CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
No television, no newspapers, no smarmy gossip magazines. Rory sighed as she sat in the great chamber she shared with Kieran, watching her son sleep in his elaborate bassinet just a few feet away and bored out of her mind. She wanted something to read, something that wasn’t considered an invaluable piece of art with carefully scripted letters, but there wasn’t anything like that available. She needed something to do these days. She had tried sewing but she wasn’t very good, so she had taken up drawing and working out to pass the time. But that only occupied some of her time. And with Kieran away, not only did she have the adjustment period of being without him, she had to find things to accomplish so she wouldn’t shrivel up and fade away. Life in Medieval times was nothing as she knew it and it was still a struggle, after all of this time, to adjust.
Gazing from the lancet window into the spring countryside beyond, she sighed again, her thoughts turning to her husband as they so often did. She knew he had to go away and she furthermore knew he had to go without her. She couldn’t leave the baby and she couldn’t bring him along, traveling on a long journey where bad things could happen. Kieran had left almost two weeks before, taking Kaleef, Yusef and Bud with him. Even with the thousand-man army, his brothers and friends alongside, the fact remained that she didn’t want Kieran traveling without her. She felt some odd need to be with him to protect him, even though she knew he was perfectly capable of protecting himself. She also felt left out.
They had never been separated, not since the moment they first met. But there was a first time for everything. With yet another heavy sigh, she turned away from the window and thought about going for a run around the castle. Her intention to continue her twenty-first century habits had been an entirely new experience for everyone. There was no way she could run in the fine, Medieval slippers that Kieran had purchased for her so the only other alternative was her big, worn work boots, which weren’t exactly conducive to running. Worse still, there were no workout clothes, gyms, or anything remotely similar. So she had borrowed a pair of Kieran’s linen breeches, the kind worn underneath leather breeches and under chain mail, and borrowed a big, linen tunic from him, and had taken to running around the castle in this peculiar outfit with her work boots leading the way.
After the first time she had done it, Kieran had heard such an uproar from the castle that he had asked her not to do her peculiar ritual in public anymore. It was too unseemly and people simply didn’t understand her. So Rory had taken to running up and down the stairs in the keep, something that was quickly halted by Kieran when she accidentally slipped on one of the steps and nearly broke her neck. He didn’t understand her need to work up a sweat and their discussion had turned rather heated, ending up with her in tears.
So he relented and told her she could run up and down the retractable wooden stairs on the exterior of the keep because they were less dangerous and also because they were shielded by a forebuilding. That way, no one could see his wife running up and down the steps like a madwoman. It had been a compromise for them both. She still grinned when she thought of Kieran and Sean watching her run up and down the stairs with strange looks on their faces. She knew they thought she was, indeed, mad.
Lost in thought about her attempts to work out and keep busy, Rory wandered over to Tevin’s crib and gazed down at the fat, little cherub. He was such a good, beautiful baby and she leaned over, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. She smiled as she thought of him learning how to eat solid food. She had been feeding him porridge and mashed vegetables for the past few weeks and he was doing admirably well. In fact, he would open his mouth to anything that came near it, beef included. Kieran let him suck on salty morsels of beef, gnawing on bones with his six new teeth. Rory hadn’t been entirely sure about the venture but Kieran could not have been prouder of the boy. His little man was growing up.
Jeffrey was proud, too. The Hage patriarch seemed to have accepted Rory into the family when she delivered a massive, healthy son. Ever since Tevin’s birth, he had been respectful and almost affectionate with her. It was typical male Medieval behavior towards a woman and she knew it. Once she had proven her worth, she was accepted into the family. Jeffrey’s kind behavior was odd and she wasn’t sure how to act towards him. Since her father had never been a part of her life, Rory had never known a father-figure so the concept of a father-in-law was foreign. She was polite and kind, but she couldn’t seem to generate any real affection for the overbearing, arrogant man.
Tevin was busy sleeping and she wandered away from the crib, her gaze falling over the ornate wardrobe in the room. Medieval cabinetmaking was something of an art form and the doors to the wardrobes were carved and lovely. She walked past her wardrobe, running her hands over it, before moving to Kieran’s. She opened up the doors, greeted with his messy pile of clothes, but she could smell him in the piles and she picked up a couple of garments, inhaling her husband’s distinctive scent. It was enough to set her heart fluttering with longing and excitement. His satchel, the one he had traveled with to the Holy Land and the one that contained the Crown of Thorns, caught her attention as it was half-buried at the bottom of Kieran’s laundry pile. Rory couldn’t help but notice that it seemed rather flat. Curious, she pulled it out from underneath the clothing.
The journal he kept was still in it. Rory pulled it out, setting it carefully on the bed, as she dug her hand around in the satchel for the plain and simple box that contained the Crown of Thorns. But it clearly wasn’t in the satchel and, curious, Rory began to hunt around for it in the bottom of the cabinet. A simple hunt began to turn into an earnest one and, soon, all of Kieran’s clothes were on the floor in a big pile as she plowed through the cabinet in search of the sacred box. When the entire cabinet was cleared out and nothing else remained, Rory struggled not to panic.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, looking around the room. “Where did he put it?”
She was muttering to herself, looking under the bed and peering into any corner or crevice she could think of. Within little time, she had pulled the entire room apart and her panic had reached epic proportions. God help her, she knew where it was. If it wasn’t in the room, there was little doubt where it would be. Kieran wouldn’t have let it out of his sight in any case. It therefore stood to reason that…
“He took it with him,” she almost cried with the realization. “Oh, dear God, he took it with him. He must have.”
She did, in fact, shed a tear. It was more for the fact that she knew what he was going to do with it than for the fact that he had it and didn’t tell her he was taking it. She knew, without a doubt, that he was going to present it as payment for Richard’s ransom demand. There was absolutely nothing else he could do with it and no other reason why he should take it. He didn’t tell her because he didn’t want her to stop him. She had asked him once not to pay for Richard’s ransom with his own money, thereby possibly altering the timeline and, consequently, history. But they had never discussed offering the crown for the king instead. Never once. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t discussed it with her. She couldn’t believe that he felt the king’s return was more valuable that altering history and, consequently, her very life. The thought was painful and heavy.
With tears in her eyes, she sank onto the bed, wondering how much time she was going to have left with him and with Tevin. They had always discussed the greater purpose for them both having returned to Kieran’s time. Maybe Kieran thought that perhaps this situation, Richard’s kidnapping, had been that purpose. And maybe the crown, intended as a gift for the king once, would now buy his freedom. She could see his logic perfectly.
Trouble was, she didn’t know if that was the case.
*
Tevin was fussy.
He wasn’t exactly crying but he was making a singsong screeching noise as Rory walked the great hall with him, bouncing him around and trying to distract him. David followed her. Wherever Tevin went, he usually followed like a magnet. David would make faces at Tevin, who would laugh momentarily before screeching again and trying to smack David in the face with his fat, little hands. Rory eventually handed the baby to David and the little boy walked very carefully with him, talking to him in his sweet, little French voice. But the savage beastie would not be soothed so easily, so David finally sat on the floor and put Tevin between his legs, finding a piece of kindling and a small pebble to bat around. That held Tevin’s attention while Rory stood a few feet away and supervised.
“He misses his father,” Jeffrey said as he came up behind her, watching David play with Tevin. “He has not seen him in several days and feels his absence.”
Rory turned to Jeffrey. “I feel the same way,” she replied, smiling wanly. “When do you think they’ll be back?”
Jeffrey shrugged, his clear brown eyes fixed on David and Tevin near the fire. He was almost back to his old self after his bout with death but it had definitely taken its toll; he was not particularly robust and slept a great deal. He chose not to go to London with his sons because he knew that he could not keep up with them, which was something of a blow to his ego.
“It depends on many things,” he told her. “If the weather is fine, perhaps it will only take a month or so. If it is not, then it will take longer. And, of course, depending on what business de Longchamp has for them, it could take several months. We will not know until they are sighted on the horizon.”
It wasn’t much of a comforting answer. Rory sighed with dismay and turned back to the boys. Tevin was now trying to crawl away from David, screaming when the boy wouldn’t let him get away. Rory moved from Jeffrey and scooped up her son, kissing his little cheeks as he squirmed.
Margaret entered the hall with Eleanor at that point. The little girl raced across the room to Rory and Tevin, grabbing at the baby’s fat feet and giggling when he kicked. Charlotte, Christian’s pale and lovely betrothed, entered shortly thereafter in the company of a few servants, taking a seat at the table and waiting patiently for the meal. Even though Rory and Margaret had made every effort to integrate her into life at Southwell, she was still standoffish and somewhat of a loner, so they left her alone for the most part and hoped she would eventually warm up.
Margaret smiled as she walked upon the group, her eyes falling on Tevin’s chubby face.
“Tevin seems in fine form this eve,” she commented. “He appears happy and healthy.”
Rory lifted an eyebrow. “He’s been screaming constantly.”
Margaret held out her hands. “May I hold him?”
Rory handed over the squirming bundle. “Be my guest.”
As Margaret hugged the baby and cooed to Tevin, Rory moved back towards the scrubbed table where Jeffrey was now sitting. Servants had laid out a lovely spread; there was a big ham which tasted a lot like modern ham, plus green peas, beans, and several loaves of bread. Since Rory knew something of cooking, she had spent time in the kitchens when Kieran wasn’t around and couldn’t catch her at it, directing the cook and helping her make dishes that weren’t so darned boiled or spiced. Medieval people went crazy with spices and for good reason; things went bad quickly and they often used the spices to cover up the rotting taste.
Rory was, therefore, extremely careful about what she ate. Mostly, she ate what was fresh and seasonal, and she loved her briny vegetables. Kieran imported briny peas, cucumbers and onions from London by the barrel. There was also a fishpond on the grounds so she had her choice of fresh fish.
She had also been active in experimenting with what ingredients were available to use them in modern recipes. About halfway through her pregnancy, Rory had developed a terrible sweet tooth and was dying for cake. Kieran had objected at first to her spending time in the kitchen, but she nearly took his head off one day so he backed off and let his pregnant wife play in the kitchens if it pleased her. She had white flour, eggs, butter, cream of tartar (a byproduct of wine making, she discovered), shortening made from animal fat, and milk. What she needed was white sugar which, at this period in time, was not widely known, yet not impossible to get.
She had Kieran send a missive to the same man that supplied them with briny vegetables from London, asking for him to send as much sugar, or “sweet salt” as it was known, as he could get his hands on. A big bag of the stuff arrived over a month later and Rory was thrilled. With no chocolate and no vanilla, she used lemon juice in her cake and frosting and was able to make a fairly rich and delicious cake. She’d had a fat slab of it but the rest was devoured by Kieran and his brothers before anyone else could have any. So she made another one and carefully guarded it no matter how much the brothers begged. Lemon cake became all the rage at Southwell.
Tonight, the talented Southwell cook had made another cake from the remaining sugar, only this one had apples, raisins, cinnamon and cloves with a kind of white ganache on it. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have lasted five minutes on the table, but with the Hage boys away, it sat untouched and reminded everyone of their absence. Along with the cake and centerpiece ham was fresh fried fish from the pond, rolled in flour as Rory had shown the cook and fried in fat. There was no vegetable oil so she had to compromise with the lard.
Rory sat with Jeffrey and Charlotte, eating ham, fish and peas while Margaret walked the floor with Tevin, Eleanor and David. Jeffrey ate with his hands but Rory had long since gotten over Medieval table manners. She found herself eating with her hands, too, because spoons and knives were heavy and unwieldy. It was dirty but she figured it was no big deal since everybody else did it, too. Still, she kept a little bowl of water nearby to wash her fingers in. She couldn’t stand sticky fingers.
As the evening wore on, Margaret eventually walked Tevin to sleep so Rory excused herself from the table and took her snoozing son from the hall. It was cool and dark outside as she crossed the bailey towards the massive keep, thinking to herself that it was at night when she felt the weight of the Medieval world most heavily; men upon the battlements with torches and dogs, soldiers going about their rounds, and an odd sense of being locked away from the world. It wasn’t like she could take a leisurely walk into town after dinner. Straying from the castle, out into the unprotected world beyond, was unheard of. Still, there had been a few times when Rory had strayed into town purely for curiosity’s sake. Kieran had caught her twice. The second time, he took her over his knee and spanked her. But it wasn’t enough to dampen her spirits. There was a tavern in town that had spectacular mulled cider and it was her husband’s fault for taking her there in the first place. She loved that cider.
The keep was dark and quiet as she put Tevin to bed. Once the baby was down, she turned away from the bassinet only to be faced with a big, lonely, empty bed. No Kieran. Her heart sank a little more. She wasn’t sure she could face that big, empty bed tonight. Not that she had much choice, but she just wasn’t ready to face it yet. She felt the distinct need to get away somehow, to occupy her mind to keep it off her missing husband. A thought occurred to her as she remembered the mulled cider in town. Kieran wasn’t here to scold her for leaving the castle. Perhaps she could slip into the town, have her delicious, warm drink, and return before anyone missed her. It was a not-so-brilliant idea that she talked herself into.
Putting on one of the heavy cloaks with the fur lining that Kieran had given her, she called down the dumbwaiter for the old cook. The woman sometimes sat with Tevin when Kieran or Rory couldn’t be with him and, having nine children of her own, she knew something of babies. Rory trusted her. Once the woman showed up, Rory told her she would return shortly but didn’t tell her where she was going. She didn’t want the woman to alert anyone. But the cook wasn’t curious and happily sat beside the sleeping baby as Rory slipped from the room.
The compound of Southwell was cold and dark but for the intermittent torches upon the walls. Rory felt like she was escaping her parents to go clubbing as she dodged a couple of soldiers and slipped from the postern gate near the kitchen. There was something wicked, disobedient, dangerous and exciting about what she was doing and she knew that Kieran would kill her if he ever found out. She was on the north side of the wall, slipping on the muddy slope as she made her way back around to the south side of the structure where the town lay nestled against the old stone walls. Once she reached the edge of the berg, she lost herself in the dark and narrow streets.
From having traveled the town with Kieran several times, she was relatively familiar with the layout. The tavern she was looking for was near the road the led into the castle, so she jockeyed through the narrow alleys and avenues until she came to a larger road that would take her to the tavern. A dog almost bit her and an escaped goat tried to ram her, but she escaped unharmed and laughed at her luck. The streets were fairly vacant, which wasn’t unusual at this time of night, by the time she reached the tavern.
The innkeeper knew her on sight as Sir Kieran’s wife. He greeted her immediately and took her to a warm corner near the kitchen. The man was fat, missing most of his teeth, but he could make a killer cider and if he thought it was odd that the Lady of Southwell was alone, he never said so. He presented Rory with a big mug of the mulled cider and a type of bun with cinnamon, nuts and honey. It was very good and Rory spent the next couple of hours drinking the cider and chatting with the innkeeper. After the austere conditions of Southwell where her only companions were Jeffrey and Margaret, she found the earthy personalities of the innkeeper and his wife refreshing.
Rory was enjoying herself so much, in fact, that she never heard the cries go up from the sentries on the wall of Southwell or the thunder of an approaching army. She sat tucked back in the inn, warm, dumb and happy, oblivious to what was going on outside. It only began to occur to her that something was wrong when the strong smell of smoke began to waft in through the windows and people in the inn began to chatter and run. By that time, it was too late; Southwell was sealed up tightly and Rory was caught outside the walls.
She wasn’t truly panicked until she stepped outside and saw a massive army infiltrating the town. She knew what enemy soldiers did to hapless peasants and townsfolk caught in their path, and this army didn’t look like the merciful type. They were beginning to light some of the homes near the walls of the fortress on fire, mostly so they could burn down the structures and move their siege engines or ladders up to the walls. Rory had been well educated on the tactics of a siege; as an archaeologist and history major, she was more knowledgeable than most. And she knew she had to get out of the danger zone.
Racing back into the tavern, she didn’t see the innkeeper or his wife. It looked as if everyone had fled. Rory dashed out the back of the structure and into an alley, only to nearly be run over by the townspeople fleeing the attack. She bolted to her left, hoping to make it back to the postern gate, which would undoubtedly be locked and manned. The Southwell soldiers would recognize her and let her in; that is, providing she survived. She was terrified.
Racing down the alley, she had to intersect with a major avenue before she would be able to lose herself in the maze of small streets and alleys nearer to the fortress. That meant she would be exposed to the incoming army for a time, as the avenue led directly off the main road to the castle. But she had to take the chance. As she prepared to bolt across the avenue, she was almost run over by a knight on a huge, black charger.
The horse snapped and kicked out at her, and Rory screamed in fright as she tried to turn around and go back in the direction she had come. But the knight on horseback was fast. He noticed her fine cloak instantly and, being a trained observer, immediately followed. He knew she was no ordinary peasant and curiosity, more than anything, demanded he follow.
Rory soon had what she had feared; a pursuer. So much for trying to stay out of sight. But she would not give in so easily and ducked into a narrow walkway between two buildings. The knight could not pursue on his steed but he did not give up. He paused a moment to determine in which direction she was heading and moved to cut her off.
He almost succeeded, too, but Rory heard the horse coming and she shifted back on her path, racing in the other direction. When the knight realized he’d been fooled, he spurred his charger down the road and parallel to Rory’s path. Rory thought she was being clever by backtracking again and ending up back near the tavern. But the knight was clever, too. Just as she emerged from a small pathway, he was there to grab her.
He had her by the neck with a big, leather glove and Rory fought viciously.
“Let me go!” She swung her fists at the hand holding her. “Let me go!”
The knight didn’t reply nor comply. He shifted his grip on Rory and got her by the arm, yanking her up over his lap. Rory yelped in pain as her arm was practically wrenched from its socket, grunting when she was thrown over his thighs. She twisted and fought, but he managed to hold her fast with one hand while directing the charger with the other.
Terrified nearly out of her mind, her struggles turned violent. Even as he directed the horse out of the town, Rory swung her legs around, trying to kick the horse, anything to distract the knight so she could break free. He ended up winding his hand in her hair to hold her fast, yanking on it when she grew particularly severe in her struggles. At one point, she whacked the horse in the hindquarters with a foot and the horse reared up and danced around. Bracing herself against the saddle, she shoved hard in the hopes of breaking free. The horse bucked, she pushed, and she and the knight went flying off onto the soft, damp grass.
The knight landed on top of her, knocking the wind out of her. Rory lay in the grass, gasping for air, as the man pushed himself up. The first thing he did was throw up his visor and glare at her.
“Foolish wench,” he snarled. “You will pay for that.”
Stunned and gasping, Rory tried to get to her hands and knees. She flopped backwards, away from the knight, trying to crawl away.
“Leave me alone,” she hissed. “Leave me alone or my husband will kill you.”
The knight made a swipe for her and missed. “You will not escape me, wench.”
Rory kicked at him and he grabbed her foot, tripping when she struggled and ending up on top of her again. Rory shoved at him, getting a good look at his features for the first time, and stopped shoving. Looking back at her were very familiar eyes.
It was Bud Dietrich.
Or, at least, the man looked like Bud. There was no one else in existence who had such ice-blue eyes and such a square-jawed, strong face. There was joy and comfort in the realization, but there was also astonishment. Rory’s eyes widened and her mouth popped open in surprise.
“Bud?” she whispered.
The knight’s icy eyes gazed at her a long moment before reaching out to grab her by the wrist. He hauled Rory to her feet.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “And no lies, ’else my justice shall be swift.”
Rory rationally knew that he wasn’t Bud, but he sure looked like him. She was torn and bewildered by the sight, confused as hell. Everything she’d ever heard about reincarnation or past lives suddenly popped into her head, a screaming mass of information that she struggled to shove aside. It’s not Bud, she told herself. It’s not him!
“My name is the Lady Rory Hage,” she told him as evenly as she could. “My husband is Kieran Hage. I know you’ve heard of him.”
The knight’s eyes glimmered strangely and he looked oddly torn himself. He looked the woman up and down, noting her fine clothing, her exquisite face. She was a fine beauty, indeed, more than a fitting bride for the mighty Hage family. But the fact that she had been running around alone in the town had him puzzled. Suddenly, his anger wasn’t so great. He simply looked stunned and suspicious.
“Hage?” he repeated. “You are Kieran Hage’s wife?”
Rory nodded, trying to yank her hand out of the man’s grasp. “Yes,” she grunted as she futilely yanked again. It never occurred to her that she should not have told him who she was. She thought that Kieran’s name would strike fear into the man’s heart and he would instantly release her. “Let me go and I won’t tell him that you tried to abduct me.”
The knight’s grip wasn’t lessening; if anything, it tightened. He suddenly yanked her towards him, twisting her wrist. Rory yelped in pain as she ended up pressed rather closely against him.
“No lies, woman,” he growled. “I told you I would…”
“I’m not lying,” she insisted hotly. “My name is Rory Hage and if you don’t let me go, I’ll make sure my husband breaks every bone in your body before he cuts your head off. Let me go!”
The knight didn’t obey. He held her tightly, a thousand thoughts rolling through his head. If what the lady said was true, he had the key to the siege of Southwell within his grasp. It was a huge stroke of good fortune. And he was sure the prince would be very interested to know of the woman.
Very interested, indeed.