniffling in her sleep. Her lips were parted in sleep and she was snoring softly. He touched her head, feeling like a lout that he had scolded her but he knew it was for her own good. Still, he had been angry and, perhaps, was more condescending than he should have been. He kissed her gently and pulled the edge of the coverlet up over her against the cold room.
He went to his wardrobe and quietly opened it, searching for a warmer pair of gloves. As he searched, his leather-bound journal caught his eye and he looked at it a moment, realizing the last time he has written in it had been before he had met Rory. A lifetime ago.
He pulled the journal out and hunted around for the quill and ink. They were in his satchel, carefully wrapped. Forgetting about the search for the gloves, he went over to the table beneath the lancet windows and pushed the tray of food aside, setting the journal on the surface. He opened it to the first clean page, the fine parchment of a soft yellow color, and prepared his quill, sand and ink. His gaze drifted to his wife, sleeping soundly on the bed, as he collected his thoughts. Then he began to write.
He wrote of everything that had happened since the moment Simon’s assassins caught him unaware. He wrote of his encounter with Kaleef, his awakening in Rory’s century, and their adventures. He wrote of his reappearance in his time, with Rory by his side, and the knowledge that he had returned to accomplish something great, something historic. His reflections and opinions were in every page, every situation. But one thing was clear as he wrote; he adored the woman who woke him from his eternal sleep, the one he had yelled at less than an hour ago and the one who was sleeping in his oversized bed.
He wrote of the son she carried, the one who had defied time and history to be born. He hoped the child would be a great knight, with his wife’s intelligence and his strength. He could close his eyes and see the boy, a handsome lad in the image of his father. He was so caught up in his reflections and his writing that it took him a moment to notice that someone was standing next to him.
He looked up to see Rory leaning over him, trying to read his careful, scripted letters. When their eyes met, he smiled.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m hungry. Thanks for bringing me food.”
She went to pull out a chair but he stopped her, wrapping an enormous arm around her waist and pulling her close. He pressed his face into her torso, deriving great comfort from the feel and smell of her. Rory leaned against him, her gaze somewhat guarded as she gazed down at him.
“Look,” she said before he could speak. “If you’re going to yell at me again, don’t bother. I’ve learned my lesson.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Sweetheart, I am sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said. “I was harsh and I apologize.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I guess I had it coming,” she said. “You were right. I just do what I want to do. I heard about a girl locked up and I immediately thought the worst. But I still really feel that she’s not crazy, just desperate from being locked up. Anyone would be.”
He sighed, his great head against her breasts. “I have discussed this with Christian,” he murmured. “He has promised to take the matter under consideration.”
It was probably the best she could hope for so she didn’t push further. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling so very fortunate to have such an understanding, compassionate husband who forgave easily when he could have righteously remained angry with her.
“I love you,” she murmured, laying her cheek against his cropped hair. “You’re too good to me.”
He squeezed her gently. “You are my angel.”
She kissed the top of his head, ready and willing to forget the subject. She looked down at the page he had been carefully scribing. The letters were very elaborate and she read through them slowly.
“What are you writing about?” she asked.
Arm still around her, he looked down at the page. “Everything that has happened to me since Simon’s assassins caught up to me,” he replied. “I am also writing to my son.”
She smiled at him. “That’s sweet,” she said. “What are you telling him?”
He looked at the page, lifting an eyebrow. “That his mother is a disobedient wench.” When she giggled and pretended to slap him, he grinned. “I am writing about my feelings for him, I suppose. My joy and expectations.”
“He’s not even born yet and you already have expectations?”
“Every parent has.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve named him already, too. I probably don’t have a say in that, I would guess.”
He looked up at her, smiling. “You may give your opinion, madam. But I will make the decision.”
She laughed at him, shaking her head. “I thought as much,” she said. “Well, what’s it going to be? I like Christopher or James. I even like Henry.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Well enough names,” he said. “But it is a tradition in my family to name the firstborn son after the grandfather of choice. I would choose my mother’s father; he was a great man. He meant a great deal to me.”
“What was his name?”
“Tevin.”
“Who are you named after?”
“Tevin’s father, Kieron d’Mearc. He was a great knight during the reign of Henry I and held the title Viscount Malden, heir to the Earl of Essex.”
Rory took his hand and put it on her belly. It was gently bulging, hardly noticeable, but the firmness was obvious. Kieran smiled at the first physical proof of his child, leaning down to kiss it. He looked up at Rory, who smiled in return.
“Then Tevin it is,” she said softly.
He finished writing in his journal as Rory ate the contents of the food tray. Unfortunately, writing became prohibitive when she was finished with her meal because she kept inspecting the quill, the ink, the pages of the journal, and making it generally difficult. He finally gave up and put the quill down, pulling her onto his lap and holding her close, thinking of their future.
The reality was that he was home where he belonged, Rory was with him, and he was more content than he had ever been in his life. Jeffrey seemed to be healing from his wound and Simon was dead. Everything was as it should be in an ideal world. And even though Kieran was content, there was still a nagging thought in the back of his mind.
He had returned to his time for a reason. And he knew, deep down, that the ancient circle of vines in the little box in his wardrobe was the reason. He was expected to do something with it, or to it, and was terrified that he wouldn’t be able to discover what it was. He was terrified that if he wasn’t able to do whatever he needed to do fast enough, God would give up on him and send Rory back to her time and return him to that bleeding, dying mess he had once been. He was terrified he would waste his second chance.
His life, and Rory’s life, centered around the diadem of Christ.